So, we’re going to make wills. We’ve talked before about doing this, but never too seriously and never with any urgency. I didn’t take it too seriously I guess because even though I’ve long been what one would technically have to call a bourgeois homeowner, I still sometimes think of myself as an assetless bohemian. I know all the best ways to sneak off the property undetected in case I ever have to get around the landlord, even though I don’t have a landlord. Funny how having a child focuses you on the here and now, though. I no longer have the luxury of assuming that my existence has little or no consequence to anyone. I mean, sure, Mama Dog would have grieved if I’d popped off a year or two ago, but she’d still know how to feed herself. Baby Dog, though…different matter entirely. It would be utterly irresponsible of us not to plan for her welfare in the worst of eventualities. It doesn’t much matter who gets my back issues of Premiere magazine (hint: Bernardo, free up some closet space, just in case), but who will be Bay Dog’s guardian? What will we do with the house? Who will be appointed by the court to see to it that she understands that colour is properly spelled with a “u?”
Best case scenario, of course, is that both we live until she’s at least 18, and there are no problems. But I suppose “we live and there are no problems” is kind of the default best-case scenario in any given situation.
And paul, I'll be leaving the company's leftover inventory to you. Hope you have a big garage. If you come down for a reunion in February, I'll let you off the hook.