Deeply flawed, but fundamentally decent, I approach life with an irreverent attitude toward certain modern social conventions, while harboring a profound nostalgia for bygone traditions of honor and decency. We each have our own code, and I succeed and fail by mine.
A cherished friend recently quipped that during one's lifetime a person is lucky to have one good spouse, two good horses, and four good dogs. That certainly leaves a generous margin for error on these things, but it resonated. The holidays ended on a sad note for the werewolf this year. His family's cherished and loyal standard poodle, Lily, was put-down after over ten years of loyal and resolute service. A combination of cancer, hip-dysplasia, and arthritis had wrecked unholy havoc on her in cruel ways. Ever the stoic, her last days were defined with a tail that wagged, a snout that kissed, and the sassy attitude that made her truly remarkable. She was neither exceptionally sweet, nor mean; rather she embodied a consistency and stability in her mannerisms that allowed for a large degree of comfort in observing her execute her routine. The bond between man and dog is sacred and pure in ways that can't be captured in a few mere sentences. Anyways, dear Lily's departure leaves a void and reminds the werewolf how lucky he was to have had such a fine beast in his life for the last decade.