Just wondering if you are listening up there because, well, today I have reached my limit. I was raised catholic so you've been ingrained in my head since day one, but not until recently have I truly taken you in as a part of my life. I ruined my life long ago drowning myself in the bottle, but that's not on you. For the past five years I have been good. Put my life in your hands, Lord. I put down the bottle; not a drop. I put forth effort. Volunteering when I can, and helping my fellow man by spreading your word. The thing is…my life is not an inch better than it was when I was drinking. My daughter still hates me. You took my son long before that. And to top it all off the one fucking thing that showed me any affection in this entire world-my dog-and you take him from me. I found him two and half years ago running from some shit-head teens that were kicking the shit out of him. I mean he's missing a leg for Christ's sake. I took him in and for a year and half he was an asshole of a dog, and I hated every moment of him. I would regularly fantasize about strangling it; he kept me going, though, we kept each other going. This past year…he finally started to turn around. We started to connect. He would keep the cats away from our alley, and I would keep food in his belly. But of course, you know all of this.
This morning I woke up and started my routine with a sink bath and my rag, but my little friend wasn't watching from his usual spot on the rug where the dander is heaviest. This city has seen much better times and everyone knows drive-by shootings are always a threat, but usually only property damage is the biggest issue besides the dead gang banger in the street. Last night’s pistol pissing contest occurred much closer than usual, and a ricochet bullet happened to make its way through the skull of my dog. He didn't even whimper. I didn't find out until this morning. This string of events has lead to this letter. Who will hear this? Probably no one, but it's the only thing I have left since you took my dog. My question to you now Almighty Father in Heaven is: if you are capable of mighty miracles; like how you created this bountiful, blue, beautiful earth the exact ‘sweet spot’ distance from the sun making it possible that oxygen levels are not too high and flammable that fires run rampant, but just high and flammable enough to keep a group of people warm with only a few logs of wood, which happens to grow from the same planet-out of all to choose from-did that bullet find its way through that one fucking dog? I fail to see any grand master plan behind the taking of one simple dog that rubbed his ass along the carpet that is my heart. So please if you have any defense of your actions to not make this story a happy one of the time my dog almost died of a stray bullet, but now the story of the time I had to clean up canine brain off the crock pot. I CALL YOU OUT! If you are out there listening to all of this and just choosing to ignore it you can now know that I give up. I can no longer walk this earth putting time and faith into something which has only grown to become flimsier the more intelligent people become. So please know that by the time I have finished this letter it is already too late, and that I have made up my mind
Barr, James C. 1/16/1943-3/26/2015 Detroit, Michigan passed away unexpectedly Thursday. Mr. Barr is survived by his daughter. He was a resident of Detroit at the time of his passing.