The Shower That Wasn’t

Tuesday, December 30, 2008: Today is my birthday and I wanted a shower. I wanted to take a shower. But it was not meant to be. I can’t say that it was anybody’s fault. It’s just that the key to the shower location turned out to be the wrong key. Now, when will I have to wait to get that precious thing that I once used to take for granted? The answer is I don’t know, but not knowing is driving me crazy.

St. Bart’s Soup Kitchen

Saturday, December 27, 2008: I stand in line at St. Bart’s soup kitchen on 50th Street, between Park and Lexington, 3 times a week. They used to hand out dinner starting at 6 in the evening, but lately, with the weather being so cold, they open the doors at 5:30 or so. The lines are longer than they were a couple of months ago and very often we get great extras along with our dinner. Pret a Manger often sends sandwiches and salads and my old friends at Starbucks espresso brownies and cookies. There are large slices of pizza and milk and oranges.

I am very grateful to St. Bart’s. When I was on the streets of Manhattan, I’d go there for breakfast and it was always yummy.

Christmas with Lauchita

Wednesday, December 24, 2008: Lauchita and I will be spending Christmas by ourselves in Williamsburgh, Brooklyn. Just us. No one else. I don’t know about her (Lauchita hasn’t said anything to me about it) but I could use a human being to be with tiomorrow. It’d be so great, but it’s not meant to be. Same old story.

Death in Parts

Wednesday, December 23, 2008: Now that I know where Chiquito is buried, I can no longer fool myself into thinking that they’ve taken him somewhere far, maybe to a new family. I know he’s gone and his death has come a little bit at a time. That is worseI , I think, than all at once. It hurts more. San Francisco Solano, a city in the partido de Quilmes, is a long way from where we lived in Argentina. They say he’s buried in a garden. I’d like to think of Chiquito surrounded by flowers and beautiful things. He loved the best.

Chiquito en el Recuerdo

Mi perrito pekines llamado Chiquito ha muerto. Tenia anemia, algo que yo no sabia hasta que se descompuso. Fue mi amigo y compinche. Nos gustaban las mismas cosas y caminabamos por las calles de Vicente Lopez por horas y horas. Chiquito era realmente mi alma gemela.Lamentablemte, yo estoy fuera del pais y no pude estar con el en sus ultimos dias. Lo echaba mucho de menos y ahora me parece mentira que se haya ido. Lloro y pienso a toda hora. Chiquito habia nacido aproximadamente en 1997,pero parecia tener la energia de un perro mucho mas joven. No tengo fotos de el. Lo encontre en la esquina de mi casa y me siguio del supermercado hasta mi departamento. Estuvimos juntos muy poco tiempo, pero nunca me voy olvidar de el. Eugenia Renskoff

Chiquito As I saw Him

Wednesday, December 17, 2008: He had an instinct for the best. He knew where the best houses, the best buildings and the best places to take a walk were. We would go at night and just wander all over our neighborhood. Chiquito would pull me towards the houses he knew would please me. His taste was impeccable and at last I found my soul mate, the one living being who would not stand in judgement of me. Even if he had beenable to talk, Chiquito never would have said: You don’t really like this. You like the other stuff, the lesser places. The good stuff is not for you.

Saturday nights we used to go by clubs that played big band type music. He understood that that was something I enjoyed listening to and we’d stand on the sidewalk and watch the couples dance, just like they did in the movies.

Another time we got caught in the rain and we took shelter under the awning of a fancy furniture store near our local supermarket. Chiquito sat at my feet aswe watched the rain come down. He looked up at me and smiled. That’s when I knew he was a great companion. I often thought he must have lived in a fancy housewith an elderly lady. She must have spoiled him rotten. Then, when she died, the relativesdidn’t want to/couldn’t keep him and he found himself on the street. Chiquito must have gone from prince to beggar overnight. And I found him on the streets of Buenos Aires.

A year ago today, December 17, 2007 was the last time I saw him. It was a Monday and he died on a Monday–December 15, 2008.

Tribute to Chiquito

Monday, December 15, 2008: Chiquito, my aristocratic dog, died this morning. At first, he tried to fight for his life but then he gave up and now he’s gone. I will never forget him. I will never forgive myself for being so far away from him when he needed me most.

Tribute to Chiquito

 

 

 

 

 

December 15, 2008: I just found out that Chiquito died this morning. He tried to fight for his life, but then he gave up and now he’s gone. I will never forget the way we walked together. Our walks were long and aristocratic. He knew the best neighborhoods in Buenos Aires and he took me to see them.

Right now I am devastated. I cannot forget (or forgive) the fact that I was away from him when he died. Someone else caressed him. Someone else petted him and told him how special he was.

I lit a candle for him here in Manhattan. I stopped by St. Patrick’s and prayed for him. I also asked him to forgive me.

Anemic Chiquito

Monday, December 15, 2008: I have learned that Chiquito, my aristocratic dog, has anemia. He is an older dog, so that is a big problem. I didn’t know anything about this until a few days ago. When I would call the neighbor who was taking care of him, she’d say everything was fine. The fleas she let him have must have contributed to the anemia, of that I’m sure.

The Door Banger

Sunday, December 14, 2008: She opened the door of the community bathroom while I was in there and after seeing that the light was on. She gave me a dirty look to end all dirty looks. Then she banged the door shut again. I can understand the Italian woman’s frustration, but is no way to act.