William killed Mo's ferrets; did he poison the poor dog as well?
(and pee-paw has a question)

nothing quite like a dead dog
my Honey died
her kidneys slowly filling with fluid
organs shutting down one by one
tubes coming out of her nose
I lay prone on the hard tile floor
next to her
and I wonder, “why can’t they make a dog that lasts a man’s whole life?”
her ribcage rises slowly, and falls
slowly
and I lay prone on the hard tile floor, knowing this night would be her last.
next to the dog I adopted from an abusive ex-girlfriend,
who ended a strained relationship with
my head stitched up and the blood wiped away,
I took the dog in,
her owner thrown in jail—and I without any feeling of loss at all
my sense of loss reserved till now
and her ribcage rises and falls, slowly
her eyes glassy
and I ask myself, just as I entered an abusive relationship with her owner,
why had I entered another relationship, with this dog
knowing it would be taken away all too soon, as all dogs are
someday
and not knowing this day would be today.
I lay still on the cold hard floor
next to her
and they take her away, wrapped up in blankets,
tubes coming out of her
I see the look of recognition in her eyes;
she knows me; she knows where she is;
I wonder if she knows she’s dying
In the morning I hold her, in a small sterile room,
and I feel the life slip away from her body,
as I hold her,
as the lethal injection is administered.
her muscles loosen, her limbs flop down like a ragdoll, as I shift in my seat
trying not to move
not wanting to feel the slack, lifeless weight of her body
not wanting to glance into her vacant eyes;
not wanting to see her eyes vacant.
not wanting to see her dead.
like my grandfather’s funeral, where I had averted my eyes entirely from the open casket
not wanting to see this man dead.
not wanting to know his body is in a state of decay;
that when that casket is lowered into the ground and covered in dirt
his body will continue to decompose, and in time
nothing is left but the bones.
I didn’t want to see her dead.
I didn’t want to picture her
bathed in flame
till nothing is left but the bones.
I sit without feeling.
and look away as she is taken from my arms and carried off…
I sit
and I think—
for a man, there’s nothing quite like a dead dog.
nothing quite like death
on a smaller scale
I should grieve more for my grandfather, I think
but then again,
death is death,
and on any scale,
there’s nothing quite like a dead dog.
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It is still confounding as to why Miz seems to be sad about his grandfather's death, yet accuses him of molesting him. WTF? It sounds more and more like William Moreno invented the molestation story as a way to excuse his own pedophilia. Basically he threw his own deceased grandfather under the bus.

William definitely has a track record of defaming the deceased relatives of his Internet adversaries, so why not defame his own dead grandfather?
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Bummmp

https://www.instagram.com/p/BXNfIIsDgHN/?taken-by=frankkrow

bumpermanski