Oh 2024. Vladimir Poopin has valiantly crossed the rainbow bridge to be with his sister, Esper. I tried to wait until after the holiday to tell everyone, I felt extremely guilty about that - you are, in my mind, part of my family, part of the Mantis Manor. Vladimir had nine lives. He survived severe Valley Fever, a kick to a head by a horse, a couple nights in the desert alone, the entire Cabbage War, and Laryngeal paralysis - which, in his later years, had given him his telltale HOARK. Ultimately, it wouldn’t be any of these things. 11.5 years is a long time for a noodle horse. We knew he was slipping, dwindling as elderliness is wont to cause- dogs will give you the best days of your life, and ultimately one of the worst. He couldn’t get up. He couldn’t do much of anything on his own. We went to the vet and there was no other choice. I am thankful for this, as melancholic as that seems. It can be messy. It can be mired in what-if’s or expensive procedures. He was ready. I say that fully meaning it too. It is in these moments that I wonder why I do this. Why I open my home to the interwebs. Why I, in some cases maniacally, depict my everyday life with my family and dogs. And then I realize, this is exactly why I SHOULD do this. Humans like to eschew taking about the processes most natural to us (especially on social media). We glorify birth as something other than a goddamn bloodbath and we tuck death away in a corner for another day. The truth is, it is much less terrifying than we make it out to be. Vladimir proved that. He came to this earth. Caused as much beautiful chaos as possible. Hoarked fire. Shot up my roof. And went out like a mother hoarking gentleman (I have to curse less now that Locke is a parrot). The old guard is ended. The new guard is here. The Manor prevails. The world is safe. I am sure he would want us to look upon his legacy of chaos with our chins up, our smiles wide, and our snoots to the sky.