Dreams | Dreamer Series Pt. I | Currently on hold

Author's Note 4

Hey, there.

It's me. Margo.

Look, I just wanted to say that if you have anything you thought was funny, or anything you think I would like, you should send it my way.

I'm feeling really down right now. So, I have this dog, named Booker, and Booker is 17 years old. Booker has been really sick for the last year or so, and my Mom, Dad, Stepmom and I decided that it was time to end his suffering. It got to be so bad that Booker couldn't even stand up on his own anymore. He had this... growth, type thing on his head, and I kept telling my dad that we needed to take Booker to the vet, but my stepmom (Beth) told me to stop bringing it up, because my dad was really upset, and he didn't want to face the fact that Booker was nearing the end of his life. What can I say, neither did I. 

When I went to bed last night, I cried myself to sleep because it made me feel so sad that my beloved dog (who I've had for literally my entire life) was sick. This morning when I went to school, I kept to myself. I was quiet, and reserved (which is highly unusual for me, if you know me), and I mostly stayed alone. Until my third period class. One of the office assistants came in towards the end of the period, and my math teacher handed me a yellow slip saying to leave at the end of the period for 'family business.' So when I read through the slip a few times, I felt my eyes burn, and I looked down at my notes. I rubbed angrily at my eyes, and thankfully, no one really noticed. When the bell rang, I flew to the office and checked out. As I ran out in front of the school, I whipped tears away from my eyes, and I climbed into the car.

"Is it Booker?" I asked my dad, who sat in the driver's seat. My younger brothers Reed (5) and Hollis (2) sat in their car seats in the backseat. I wondered if they even knew what was going on. Turns out they knew he was dying, but they didn't really understand it, so it wasn't as important to them as it was to me.

"Yeah. The vet's coming to our house at 6 tonight," my dad choked. I've never seen him cry before. That was what made me cry most of all. Seeing my strong, independent father cry. Because that meant that through everything we've been through, it was possible for him to cry.

We drove to Whole Foods and got Booker a big New-York steak, and some treats. I was teary-eyed the entire way home. I spent the day cuddling Booker and crying (and baking; I made some cupcakes to help myself feel better), and it's 5:40 right now, and...

And I couldn't possiibly have more anxiety right now. I don't want my brother, my best friend, my support system, my foundation to die. As I'm typing this out on my keyboard, I'm thinking to myself all the good times we had, and how he was there for me my whole life. I'm thinking of how I have all these pictures of him and me and my family all over my computer screen. I'm thinking about how I'll remember this sad day for the rest of my life, and how I've decided that every year, on this day, October 1st, I will come back and write something about him on Wattpad. And when I'm a famous video game designer/author, I will be sure to put him in every single one of the stories I write.

Expect that later on in this book, Dreams, I will bring in a black-and-white broder collie-pitbull-boxer mix named Booker to be Haven's faithful companion.

So, in twenty minutes, when the vet comes to give Booker the shot that will make him fall asleep for the last time, I am going to need a lot of help. If you see this, please email me something happy at heyoitsmargo@gmail.com. I'll need it.

Thanks.

Margo out.

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Hey again. At the time I'm writing this, it's 6:38. I went from having a dog this morning to not having a dog tonight. My dad and I fell over each other crying, and Booker took his last breath in my arms. The vets gave him two shots: one to make him fall asleep, and one to stop his heart. I almost screamed when they gave him the second one. I've never cried so much in my entire life. And don't think I'm joking.

Booker died with his eyes open. I had to close them.

Dedicated to Booker Martin, 1998-2014