When Sonja was cleaning recently, while I was basking in the sun at the racetrack, she pulled out my first dog Strangler's leash. We had put everything away we associated with Strangler when she died because we were so upset every time we looked at one of her belongings we started crying and carrying on like New Yorkers every time they see an aircraft off course.
The leash is black and skinnier than the horse hide one I have used for both Ranger and the Hammer. I have hooked Strangler's leash on to the Hammer a few times now. And while I still associate the sight of it with my first, magic dog I can handle it now. It has taken me about a decade but I guess I am finally over the death of Strangler.
She was a beauty. When I was not paying attention she used to stick her long pink tongue in my mouth and laugh at me with her big brown dog eyes as I wiped my face with a sleeve and washed her tongue gob down with a cold beer if I had one handy.
"Strangler you bitch! Why do you keep doing that?"
"Hee hee hee. Fuck you Beer. Eat my slobber motherfucker."