This is to a dog...
-who loved cheese
-who used to drop tennis balls down stairs just to chase them
-who started out smaller than my 4 year-old hands
-who had me walking around the block twice a day for many years
-who would always greet you at the door
-who had a big bark and an infitessimal bite
-who really was named after mickey mouse's dog no matter what I told you
-who had seen more of the world than he could have asked to
-who had gotten a bit testy in his old age (understandably so)
-who started in Guelph, Ontario
-who had a surname (Plantagenet)
-who was always there
-who peed on my bed once or twice
-who would walk himself around the block and wait patiently at the door
-who had big eyes which made him look distinguished NOT funny
-who was the only friend that ever moved with me
...a dog who died last Saturday.
One day you'll get the walks I promised you for this summer.
Pluto
(1991-2005)

The other PL dropped me off at the convenience store. On the drive over she asked me about my future and I answered honestly enough. Although there is always that uncertainty. The van pulled over and I hopped out into the dusty-modest neighbourhood. I crossed the street and creaked open the door. I like this convenience store it reaks of familiarity and tradition. It's old and when the locals come in the lady who mans the desk greets them by name. It smelled vaguely of paint.
"So doesn't it look brigther in here"
"certainly"
"If you'da said no I'da clacked you"
"Hahaha"
An overheard conversation led me to believe that the roof was repainted. I went for two bottles of cranberry juice, satisfied with myself until the lady pointed to the 5$ minimum debit transaction poster. So I left emptyhanded.I decided to cut across the park. The well-trodden path through the grass made me laugh. When I got to the end I noticed a sign that stated no dogs allowed. I decided to take a picture and in doing so I was struck by how trashridden the park was. As I went to leave I found I couldn't. I tried but I just couldn't walk away. So I picked up some garbage and walked it to the can were more became evident. Before long an undeterminable amount of time had passed and I realised I had to be home for dinner. I left feeling sad, I'de done a bit but not everything. I walked back and the state of the streets brought me down even more. The sight of the grabage on the roads became so searingly apparent. The strangest feeling I felt though was not that of saddnes but that of shame. When I was bending down picking up those wrappers and plastic bags, those bottle caps and pieces of paper I felt embarassed. I didn't want anyone to see me doing an ostensibly good deal. The feeling was pronounced and disconcerting. It did however leave me with a question:
Was that just my sense of self and my own fear of taking a stand?
or
Was that feeling symptomatic of a societal sense that the right thing is the thing that you do for you?
Am I a product of my own troubled psyche or am I an example of a larger individualistic helping is bad trend?
Either or leaves me with a what now? and a why?

that's my story. for those of you concerned no my heart isn't bleeding.