8/26/03 Hello. You have heard

8/26/03

Hello. You have heard from the rest of Ian’s family. Now you will hear from me. I am Chopin. I am, respectfully, the dog.

I will be brief. Frankly, I don’t understand why I have been asked to do this. I have read with interest the entries proffered by Ian’s family. While I do not share their penchance for endless self-rumination, I suppose it is fitting that I am given the last word.

I am half Border Collie and half Labrador. My mother was most likely a serial killer that did away with several of my brothers and sisters before three of us were rescued. Yet you do not find me dwelling on issues of the past. I have read many of these stories about Ian’s dramatic and woeful childhood, and I am moved to ask: do you not think it is time to “move on,” n’est-ce pas? In your time, it happened 26 years ago; in mine, that would be 182 years ago. I think Monsieur Williams may need a hobby.

And now, to clear up some misconceptions about me. Many have asked if it was true that I defecated on the “sacred bridal path” en route to Ian and Tessa’s ceremony. They ask if I knew two hundred people were watching. They called it passive-aggressive, O! They called me many things! But, as Ring-Bearer, I believed a mixture of the mundane and magical was necessary. Yes, I did it. And I will stand by my decision. Did they ask Pollack if he was serious? I rest my point.

There has been some speculation about my sexual identity. I have been plagued by such questions since 1990. Let me put it to you this way: even before my “surgery,” I would be hard-pressed to lean one way or the other. I have never found my spiritual equal. O! There have been candidates. I have occasionally erred on my path of celibacy, but there was no future in’t. Once, I would have been open to queries from both genders, but now I have put away such things. As T.S. Eliot once wrote, “I grow old, I grow old. I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.”

And so I leave you with this: why are you here? I don’t grasp the attraction of a place like this. There is a reason there are no “dogblogs,” as you might call them. My sort are largely beyond reproach. We are not scolded for our pasts, as we do not have them. We do not need the affirmation of strangers we don’t see. A seared tuna steak, however, is another matter.

Respectfully submitted,

Your humble svt.,

Chopin