Most anyone reading this should have met Gizmo. Even if you haven’t, I’m sure there are some things you will be able to relate to if you sit a while with me and read what I have to say about this little dog that has been such a part of my life for so long.

I’ve always been a cat person. My whole family has. We’ve always had at least one cat (usually more) for my entire life. A dog just didn’t seem to fit in the cards. That’s what I thought, at least, until the end of my sixth grade year. It was a spring day and class let out for recess at Rosamond Elementary. As always, my classmates and I rushed out into the warm air, but that day had been different. Someone in an earlier grade had brought a new litter of pekingese/lhasa apso puppies for show and tell and had decided to stay longer with the box of those pups in the middle of the playground. Nearly everyone was running over to see what everyone else was running over to see and after a moment or two, would disperse. Not me. I saw those puppies and I wanted to play with them. The owner was letting children hold and pet the animals for a minute or so before putting it back or passing it on. After I had held and pet as much as I could I turned around and left. I had a destination in mind. You see, I was lucky enough to have my mom working at the very school I was in and I was looking for her. When I met up with her I believe she had already seen the puppies and was thinking about getting one. With a little persuasion from me and I’m sure my sister, who was also in school, it was set. There was one in particular my mom liked, a little black one. We were getting a puppy.

My mom made arrangements with the owner and I remember riding in the car with her. When we arrived and saw the whole litter of pups my mom went for the one she had set her heart on at the school. I got to hold the little creature on the trip home where we immediately began playing with him on the grass in the front yard. It was there we learned how much the pup was not a fan of people rolling around. If someone was steamrolling on the grass, he would give chase and try to jump on them, but would most of the time give up and lick their ears and face. It was also during this playtime that he was rolled onto his backside several times so we could tickle his stomach, something he protested quite avidly. We were trying to think of a name for him and someone made notice that when he was lying on his back that his ear’s would flip up, causing him to look like a mogwai from Gremlins. And though the fictional creature in the movie was brown and white it didn’t matter to us, our little puppy’s name would be Gizmo.

Over the next few months little Gizmo adjusted to life with a cat family quite well, and we adjusted just as well to him. It was difficult trying to potty-train him. Not so much for the sake of his training as much as the nights when we would place him in the bathroom and close the door. His little yelps for attention broke everyone’s heart since the puppy so clearly wanted to be with us. It was a bitter job for the person that had to lure Gizmo into the bathroom and close the door, while it was a very special role for the first person to open it in the morning to find the pup so happy to be seen.

Over that first year many things happened. Notably among them was Gizmo’s dislike for the toilet plunger. Perhaps it was due to his nights in the bathroom when he felt so alone and could see it there. For whatever reason, if someone were to place the plunger outside of the bathroom Gizmo would go crazy. Barking at it and pushing it with his nose. Gizmo became my mother’s shadow. Where ever she went, he went. He also found a new place to nap where he could still be the center of attention. On our couch there is a little cubby door that Gizmo fit so perfectly on. He could spread out and keep an eye on everything until those little eye-lids became too heavy to resist shutting. With the coming winter he first experienced snow, and loved it. Even though he was short, he would run into the snow and jump around as much as he could before returning, covered in snowballs that had attached to his fur. When Christmas rolled around we also learned how much he disliked people talking into wrapping paper tubes.

The first year passed with Gizmo growing in size and growing in our hearts. He kept learning new things as well. He quickly learned what “walk” meant and when we tried to slip it past him he learned what “w-a-l-k” meant. He also learned to sit on his butt to beg for food. Not just like any other dog. Gizmo would jump up and stand for a moment before resting himself on his rear while remaining straight up in the air. It was such a sight to see and he would still wag his tail. During this time he also became quite partial to “stogies.” These were dog-treat sticks he would put one end in his mouth and run away with sticking out, looking like a man and his cigar.

It wasn’t always the most fun though. Like a little rebel, if Gizmo ever got loose outside he would bolt off down the sidewalk. Exploring every possible thing he could and someone would have to go after him. Whenever I chased him down he would look up at me like “What?” and I’d carry him back home with him licking my ear. One fast Sunday I was out doing fast offerings with Gizmo when a pack of much larger dogs ran up to us. They were barking at him and trying to sniff him and Gizmo was not having much fun so I picked him up and carried him away from the other dogs. Due to his small size as a pup he had trouble jumping onto and off of beds, so I would help him on and off mine.

The years began to pass. Always with Gizmo near, wagging his little tail. There are plenty more stories to tell about this dog, this friend of mine. There was the time we were playing in the backyard with a tennis ball and I threw it hard at the fence hoping to have it bounce back at me before he could get it, but instead it got stuck a couple of feet above the ground. Gizmo ran up and couldn’t quite reach it so he stopped and turned back to me unsure of how to proceed. There are all the times I would bring him with to Sunday dinner at my mom’s.

But life cannot be entirely full of joy. It was a few years ago that Gizmo began having trouble. He had gained a lot of weight and he was having trouble walking. The vet told us it was his spine and that he needed to go on a diet. So he did. It was amazing the weight he lost and how it changed him. Once again he was running free. Just like he did as a puppy, when I would give him a Beggin Strip he would tense up and spread his front paws out, ready to sprint in whatever direction I tossed the treat, often times too fast to even grab the treat on the first pass.

It was this change in Gizmo that lulled me into a false sense of security. Despite his age in years he had gained a renewed lease on life and in many ways acted as a spry young pup. It was also a terribly sharp double-edged sword. For the past several years people have moved away, distancing themselves physically from this little four-legged part of the family. While I know he never left their heart, it left more time for Gizmo to focus on me. Which he did. He became my little shadow. Following me where I went. I would try to get him to stay if I was just going into another room real quick, but he would follow me regardless. Gizmo and I grew much closer together in the past couple years. Each time I would come home I would hear the jingle of his dog tags as he had perked his head up, then the jingle would become constant and grow in volume as he would trot towards me. He would sleep at my feet while I was on my computer or I would pick him up and put him on my futon where he could rest.

It has been fourteen years since we brought this little creature into our lives. Fourteen years of love. But a couple weeks ago things began to change. Gizmo stopped eating his food. He had been resisting this diet food since we got it but he’d always end up eating it. Especially if we sweetened the deal for him by putting in different kinds of non-diet food. But he mostly stopped eating that food too. He began sleeping much more as well. Unless he was stirred by someone he would sleep most of his day away. Gizmo’s time was drawing close.

Knowing this, I made sure to let the family know. On Memorial Day I took him down to my mom’s to spend some time with her. Other members of the family that would like to see him have done so. It has broken my heart to see him like this. Tuesday we spent the day in my room. Gizmo was lying on my futon wrapped in a blanket my mom had given him. Each time he stirred to change position I made sure to turn my chair around and talk to him as I pet his head or scratched his chin (he loves that ever so much). I decided to shower. He watched me stand up and leave the room where I stopped. There was no jingle of his tags as he jumped down to follow. I stepped backwards to see him again, still watching me from the futon. All these years I have tried to get him to stay where I know he’d comfortable while I was away for a few minutes and now all I wanted was for him to jump down and chase me like he always had. But this wasn’t from training. He wanted to follow me. He just couldn’t.

I sat in the shower and cried. I couldn’t stop. My little buddy would be leaving. These past few days whenever I think of Gizmo’s life I break down into tears. Yes, I haven’t stopped crying all the while I have been writing this. I cried on the drive home from my mom’s. I cried on the way to pick Cameron up last night so he could see Gizmo and I cried on the way back from dropping him off. This little man has such a part of heart that I can’t simply let him go.

This morning when my alarm went off I sat right up. I wasn’t tired. I’m always tired in the morning regardless of how much sleep I get, and last night I only got four hours. I decided right then and there that I wasn’t going into work. I was going to spend the day with my buddy. I went upstairs and ate some yogurt and cereal then sat next to Gizmo as he slept on his little cushion/bed. I stroked his back and kissed him on the top of the head. I sat there quite a while and then moved to the computer. Whenever I heard him stir I turned the chair around to see him changing position.

After a while he woke up and got a drink of water. He wanted to go outside so I carried him to the grass where he relieved himself and then layed down. We spent most of the rest of the morning and early afternoon together out there. We took a nap together. When Jason showed up to see Gizmo we sat on the grass and talked. I texted my dad who decided he would come home and we would make some decisions then.

After Jason and dad had talked about some things we decided we would take Gizmo to the vet. My dad hadn’t had lunch so he made some while I changed (I was still in my pajamas). Jason pulled a cooked sausage from the refrigerator and began eating it, but he pulled off several pieces and dropped them to Gizmo who immediately ate them. Perhaps it was a morbid idea of Gizmo’s last meal, I pulled a hot dog out of the fridge and cut it up. Gizmo ate the whole thing. I thought it very fitting that he would still enjoy hot dogs so much. With this renewed eating I wasn’t sure it was his time after all. I said that we should take Gizmo to the vet and see what he had to say.

After my dad had eaten I bundled Gizmo into a blanket and we drove to the vet. I held him close and watched in the side mirror as he rested his little head on my arm to see outside. Gizmo always liked riding in the car. I fought tears the entire time but they won the better of me and some escaped. I could tell my dad was in the same fight.

When the vet entered our little room I lost a few more tears while he checked Gizmo out. After asking some questions the vet determined that Gizmo has an inflammed disc in his spine. This would explain the lack of movement and loss of appetite (how often are you hungry when you’re in pain?). He asked if we wanted to try an anti-inflammatory to see if that helped. YES! Of course we do. Gizmo was given a shot and we got a bottle of pills.

It seemed like such a pipe dream, but upon arrriving home and letting him back onto the floor, he began moving a bit more freely. He didn’t run, but he walked a little faster he ate some of his food. We were also told that he could eat some table scraps as long as they are not overly fatty. Gizmo my man, I’ll be going to the store later to pick you up some turkey dogs and you can have as much as you want. It may be selfish of me to hold onto whatever I can. But…

I’m just not ready to say goodbye.

Yesterday wasn’t among the best days ever. It had the makings to be, but it fell short for several reasons. That breakfast/lunch really set things up and one by one they got knocked down. First of all I have some sort of wicked cold. I don’t get sick very often but when I do, it’s not a fun time. This one is kicking my butt. My throat is pretty sore, I have a mean headache, and my muscles feel like they just don’t want to cooperate. So that sucks.

Disappointment the second: A few days ago I was browsing around the internet like I usually do when I thought “Hey, I bet the memory I use in my computer has dropped in price by a ton and I could get more.” For those of you that don’t know, a computer really needs two things to make it operate fast. A good processor (the brain) and good RAM (acts as short term memory where all the tasks the processor is running can sit and wait). Yes, you need other things as well like a good hard drive and video card and such, but those won’t run worth crap if the processor and RAM suck.

I built my computer a few years ago so it has begun to show its age when running certain programs. Although it has held up exceptionally better than I would have predicted. I have had one gigabyte of RAM in there this whole time and wanted more. So I went to my favorite computer parts website (newegg.com) and sure enough the price had been cut dramatically. To put this in reference, when I built this computer the specific RAM I got cost around $150 or so I believe. The exact same RAM now costs about $30. I couldn’t pass it up and I bought more. I also decided the time was right to buy Vista.

Yes, Vista. Vista Ultimate in fact. Newegg has a special deal where system builders can get it at a discounted price and I wanted to play with it. Despite how much people like to complain about it, I think it’s pretty fun. The only valid complaint I have ever heard from people that can’t be corrected is how much of a performance hog it is. That can’t be helped, but people shouldn’t be running it on systems that shouldn’t be running it. Whenever I hear someone say that it takes five to ten minutes for their computer to turn on I want to shoot back “That’s because you’re an idiot running Vista with only 512 Megabytes of RAM” (not a lot in any sense in this day).

I was pretty excited about this and after installing my new RAM and a bigger video card I installed Vista. It ran like a charm at first. I didn’t experience any of the immediate troubles people were hating on. My computer booted up in about twenty-five seconds which is pretty awesome and Vista ran quite smoothly. It was when I tried to set up some accessory features that I hit a wall. Both my sound card and wireless network card weren’t functioning. I tried downloading drivers onto a flash drive from my dad’s computer but it was all in vain. Both of these features are more important than you might think and it’s only when you don’t have them that you truly know why. I like to play games. And the best way to play games usually is with my friends and with sound. Vista was blocking me from doing both. So I scrapped it. i reinstalled XP and have set Vista aside for another day when I have the parts needed.

This is running long so I’ll skip to the last disappointment. Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. I got invited to go see it last night at the midnight showing with some friends. I don’t really want to spoil much for you if you haven’t seen it already, but let me tell you some impressions and thoughts I had. First of all, I think the part of the evening I will most enjoy remembering is the one hour hiatus in which the projector wasn’t working and we were all sitting in the theater with idiots. It was fun just chatting with friends in that setting. Call me crazy.

The movie was also… mediocre, at best. I hate to be someone who just sits back and picks things apart because movies are supposed to be enjoyable, but I think there’s a certain point you have to achieve to make it enjoyable. You don’t necessarily need a great plot or awesome acting, but you have to hit a minimum level to be taken seriously. To me, this movie fell entirely short. The flow was completely off. Characters would disappear during scenes for minutes at a time and then show up like nothing had happened. The fighting was pretty much just exchanging face shots with that classic fist to face sound bite used WAY too much. The acting was pretty bad and it never built up any sort of tension.

As the movie started to wrap up I began thinking of what I thought about. How would I describe it to someone else? I immediately thought: remarkably unremarkable. This movie was entirely riding on the coat-tails of the prior three movies and in no way made itself a proper fit with those stories. By the end I was only watching just in case it might redeem itself somehow. I was actually debating just getting up and leaving or falling asleep. Both options I found better than the movie. There were so many things that just didn’t add up.

The first three movies while not being contained entirely within a fully real world at least applied themselves well. They made sure that you at least believed what was happening could in fact happen. Not so in this movie. For me at least. In a word, it was entirely unreal. And not the good kind.

I’ll just wrap up by saying that he would have died in that refrigerator. Both from the impacts and from the radiation after getting out.

What a lame finish to a lame day.

I just finished making and eating an afternoon meal. Let me give you a run-through of what it was and then I’ll let you know why I felt like writing about it. I started with heating up some oil and tossing in some garlic cloves. I think I out in maybe seven or eight cloves. That’s right, I love my garlic. I am completely of the opinion that everything that can be cooked with garlic should be cooked with garlic and you can never have too much of it. If you sauteed garlic in garlic butter and seasoned it with garlic salt and topped it off with a garlic sauce you would still not have enough garlic for Neal. Nosirree. Garlic = Good. More garlic = better. Of course, there are things that shouldn’t have garlic. For example: cereal and milk.

After a minute I added a large chopped up onion. Not just any onion, a sweet onion. I used to hate onions but the first time I tried a caramelized Vidalia I was hooked on the sweet variety. I can now eat regular and red onions, but they aren’t as much fun. For the most part red onions just make me wish for a better onion. As my friend Wes once said, “Whenever I eat something with red onions I’m resigned to it not tasting as good as it could.” That was the idea, maybe not word for word though.

I let the garlic and onion get to know each other quite well before adding in some diced potato[e]s. I let them mingle a moment with the lid on the pan then peppered some sriracha. This is the big red hot sauce you find in Asian restaurants. I stirred that together and threw in a package of sliced mushrooms. I loves me some mushrooms (the non-hallucinogenic kind (although I’ve never tried those so I can’t really judge)). I let those cook a bit and added some emmentaler (swiss cheese for you uncultured swine!). Mixing and melting ensued before cracking some eggs in.

Here I will enter a side note. When I was a boy scout and out camping, I usually did a lot of the cooking it seemed. I liked it though, so that’s probably why. Whenever we would cook eggs (a regular occurrence at scout camps) we would hold little battles with the eggs and crack them on each other and see which egg would prevail against its brethren longest. Most could only crack one because the force would weaken itself slightly enough for the next egg to have the advantage. But now and then, a real champion would emerge from the ranks of the Styrofoam casings and lead a triumphant crusade of egg smashing. Sometimes these champions would remain flawless until the end and lose a battle against the metal edge of a grill. Such did a champion emerge today. I ended up adding six eggs. A lot, I know, but I’ll explain later. The first egg I grabbed defeated the other five quite astonishingly. It brought back fun memories of pubescent boys hooting and hollering around a grill about eggs. Fun times.

I cooked the eggs in the mess and then ate it. In case you were wondering, it was good. Now to some explaining. Whenever I cook such meals, I like to make enough to put in a container to await me in the fridge where I can quickly pull some out later and reheat. That’s why six eggs were used, I was making a decent amount. But that’s not the reason I felt like writing this. While I was cooking and realized that I was going to end up with even more than I had intended I got to thinking “You know what Neal, I bet Wendee and Sam would like some of this.”

You see, word has reached my ears regarding a ranger from the North, Isildur’s heir…. wait, sorry. I’m watching The Two Towers while writing this. What I meant to say is that I have heard news that a certain someone has bought a house and will be moving out of the duplex she is currently in sometime next month. Once this happens it will be open for someone to rent and if all goes well, that someone will be me. The fun about that is the people occupying the other side of the duplex is my sister, her husband, my niece and their dog. Yes, things will hopefully end up with me living next door to them where I can call over and say “I’ve made to much food. Come, and we shall feast upon the spoils of ill-planning.”

Oh yes. There will be food.

Alright, I do care. I just thought that was a funny title. I have this friend (Wong for anyone that knows him (and I don’t see why you shouldn’t because anyone reading this knows me personally or is a crazy internets lurker)) and for many years he and I have joked about how apathetic I am when it comes to most things. I don’t really show emotion for things that you think I should. Well, I didn’t. That’s slowly changing, but for the most part still true.

This all stems from something in my head being counter-culture. It’s not even something I try to do. For most things such as books, movies, video games, and other such items I just think differently than most other people. Even if it turns about that I like the same movie as someone else, it’s usually for different reasons. There are some people that I do relate and identify with these things though. They are currently the people that I try to spend a lot of my time with. My sister Wendee and he husband Sam; my best friend Alex and his soon to be wife (also a best friend of mine) Sheree; the person I’ve known and associated with longest outside of my family, Rob; and then people like Wes, Wong, and Ross (Not that I don’t have anything nice to say about these fine gents, but let’s get on with the show).

With all of these people there are a lot of things I agree with when it comes to most things, but not everything. I can watch a movie with one of them and agree on one reason why it’s good and agree with another for another reason it’s good, but I can also disagree with another who thinks it’s not good. So what’s the big deal? Why is it so special that I’m writing about this? It’s not. At least to you it’s not. But it is to me. And part of that reason is this counter-culture thing going on in my head.

I’m a person that gets excited about little things. Not big things. Sure, the big things are great, but almost without exclusion the big things will happen regardless of what you do or don’t do. People will still get married. Babies will still be born. People will still pass away. All of these life-altering events happen and will continue to happen with or without me being involved. For those people mentioned above, and others, I’ll probably be a part of some big events similar to the ones listed even if I’m only there with them.

When these times come, that’s really what I’m going for. To just be there. I’m more than happy to help with what I can, but that’s because I’m there. Both at that particular moment and for them. If I don’t need to be in an active duty, than I’ll stand by the side with a smiling or somber face (situation dictating). I’ve given hugs when needed. I’ve gone out on a walk or drive to just talk when needed. I’ve helped someone laugh about whatever came to mind when needed. And I’ve sat on the side when needed. I’ve left when needed.

Life changing events happen and will continue to happen. We can’t stop them, only postpone them. But they will come. When they do for you, I can be here or there when needed. My different take on the situation isn’t me wanting to be different, it is just me being where I can be when needed. When my niece Vienne was born and everyone was crowding into Wendee’s room people kept asking why I wasn’t holding the baby. Are you afraid to hold her? This is how you hold her. Do you want to hold her now? I would just politely decline the offers and sit on the couch and watch everyone else. What’s that Wendee? You need some more water? I can get that. So I did.

I will hold the baby. That’s not what I’m concerned about. I have years to hold and play with the baby. I have years to mourn the loss of a loved one my own way. I have years to show you how happy I am that you’re getting married. But right now I will be where I need to be. I only have moments here. And that’s what counts. That’s what we remember. The moments. At least, that’s what I remember and focus on.

I remember talking with Sam in a room across the hall from my grandpa’s viewing. I remember stopping at a gas station for a drink with my mom on the way to my sister’s wedding reception. I remember all these moments from big events in my life. Those are what counts to me. So when I am sitting quietly away from the group, it’s not that I don’t want to be a part of what’s going on, no matter what it is. I’m just not there for them.

I’m there for you.