I love you. I have loved you since I first saw your wide grin and big brown eyes. Since the moment you flopped over on the pet store floor and demanded scritches. You were loving and playful and ready for a new home. 

You were almost four. I don’t know how anyone could have given you up.

I had sworn I would never get another dog. Not after my last broke my heart. But you were special. I knew then you belonged to us. You were already a member of our family.

You were such trouble. The little escape artist. There was no fence you couldn’t dig under, no closing door you couldn’t rush through. You would disappear and we would chase after you. Following your nose, your signature troublemaker, you would run into traffic without a care in the world. We would drive around and call your name. Eventually, you would find your way back. That big grin would be plastered on your face. You’d want food and loving and you’d act like nothing had happened at all.

You destroyed the first kennel I ever bought you. It lasted less than thirty minutes. I underestimated your drive to be free. Nothing could or would contain you.

I took you to training classes and you laughed. The instructor warned me that dogs like you were clever and bull-headed. She was right.

You wouldn’t be trained but I still enjoyed that time together.

You would eat until there was no more food you could reach. We were really looking forward to that artisanal loaf of bread we bought at the Farmer’s Market. But you decided it was yours and ate almost the whole thing.

Other dogs didn’t interest you, unless you thought they were in your turf. You wanted to be around the people. You weren’t shy about demanding attention. You’d stick your muzzle into my face to say hello and lick my eyelids until I gave you enough pets.

But you never got enough pets.

When I moved away from the family to start a new job, you came with me. It was just us down there for a month. Every night, after your adventures in the backyard, you’d jump up onto the couch next to me and sleep. I found such comfort in your little rumbling snores.

When everything in my life imploded, years later, and I was living on my own for good this time, you came to stay with me.

I wanted to spend every evening sunken into a depressive funk but you demanded your walks. You got me moving, got me out of my head. After, you’d demand a treat and some cuddle time on the floor.

You couldn’t jump onto the couch anymore.

I’d take a selfie of us and post it online. You knew when it was picture time and you’d try to get away. You didn’t like having your picture taken but I got the shot anyhow.

Six months into our new life, you stopped walking very well. Your back feet knuckled under you. You’d lose balance. You’d look up to me for help.

The vet said it was degenerative. It was only going to get worse. It was common in dogs like you. Especially older ones.

I didn’t want to admit it but you were old.

We celebrated your thirteenth birthday, just the two of us. I got you special treats. We made an evening of it. My special girl’s big day.

I knew. I knew it would be the last birthday you ever had.

When I went looking for a new house for us, to get us out of that apartment, I wanted a big yard for you. And we got one.

You spent all day every day out there. You’d wake up in the morning and I’d help you down the stairs. You’d gobble up your breakfast and demand to go outside.

I’d check on you throughout the day. You explored every inch of that yard. You were so happy.

Every evening, I’d help you back in. I’d help you back up the stairs.

Out every morning. In every evening.

Those ins, those outs. They were getting harder for you. Too hard.

You’d come in and you’d eat and you’d drag yourself over to the rug. You’d sit and you’d shake. You’d demand love. And I would give it.

I’m not mad at you. I know I’m crying and I know I’m screaming but it’s not at you. We are turning onto the last road and I have been driving tear-blind this entire time. One hand on the wheel. Another, gently rubbing your back.

You did nothing wrong. You were such a good girl. You were with me and you loved me when I didn’t feel like I was worth any love at all.

You healed me. I never thought I’d want another dog. I thought I could never love another dog. But you healed my heart.

I can’t imagine a world where you’re not with me. Cuddled up next to me. Snoring those sweet, sweet snores. Demanding pets. Giving even more love than you got.

You saved me. And I wish I could save you. I wish I could snap my fingers and make everything better. But you’re very sick. And you’re in a lot of pain. And there’s nothing anyone can do to take that away.

I know you don’t understand. I know you think we’re just going for a drive. You loved drives. I forgot to mention that.

But now we have to say goodbye. And I’m not ready. My hope, my dearest hope, is that you are. And I’m not some monster who takes away your life when all you did was love me.

We’re going to go into this room. You’re going to go to sleep. I will be with you. I will be crying. I will be screaming. But I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at everything but you. I’m mad at life. And I’m mad at me. And I’m mad at a world that gives us such sweet creatures and then takes them away.

I love you. I love you.

I will love you always.

I hope you can forgive me. I hope, in some way, we get to see each other again.

I love you. It’s time to go to sleep.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

Lainey the Beagle

05.05.2007 – 10.14.2020

Abduction Junction, the first of my Patreon-funded mini-supplements for the Savage Worlds Adventure Edition roleplaying game system, is now available at DriveThruRPG! Here’s the pitch:

Watch the Skies!

The aliens have landed and humanity is in trouble! A quartet of extraterrestrial visitors have touched down on planet Earth and everyone in the town of Spring Water, New Mexico is in a tizzy! What do these strange creatures want? Are they here to hurt us? Hunt us? Capture us to work on some galactic chain gang? Help us unlock the secrets of the perfect ambrosia salad? Well, that’s up to you!

Abduction Junction is a setting and character combo kit designed for the Savage Worlds Adventure Edition system of rules. In this mini-supplement, you will find a story setup complete with a variety of hooks to engage your players and move the plot along, some possible truths behind the story, a cast of characters, and some not-so-friendly NPCs. While not a complete adventure in itself, my hope is it sparks enough of your own imagination to turn into something wonderful!

You can get your copy here.

If you enjoy it, please let me know! And you can help me make these over at my Patreon. Not only do you save some cash, you get the PDF early too!

I have finished revisions on the first part (of five) of my Middle Grade supernatural horror novel, Something’s Wrong with Sissy. I’ve pasted the text below. I’m happy with it overall. If you like it, I’d love to hear from you with a comment.

Part One: Summer

It was this time last summer that Sissy stopped talking. I remember it clearly. We were in the backyard, near the woods. Midsummer, so it was really hot. She turned to me, face shining with sweat. She glanced at the treeline and grinned. I could see the mischief in her eyes.

“C’mon, Mags! Find me!”

Those are the last words she ever said.

She took off, clearing the lawn in no time. She had always been a fast runner. Before I could say anything, she had disappeared beyond the oaks and maples. I groaned as I got to my feet. I was tired already from the heat and really didn’t feel like moving.

“Come back, Sissy!” I yelled. “I don’t want to play!”

No response. I called out again. Nothing.

I stomped forward, slowly building up the energy for something faster than a crawl. As I reached the treeline, I shouted again.

“Sissy! I’m not playing!”

She didn’t respond. I figured she didn’t want to give away her position. She was a champ at hide and seek. It always took me forever to find her on the best of days. I was always a little annoyed by the time I found her crouched inside a box in the attic or stuffed in the lazy susan (after she had stashed the pots and pans inside the oven) or, one time, hanging from the top branch of the tree by our bedroom window.

Sissy had always been small. She was born that way. I was the big twin, that’s what people called me. Sissy was the little one. The sick one. The frail one. “Frail” was what Gramma Mullins always called her. Frail little Sissy.

But she wasn’t frail. She was strong. And fast. “A natural athlete,” our father said.

As I walked through the woods, I kept an eye up toward the sky. I was looking for a hint of her green shirt or white shorts or bright blue shoes–something to give away her position. On the ground, I gently kicked at any large piles of upturned earth or fallen acorns. She had never hid in the dirt, but I bet she could dig like a dog and make herself a spot in no time flat.

I called out again. Then again.

Nothing.

“Look, Sissy,” I yelled at the trees. “I’m seriously not playing this stupid game right now. It’s hot and I am going inside. And if you don’t come with me then I’m going to–”

I struggled to think of something appropriately wicked.

“–I’m going to throw all your books in the trash. After I burn them. I mean it!”

I screamed the last part so loud, it made my throat hurt.

Still no answer.

I was so angry by that point, I almost didn’t hear the thud.

All my anger sank to my feet and suddenly I felt scared.

“Sissy?” I called out. “Sissy, are you okay?”

I ran toward the sound, almost snagging my shoe on a tangle of branches. Some twigs stuck to my laces and I kicked them off as I ran. I spotted something white in the distance. My brain tried to process what I was seeing in the confusion of color.

White. White shorts. Green. Green shirt.

Blue.

Blue shoes.

Sissy.

I ran.

Roots scraped at my ankles, twigs crunched under my feet, leaves gathered into darkness above me. Every step seemed like a mile. I couldn’t run fast enough. Finally, I reached her. Finally, I saw her.

My sister, slumped against the rough trunk of a graying tree.

She looked like a broken bird. Arms bent at her side like dead wings. Her head at a hard angle, face turned away.

I stopped, unsure of what to do. Something inside me pushed me forward, my feet suddenly stones. My hands shook. My thoughts were nothing but a blur.
When I got close enough, I dropped to my knees beside her.

My mom always said never to move anybody who was hurt because you could make their injury even worse. While that warning was in my head, I couldn’t resist rolling her over. She was breathing, which was good. But her face. Her face was pale. Blood trickled from her nose in thin red rivers. Tears lined her eyes. A stream of saltwater trickled down her cheek and pooled inside her left ear. She stared at the sky, eyes wide, catching the beams of light breaking through the leafy cover of the woods.

I snapped my fingers in front of her face. She didn’t respond. No blink, no sound.

Nothing.

I didn’t want to leave her but I had to. I cemented her location in my mind. I memorized the path I took out as I ran back home to get our parents.
Click to Read More

So I gave up writing.

It wasn’t intentional. It honestly just happened. A confluence of rejection, exhaustion, and anxiety wore me down and I stopped writing.

Outside of the day job, that is.

Time passed. Writing became something I didn’t do. I didn’t even think about it.

It was freeing. I stopped worrying about a lot of things and allowed myself to be okay with where I was in my career, in my life.

Then things started nagging at me. Unconsciously. I started to feel that anxiety when walking through a book store. I felt an aversion to reading. I got The Guilt over not having an agent and not having some big publishing contract. The tells.

The desire to write showed up soon after.

I dreaded things going back to how they had been. Back to being stuck in this constant cycle of unfulfilled ambition and unending self-defeat.

Then something else happened. I broke through a barrier, pierced some emotional membrane. I felt the need to write, the drive to create, but all those other anxieties melted away. I had the desire to go and make—and that was it. Nothing weighing me down, making me feel less-than. I fell back in love with both writing and reading without all this other baggage.

I wasn’t used to that. Depression, fear, anger had always been part of the package. Without those feelings, that creative fever I felt wasn’t a burden. It was exciting.

Admittedly, that made me nervous. I waited for the other shoe to drop and it didn’t.

Certain I wouldn’t be ambushed, I wandered into the writing fields again. I dusted off an old story of mine and started revising it. Free and clear and without. Without all those other, horrible things.

Which leads us to now and the name of this blog post. The story I’m revising, the story I’m finishing, is a Middle Grade horror novel called Something’s Wrong with Sissy. It’s a dark fable about a young girl named Margaret whose twin comes down with a strange affliction that only she can solve—or at least try to.

It’s about 20-25% of the way done now. I’ve posted some bits of it on my Twitter but will post longer excerpts here as I’m comfortable.

It appears I’m back writing. And for the first time in a while, I’m happy about that.

Stay tuned.

Thanks for stopping by my new site. I’m still building out the basic construction so the look and arrangement may change drastically and without warning while I work out the design.

Welcome to JasonLBlair.com, a domain so great that I named myself after it.