the tribute: one year on

We knew this couple who had a pair of black cocker spaniels, Tom and Caleb. When we were offered one of the puppies, the immediate answer was yes, even though Caleb had not yet conceived. Come September, we brought her home, just a tiny ball of black fuzz, and we adored her. I wanted to give her an Intellectual name, while my wife thought she should have a pretty name. We settled on Kohoutek, after a comet, and Dali, after the bizarre Spanish painter. We had no idea how fitting the names would prove to be, but the papers went off to the AKC, and she was official. Rishi, Jennifer's about-ten-year-old lhasa apso, agreed to reserve his judgement for a time and see if he could get used to her.

The next few years are a blur of wet carpet, howling, wet carpet, table-begging, and wet carpet. One thing about cockers, especially females, they're willful - and Dali could not be convinced that it was worth her trouble to hold her bladder 'til she got outside. Each time we moved, we were sure we'd have to sell my pickup to pay for new carpet, but we were fortunate that apartment managers loved her too.

Right now, as i write this while i should be working, i notice that it's 7:45am. It's right about now, one year ago, that she died. I can't say for sure, even though i was holding her, because she was trying so hard to be strong - it was hard to say when her heart finally stopped. I tried to comfort her, but i was no help: she was in so much pain from her failed kidneys, there was no relief to be had. Then, at the end, is the time i try not to remember. When she hurt so bad she was just crazed. We had been awake with her since about 4 that morning, and she cried and cried and looked at me and cried: "Can't you see how much i hurt? Why won't you fix it? I trusted you!!" If i had a gun, i would have stopped it for her then. As it was, we had to wait for the vet to open. The emergency vet that we had seen only a few hours before had given her liquids and a sedative to comfort her, and gave us the (false) assurance that she'd be okay 'til her regular vet could see her in the morning. By the time she woke from that sedative and we knew that they had been wrong, horribly wrong, they had closed. There was nothing for her but, "Please be strong, Dali. We love you. I know it hurts, i know..." If i close my eyes now, i can see her face looking up to me, the eyes showing an almost equal mixture of pain, fear and adoration. I'm trying not to close my eyes.

It's impossible to describe what i loved about Dali. She was all the things that people say dogs are: loyal, affectionate, beautiful, playful. She was also an avid face-licker. One time i was laying on the floor playing with her, and she jumped onto my chest and started licking my face. I counted 84 licks, all over my face - she never even slowed down. She was about a year old then, but that enthusiasm for face-licking never waned. She had these teeny little hairs on her upper lip... i can feel those hairs brushing my face now. I can feel her in my arms, the way i would cradle her like a baby and scratch her belly. I can feel her curly fur on my forearm and that little nub of a tail beating a hole into my ribs. I can see her putting her paw over her face if i stopped scratching, 'cause she knew it was painfully cute and would get me to scratch more. I can see her running full-throttle across the back yard toward me, those long ears flapping.

So it's been a year without her. Rishi, now 16 (sorry, "about 10"), is still around and just as uninterested in human companionship as ever. He's still getting way more attention than he wants, because we have to scratch somebody's belly. He's a treasure and i love him dearly. But it still feels like there's a big chunk of my heart that's just gone. I hope i'll always remember the puppy she was, right up until the last week of her life. Because the joy that she expressed, just at being alive and being with her people, gave her people so much joy. Because she was beautiful to behold and beautiful to hold. Because, well just because.