musings of a 21st century journalist
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Two nights ago, I gathered my things from the living room, including Henry the Maltese and went to bed, like I do every night. I had just settled in under my sheets and was planning on doing some reading, when I looked over to find that Henry was not on his usual spot on my bed. I looked around the room without getting up and I couldn’t spot him anywhere. I knew he couldn’t have gone out, as the door was locked, so I decided to look under the bed. Even though it’s one of his favorite spots, he wasn’t there either. I started to call out his name and got up, but soon enough my panic had melted into uncontrollable fits of laughter, as I saw that he had climbed into my knitting basket that was full of yarn and decided to perch on it indefinitely.

Naturally, I had to get out the camera and snap a photo of my dog-hen before he decided that nesting time was over.

I couldn’t contain my laughter. I sat there wondering what has possessed him to climb into that basket. He wouldn’t even budge when I tried to move him.

His shenanigans were just another reminder of how much he brightens my day and brings the utmost joy to my life. There are days when I can’t remember what life was like before him. How on Earth did I live for 22 years and not have him with me? It’s inconceivable.

The way he goes mental when I come home, how he licks my tears when I cry, the invisible intruders he barks at on his nightly patrol of the house and the persistent way he scratches at my legs, as if to say “lift me in your arms, now,” these are all moments that I am always going to remember. I can’t bear to think of my life without him, even though the reality is, that that time will come.

But let’s not talk about that now.

Today, Henry the Maltese turns 2-years-old. Two years ago, I drove out to Hemet, Calif., to see a litter of Maltese puppies. It was just him and his brother left. They were both placed in my arms. His brother was sweet yet docile. Henry began to gnaw at my fingers immediately. That’s when I knew that it was meant to be. I drove back two months later and brought him home, where he proceeded to take a nice long piss on my mother’s treasured Persian rug. Oh well.

There is so much to say about Henry. He’s only 6 lbs, but he has more heart than I ever could have imagined. He is fiercely protective of his toys and nothing makes him happier than getting a new one. He loves eating pepper and blueberries and runs circles around the dining room table when he’s excited. When you’re sad, he’s sad. When you’re happy, he’s happy. He wont even think about leaving your side if you’re having a bad day, sacrificing food and water to keep you company.

Last summer, Henry had to have surgery for luxated patellas on both of his knees, which I documented on this site. For such a little dog, he’s been through a lot. He spent almost two months holed up in his crate, with wrappings and stitches and an Elizabethan collar which I detest so much. But he pulled through and although it was difficult for him, it was one of the hardest experiences I went through in my life. It was in those moments of his pain, that I realized what it was like to have and care for children.

Henry is everything I’ve ever wanted and more. I hope you have a good birthday King Henry, I’ll have new toys and a tea saucer full of green bell peppers waiting for you.

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Cumpleañoz Feliz

Posted by liana in Life - (1 Comments)

I turned 24-years-old yesterday. It was a strange feeling waking up in the morning, with a slight lump in my throat. Turning 23 was much better, in fact, in my opinion it’s the perfect age. You’re over 21, so you don’t have any real laws against you, yet you’re still considered “young.”

It was like any other day really, except I got treated to a lunch outing, card and cupcakes at work – that was nice and unexpected and really made my day bearable and lovely. When I came home, there was a cake waiting for me, a gift from my sister, in addition to the fact that she wallpapered my entire door with the dazzling Edward Cullen. I’m bordering on psychotic, I know.

I was going to write about what I accomplished this year, but I’d rather do that for my New Year’s post. I don’t like to count my accomplishments by age, doing them by year is much better and it doesn’t remind you that there are millions of people in the world being more productive than you, while they’re younger than you.

It’s hard to believe that I’ve lived for 24 years. It’s harder to believe where my life would be right now if my family hadn’t moved to the U.S. If I had stayed in Tehran, as I was in the photo above. It’s still harder to think about what my life is going to be, that’s honestly the hardest part. I thought I knew, but I have no idea. We like to think so, but we’re not always the controller of our destinies.

More than anything, what I’d like for my birthday is to share it with my grandpa. I wish he could have seen what I’ve become, what my sister and cousins have become. I miss him immensely and would have liked to share so many moments of my life with him. Sometimes I remember him and realize what a passionate man he was. I think I might have gotten my passion from him. When he would sit near the dining room table and speak about Armenia, his motherland, his home, his love, his eyes would well up with tears. I used to laugh it off and tell him to stop, but almost 15 years later, I understand. I completely understand.

Here’s to another year. I hope it will be better.

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