In terms of Noem

[Xavier Breath]

47. My father's cousin had a Brittany Spaniel named Patches.

My father liked the dog and was offered a pup when Patches sired a brood. The pup was born in the spring of '73 when I was just six, and my father named him Prince after an unknown, diminutive, teenage musician from Minnesota (just kidding!). He was named after his dog when he was a kid. My father was insistent on him being a hunting dog and dragged me along for Prince's first hunt. We were in a wooded area with large weeds and at some point he got away from us. For the next 90 minutes we searched everywhere for him, my father occasionally admonishing me not to get lost, too.

We found him eventually, covered in burrs no less, and by that point I was on the verge of hysterics. When we got home I ran crying to my Mom begging her not to let him go hunting again. And, he never did. Nor did I. I'm sure my father was disappointed with both of us, but a scant three years later my parents were divorced and Prince moved from his outdoor pen into the house. He lived to the ripe old age of 13 1/2. To this day each year my Mom acknowledges his death on December 8 and still mourns for him, as I do.

What a fucking monster Noem is.