Incorrectly Assuming Independence

Here’s Momo!! He’s my fuzzy, cuddly, mostly deaf screamy boy. I love him and his strange ways

—

Aeolidis tumulum festivae cerne catellae, quam dolui inmodice raptam mihi praepete fato.

Behold the tomb of Aeolis, the cheerful little dog, whose loss to fleeting fate pained me beyond measure.

Raeda[r]um custos numquam latravit inepte. nunc silet et cineres vindicat um- bra suos.

This guard of the coaches never barked unsuitably. Now he is silent and his shade protects his ashes.

Quam dulcis fuit ista quam benigna quae cum viveret in sinu iacebat somni conscia semper et cubilis o factum male Myia quod peristi latrares modo si quis adcubaret rivalis dominae licentiosa o factum male Myia quod peristi altum iam tenet insciam sepulcrum nec sevire potes nec insilire nec blandis mihi morsib(us) renides.

How sweet and friendly she was! While she was alive she used to lie in the lap, always sharing sleep and bed. What a shame, Midge, that you have died! You would only bark if some rival took the liberty of lying up against your mistress. What a shame, Midge, that you have died! The depths of the grave now hold you and you know nothing about it. You cannot go wild nor jump on me, and you do not bare your teeth at me with bites that do not hurt.

Portavi lacrimis madidus te nostra catella, quod feci lustris laetior ante tribus. ergo mihi, Patrice, iam non dabis osculla mille nec poteris collo grata cubare meo. tristis marmorea posui te sede merentem et iunxi semper manib(us) ipse meis, morib(us) argutis hominem simulare paratam; perdidimus quales, hei mihi, delicias. tu dulcis, Patrice, nostras attingere mensas consueras, gremio poscere blanda cibos, lambere tu calicem lingua rapiente solebas quem tibi saepe meae sustinuere manus, accipere et lassum cauda gaudente frequenter

Bedewed with tears I have carried you, our little dog, as in happier circumstances I did fifteen years ago. So now, Patrice, you will no longer give me a thousand kisses, nor will you be able to lie affectionately round my neck. You were a good dog, and in sorrow I have placed you in a marble tomb, and I have united you forever to myself when I die. You readily matched a human with your clever ways; alas, what a pet we have lost! You, sweet Patrice, were in the habit of joining us at table and fawningly asking for food in our lap, you were accustomed to lick with your greedy tongue the cup which my hands often held for you and regularly to welcome your tired master with wagging tail.

be rootin

be tootin

and by god be shootin

but most of all

Spying on what my post walk treat might be

Looks like jerky, smells like jerky…

Yay, chicken jerky!

Oh I like that scratch on the chin