It was hot, so hot that everything seemed to be burning. You were dying. I knew you were dying. You had moved from the living room to the kitchen to get water from your water bowl once; then you gave it up. You went back to sit on the mattress on the floor. Your legs had bedsores. You had been used to walking half an hour 3 times a day at least. Now you didn’t care. Going out and sniffing things meant nothing to you. You were like a king in exile, a king who was tired and spent, but still strong. You didn’t feel like bothering with the basic things of life anymore. It was all behind you.
Archive for the ‘Rubio’ Category
My precious one: no shrine can do you justice. Nothing I can feel, no matter how deep, can describe all that you meant and mean to me. Those other ones, the ones I often see on the street, are like you, but they are not you. Your essence, your soul—both belong to you and you only. Seeing the others makes me feel less lonely for you. I will miss you always; petting them will not bring you back, but my heart is less sad when I do so.
They stood on the sidewalk. She held on tight to him, but the leash was long and she had to roll it up in her hands. “It’s fine, baby. it’s fine.” Her voice sounded normal; her body was rigid. She hoped he wouldn’t notice her anxiety. He looked at the people going past them, sniffing their essence as if he longed to see a special someone. “Let’s start walking. You tell me where.” He pulled on the leash so hard that she almost lost her balance. At the corner, he turned left. ” I know where you want to go.” Five minutes later they stood before a two-story house. It was all white, except for the dark grey garage door. He went to the door and sniffed. Their small car was at the curb. His body went down to the tires–one, two, three and four tires. He couldn’t help himself; he wanted more and more. Last he lead her to the garage door. He looked at her. “It’s ok. I understand. Smell all you want.” He stayed by the door for several minutes. “It’s almost as if you were a human being. They kicked you out and you still miss them.”
I miss my dog. He’s dead; he’s been dead for the past 9 years. I miss him as if he had gone yesterday. I don’t know how I have stood all these years without him. I remember our walks. The last months of his life were difficult and our walks reflected that. He couldn’t walk the way he had when he was well. They were jerky, often nervous walks. I wanted to make them less stressful for him, but I couldn’t. I would bend down and pet him, as if to reassure him that things would get better. He’d look up at me knowing they wouldn’t. Our small home was the only safe place for us. The streets had dangers and unfeeling people.
I did it. I did my best. Another anniversary of your parting came and I pretended it wasn’t true. I made myself believe that it wasn’t so. You are still alive, I said to myself. You are not dead. The pain in my heart isn’t real. I am not feeling it. This afternoon I will take you for a walk, one of our longer ones and then I’ll feed you. You’ll stay by my chair when I am at the computer. You’ll be patient and wait until I’m done. Later tonight we’ll go out again and once back in our small apt. we’ll be the best companions to each other. We’re lifelong friends.
How can I forget you? You were my life. I would have done anything for you, just like you would have done anything for me. You did trick me and that was not nice. I thought you’d live forever. That wasn’t so. When you left me almost 9 years ago, the world might as well have ended. But something about you, memories of you, kept me going. I need no reminders to be aware of what you and I meant to each other. The reminders appear in my life very often. I welcome them because I can’t welcome you back to Earth. To me, you are eternal.
The Immortal Dog/To Live Forever
It isn’t true. I don’t believe it. Your ashes are not scattered all over the place, who knows where. You did not die over 8 and a -half years ago. You are still here. I love you and I see you everywhere. When a K9 is protecting someone of importance, you are that dog. When an owner walks his or her German shepherd, it is you they are walking. When a child hugs a dog, he or she is hugging you. Your spirit is alive. Your soul has taken hold of my memory.
You are everywhere. They are all you. All the ones I see are you, the way you were when I knew you, when you and I were living together. I didn’t know I would miss you like this. I had no idea I would care as much as I do. I watch them go by and I follow them. There is no getting enough. My love is forever.
There they were–all the people walking hurriedly past you. You didn’t notice. All you were interested in was the black ball in your mouth. You chewed the ball first on one side, then another. Your German shepherd body was spread out on the floor. You were a great big kid having fun. A cop held you by the leash. You looked up at him with adoring eyes. Your smile spoke for the words you couldn’t utter.
7 (The Dead Lion)
It was a hot January afternoon. Someone told me to let him go. She had looked into his eyes—there was no light in them anymore. It’s no good, she said. Another person came to see him. They played for a while and then the man left. He called me from the pay phone downstairs. “He’s got to be let out of his misery. Please do it.”
That night I gave my dog his last meal—a big steak, potatoes and vegetables. He ate as if he had never seen food before. He couldn’t sleep; I couldn’t either. I wanted him with me always, my big strong German shepherd. He was my friend, my protector. He’s in Heaven.