Medford, Oregon, August 30, 2017 — My sweet dog Daisy has reached the end of her road. Got her in the summer of 2005. I came home from the guitar shop and found this young, skinny little white dog prancing in my back yard.
Now 12 years later, she has worn out.
Her last birthday, according to Adrienne, was that she was 12 on June 12, 2017.
She’s been creaky, has lost proper control of legs especially her back legs, and staggers when she walks, sometimes falling down. She’s lethargic, sleeping a lot, drinking lots of water, passed up her food yesterday and today, and either losing control of bladder or just can’t get up, so pees where she lies, including this morning on the carpet. Her eyes are moving erratically, and her vision seems impaired.
Same symptoms as Tulip. I had appointment with Dr. Chilton at 3pm. She thinks Daisy had a stroke, and that she’s dizzy, finding it hard to function. Not a happy puppy.
I suspected this was Daisy’s last day. And at 3:30, less than a minute after the injection, she’s gone.
Now it’s just me and Charlie.
When I got home and set her collar on the shelf, my computer beeped. Her gps tracker telling me that she had left the area, but that she was now back home. The gps tracker is mistaken. She’s not here.
Thank you Universe for that sweet Daisy, who’s been my pal for 12 years now. God bless her.
San Francisco, July 14, 1993: The day being ‘Bastille Day’, the French National Holiday, I was hired to play a gig at a French Restaurant on Polk Street. Wearing my tuxedo, with 
Henrietta, Texas, Spring 1956 — It was the sixth grade for me, and our English teacher Mrs. Lyles gave us a huge blue textbook, which was filled with short stories, and poems, mostly Lord Boron and Percy Bitch Shelley and some other people, who seemed just a bit hysterical, but it fit my proclivities just fine.
8 Miles North of Henrietta Texas, July 28, 2017 — My mother would be one hunded years old today, born in 1917.
Daly City, 1989: If you read a Dashiel Hammett book about Sam Spade, or even a modern Sue Grafton book about Kinsey Milhone, you will discover that their investigations are exciting, dangerous, and apparently pay the bills. (Though Sam Spade seemingly just throws his bills into the trash.)
