Monday, November 30, 2009: A year ago today he was still alive. I miss my little Pekingnese and his aristocratic soul. I miss being understood by him and I miss seeing him. For the rest of my life I will feel guilty because I didn’t bring him to the U.S. with me. I left him with whom I thought would take good care of him. Now I don’t know if this was so. I know that I didn’t have to pretend with Chiquito. He didn’t judge me and he didn’t laugh when I told him (by example) who I was.
Archive for November, 2009
I wish I could shame the real estate woman and the loan officer she recommended into giving me my money back—the $170,000 that I bought the condo in Atlanta for—as well as my lost excellent credit and all the other money I lost. I also wish I could shame them into giving me the condo in Buckhead back.I could give an interview and mention their names. That’s one idea. Other than that, I don’t know.They ought to be ashamed of themselves. Eugenia Renskoff
There is no going back. I feel forever gone. Last year and half of 2008 in the soup kitchen, the streets and the subway have changed me in such a way that it will be very difficult to return to the old me, the me I knew and was so comfortable with. I want to enjoy life, but I am an alien in my past. Who was I in November 2007? I don’t know that anymore and I am afraid to look. I am afraid to look at my dog Chiquito. He was alive and well then.
I still am reminded of my Tia. The Hasidic women I see at the Williamsburgh branch of the Brooklyn public library with their black wool coats, their opaque stockings and black moccasin shoes make my Tia be with me even though she’s been dead for over 22 years. They dress just like she used to dress. She has never left me and she never will. I see her wrinkled little face now as it was long ago in another life.
I miss my dogs. I miss Rubio—Rubio, the star German Shepherd, the loyal companion par excellence. Rubio was a dog that should have lived forever. Leo was the dog I had to give up for his own good. Leo was my protector but we had terrible neighbors and they made life very difficult for us. Chiquito—the Pekingese with the soul of an aristocrat. Chiquito, who was a connoisseur of what was beautiful and expensive. Then there was Otranto, my friend Nadia’s older dog. He and I understood each other with just one look. I didn’t even have to say a word—he knew. Niebla, Otranto’s half brother, was such a finicky eater that caviar would not have been good enough for him. They are gone now and I will not forget them. Each brought something to my life that was unique and not to be repeated again.
I don’t know what it was about her, but over 10 years after her death, I am still mourning Nadia. To me, she was/is an unforgettable woman. Her sad brown eyes, the squalor that she lived in, her 3 dogs—all became part of my life, part of the word family. My family–our family.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009: What happened to Oreo, the Brooklyn dog, must never happen again. She paid with her life for her owner’s cruelty, stupidity and abuse.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
They couldn’t find the vein in his leg. They had to give him 2 injections. I watched and hoped that he would survive them, just like he had survived so many things. He was my companion, my friend. When he gave up and closed his eyes for good, he looked like a Golden Giant. I kissed him goodbye.
A stove, a countertop, a black and white vinyl floor, wooden chairs and a table to match. Spacious kitchen cabinets and a blue and yellow tiled wall. I look at all these from a distance and watch the bright yellow light sheltering the kitchen. It’s like a cocoon, enveloping everything and keeping it safe. Someone opens the fridge and takes out a yogurt. Why, I exclaim, surprised. That was me long ago. Two years seem like forever—like never ago.
Monday, November 16, 2009: I am very sad that Oreo has been put down by the ASPCA. May she rest in Peace! Eugenia Renskoff