I've always wanted an Irish setter. Such a beautiful dog! But I got into a series of long-term relationships with preexisting, incompatible pets, and now the place I live in - I love it, it's perfect for me! But, no dogs. So you see my problem.
It gets worse, though. Because I've been suffering through various intermittent crises of self-confidence as well. And with all that going on, can I handle the commitment and the responsibility, to take that on and be loyal to it, and deal with all those joys and concomitant hassles?
But if I die, no problem! I don't have to worry about any of that! So when I die, I want an Irish setter.
He would lie patiently by my graveside, gazing lovingly up at the tombstone of his dear master - engraved with this dedication: "Here Lies Blah blah Blah, Loving Master to His Good and Faithful Dog Shamus." And under that: "GOOD BOY, SHAMUS"
The scene it presents is quite touching, you must admit. I'm almost forced to bring a tear to my eye, one misty tear. Poor me! I'm all dead and shit. I didn't deserve such a fate. But then also - alas, alas for my faithful hound. His doggie heart's broken.
Oh, I'm not too worried about Shamus. Somebody'll feed him. Look at those big sad eyes!
Maybe part of the bottom of the tombstone could be fashioned into a protruding dog dish.
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