And once again, thanks to some asshole...

...I get ready for what might turn out to be a bad day.

In the name of philosophical purity, I usually think Thomas Hobbes was wrong about everything - including what he had for breakfast the day he wrote his drivel.

And sometimes, in the name of honesty, I think he wasn't all that wrong.  Some guys just won't rule themselves.  And that's why I'm gonna spend my day festooned with this shit.

In the bathroom of the Lair there's a big bag of dog food.  And on the bag there's a picture of a Golden Retriever.  And I sat on the throne this morning and looked at that damned picture, and that got me to thinking about Magnus.

Magnus and I only lived together for a year and a half.  Every morning he was the first thing I saw when I woke up, because he always knew when I was waking up and he was always there, waiting for me to greet the day properly by giving him lovin'.  And every waking moment of every day of that year and a half I knew someday soon I'd have to kill him.  Because he had a brain tumor, and someday he's stop shaking off the convulsions, and they'd really start to cripple him, and then we'd have to give him mercy.

Now, I loved that dog like a combination idiot son and idiot brother. And I knew I was going to kill him, and that I wouldn't hesitate because when I killed him it would be the kindest, most loving thing I could do - and I wouldn't do it a moment before that became true. And when the time came, we killed him. Landlady was there, and Claire, and me. I still miss that dog, but I don't regret killing him, because I loved him and it was time.

And this morning I was thinking about that, and I went out of the bathroom, and I checked my rifle magazines, and one wasn't full, and I got my ammo can and I filled the magazine. And I thought that today I might have to kill more dogs, and that it wouldn't be in the same spirit as the time I killed Magnus. Oh, I don't hate the dogs.  I'd let them live if I could. But I can't. I've got friends and neighbors and animals of my own, and none of them did a thing to deserve these dogs.  So today I'll walk around locked and loaded, and part of me will hope I find the ferals and part of me will hope I don't.

And if I meet the asshole who started all this, I won't hurt him.  But he's the only one I'll want to hurt. Just for proving Thomas Hobbes wasn't completely wrong.