Birth, Death, & Life in Between

HUMOR

Jan 06, 2023

Happy New Year! *insert iMessage fireworks*

Have you missed me?

A lot has transpired since we last spoke. By some miracle, I suffered no delayed flights or thwarted travel plans between LA, Indianapolis, St. Louis, and back again. My family weathered some storms together. After a few difficult months, our family dog Lucky passed away. We cried. Celebrated Christmas. Let the door hit 2022 on its way out and ushered in 2023 with open, albeit wary, arms. And as of today, Adam (my partner/bf/bff/roommate/love of my life) has circled the sun 27 times. Today’s post is dedicated to these beginnings and endings and the celebrations in between.

Lucky was an ass man. The only thing he loved more than sniffing ass was having his own scratched. On the ass front, or back, I should say, he was truly insatiable. We request that you all salute some ass today in his honor.

Lucky lived a long, storied life from 2011-ish to the end of 2022. The first year or so of his life was spent on the streets of Indianapolis. A friend of our father found him trotting along the interstate, traveler as he was, and asked if he’d like to settle down at home with us. There was a guard dog position open, which we didn’t know we were hiring for, and he gladly accepted the role.

The two of us didn’t start off on the best foot. As a teen, I was a horrible judge of character. Lucky was a particularly great one. He could spot an asshole from a mile away. That meant when my first high school boyfriend pulled up to take me out, Lucky let me know he didn’t approve. I would brace myself as his car sped down the street, racing out to the driveway trying to beat Lucky to the car. I was never fast enough. Lucky meant business. He was hardass in those days, literally ripping my shoes off my feet as I tried to hurdle him to go on those pathetic dates. Once, when I was all dressed up to go dancing with that turd, I watched Lucky dig his paws into the mud before jumping all over me and barking like mad. We yelled at each other a lot back then. Because I was an idiot, and he was a good protector I had no intention of listening to.

He softened with age, and I began learning my lesson. Finally the friends and boyfriends I brought home would pass his test and earn the privilege of scratching Lucky’s backside. He was a fierce protector up until his last days. He knew all of the neighbors’ cars and would alert us when an unfamiliar vehicle rolled past the house. He never let a package get delivered without letting us know it had arrived. He was all bark and no bite. And boy did he bark. Like Lucky, I think we all just want to take care of our families and feel heard.

Lucky was a firecracker in his younger years, darting out the front door any time it was left open for more than a few moments. He loved the chase. And hanging out with his bff/lover/enemy (we could never tell which), the german shepherd at the end of the road. One year, on Christmas Eve, he sprinted out the door between our legs as we carried in presents from an early family celebration. My parents were pissed. They, I mean Santa, had a long night ahead of them, and no one wanted to run out into the cold to coax him back inside. We tried in vain for a while before giving it a rest. Surely he’d be back before it got too late, cold as it was. Plus, he’d survived on his own as a pup, he knew his way around.

As the stockings were stocked and presents piled under the tree, Lucky still didn’t show. Finally my parents decided to leave the porch light on and go to sleep. We woke up the next morning to a white Christmas. My sister, Gabby, looked out our bedroom window to see Lucky trotting through the freshly fallen snow with an entire deer leg in his mouth. He dropped it on our front porch, a proud pooch, having delivered his very own Christmas offering. We joked for years that it was a reindeer leg. And honestly, Santa should watch the mouth on Blitzen if he doesn’t want stuff like that to happen. Just saying, Lucky always fought fair. That reindeer had it coming.

Despite the barking and leg looting, Lucky was a big softie. When I was suffering from what my therapist diagnosed as “clinically down bad,” Lucky would lay by my bedside day in and day out. He provided sloppy kisses and quiet company when I needed them most. He could always tell when I needed a friend. I miss him dearly. We all do.

Lucky is survived by his parents, Chad and Zoe; his four older sisters, Ariana, Gabby, Vivian, and Vanessa; and his younger brother Leonardo Da Vinci Louis Newhouse. A private memorial service has already been held, but the family kindly asks that if you’d like to pay your respects, in lieu of sending flowers, please go get some ass.

Adam Ferguson, WHO IS ALIVE AND WELL — DON’T GET IT TWISTED, turns 27 years young today. Our Capricorn king, secret sorcerer of silliness, analytics adventurer, smart cookie, good lookie, best listener across the seven seas, deserves all our celebration. I’ll try not to rub it in because I get to live with him and love him every day, but Adam is quite literally the best ever. The best, some might say, since sliced gluten-free bread. To know him is to love him, as the cliche goes. I have never heard someone say a bad thing about this man. (Actually, if you have something bad to say, please email me because it’s kind of annoying that everyone (and I mean EVERYONE) thinks he’s flawless?!) Here I am, all up in his grill all the time, and even with all this exposure to his quirks and smells, I also can’t think of a single bad thing. He’s a gift to the world and to me. Happy birthday to my main squeeze, my island breeze, my stinky cheese.