No, not really. In my novel. Man do I feel like an ass hole. It reminds me of the Michael Vick stuff this summer. Lots of attention paid to it, but there was a fair bit of recoil from people that noted that it got a lot more attention because of his celebrity and because it involved dogs (or just animals in general, I suppose). I wonder if there would have been more outrage if he had been a murderer. You know, of people. I’m thinking no. It brings to light how numb we all are to the death of human beings around us, where animal deaths are simply not as, what?, publicized? I heard this notion that if you really want readers to hate a character, have them kill, not another character, but a dog. I think it’s true. This guy’s way, way more mean than I thought he was about ten pages ago. I feel bad about killing cute little Berza. She was such a good dog. But, well, circumstances demanded a serious statement, and that’s about as serious as it gets.
Why you tell me this stuff? Man, I was driving home today and I drove by the cemetery where all the people go jogging – there were police and fire engines there. Some jogger had dropped dead. It was sad. But it was so nice out today. About 76 degrees, nice fall breeze, blue sky, fluffy white clouds. The jogging trail past the cemetery wends through a small park, tall trees, leaves changing color and fluttering down like the gentlest of rain. I don’t know how it was for the jogger, but it seemed like maybe not the worst way to go. Dogs, people – we all have to go. Even the fictional ones. Sometimes the best we can hope for is a gentle breeze and skittering crunchy fall leaves to pull the curtain back for us.
Ah, if only we could choose the way we would go… I’m not sure what I would pick. I’m sure 80% of the people would say “while having sex” but that’s pretty selfish. I mean, what about the person you were having sex *with*? Not a very nice memory for them. I suppose, in a way, it would be nice to know ahead of time. Say your goodbyes properly.