Stupid Cast-Iron Dog Mudscraper

There's a dog-shaped cast-iron mudscraper that sets outside the front door to the family home. It looks like a black dachshund (almost identical to the one above). It's really, really heavy (it's made of cast-iron after all) and it has been outside the front door of every house my parents have ever lived in since I was born--six houses total.

I was looking out the kitchen window this afternoon, washing out my cereal dish, and I found myself staring at that stupid, peeling-paint, rusty-smudged, cast-iron dog for the longest time.

See, the house here has been sold. It's in escrow now. There's going to be an estate sale. Everything........well, pretty much everything.........is being sold.

So I'm staring at the dachshund mudscraper and all I can think of is how wrong it feels that, sometime in the near future, that stupid dachshund mudscraper is probably going to be in front of somebody else's home instead of my parents'.  It's almost as if something about me is going to go away if that stupid mudscraper isn't setting outside the front door of my parents' house. Except......my parents don't really have a house anymore do they? And sure, I could just take the stupid mudscraper dog to the house I'm going to be renting and set it outside the front door to that house, but I know full well that if I do that with the stupid dog mudscraper, I'll be doing it with who-knows-what-other-stupid-thing that's been part of every house my parents have lived in.

Tonight.......I'm trying to let go of the stupid cast-iron dog mudscraper...