Firsts - a doggy

I am constantly reminded of my first dog because his name is one of the random security passwords for a site that I frequent. Yapper. I probably shouldn't tell you that, now my security could be breached. Damn. His name was Yapper. You know why? He yapped. He was a little dog. Black. Brown maybe. I really don't remember very much about him. I remember that my mother gave him to me and that was the last time I ever saw her. I remember he wasn't housebroken. I remember being 4/5 years old and thinking it SUCKS to wake up in the middle of the night to get a snack and step in dog shit. I remember being thankful that it was just a little dogshit - because after all, he was just a little dog. What I don't remember is kind of disturbing. I don't remember ever walking him, or watching my father walk him. I don't think he EVER got housebroken. I don't remember him ever not yapping. Mostly though I don't remember what happened to him. I remember moving and he didn't come with us. But I really don't remember if I was upset about it. Weird. I wonder what happened to him. I would like to think Yapper was adopted by our neighbors, given a yard and a nice house with soundproof walls for his new family and a Kong that was half the size of his body and he wasn't intimidated AT ALL by it. Hopefully he bit someone if they were mean to him. Hopefully he got a better name, like Gus or Rocky. I wonder if he fathered little Gusorrockys? For sure we didn't get him fixed if we couldn't even walk the little fucker. Man, I hope he was a he. Yapper would be a terrible name for a girl.

Firsts - a beginning

hey I know! I'll start another list. I do like lists. What OCDADDDYSLEXICEASILYDISTRACTED35YEAROLDWOMAN doesn't? This one will also help the problem of not being motivated (I would think). It's actually something I started a long time ago. And by started I mean I wrote two entries, never posted them then forgot all about them.

The first time I ever thought about writing:
I was sitting on the floor (facing the tv, much like now)
My grandmother's typewriter was on the coffee table (much like now)
I was probably 7, MAYBE 8.
Writing an autobiography.

I can literally remember wanting to write, getting excited, turning on the tv, setting up the typewriter, sitting down and not having a single clue what to write. (much like....)
I do remember that I wrote something about my dad not being able to keep a job and my Uncle Al being an alcoholic. I think I got maybe 3 sentences in before giving up. Or maybe Solid Gold was about to start. Either way, that autobiography never happened. It's never too late to write about your family's failures though right? Maybe tomorrow.