Kato: December 27, 2007 - August 7, 2014

It's too late to be awake dearest but when I close my eyes pictures of you roll down my face. It's too late for I'm sorry, I did my best. It's too late for 'could I have done more?' Clickety clackety, jingle jangle, flip and flop. It's too late for your lovely sounds. It's late now. Sleep and return from whence you came.

The End is Nigh

I took Zoe to the veterinarian the other day for her semi-annual geriatric check-up. The doctor said that Zoe had a heart murmur and the lumps, which we had assumed were fatty deposits and arthritis inflammation, were in fact tumours. She said that she could biopsy them but really that she could predict the result. I told her that we had long ago decided that we would put darling Zoe through no further invasive procedure, even if it was merely diagnostic. The point is that even if she is riddled with cancerous tumours, I don't want to know. It won't affect how we treat her or what joy she brings to us all. My only concern is that she live her remaining days blissfully. Smelling the sunshine. Chasing butterflies. Grumbling irritably at the younger dog--as is the prerogative of the elderly. Pointing in beautiful position at whatever forest creatures pass behind our fence. Kissing us gently with her little 'corn-on-the-cob' nibbles that she gives to keep us and herself clean. I have increased her pain medication and she seems to be coping well. Somedays she falls or doesn't quite make an attempted jump. Her embarrassment is tangible. I see her looking at me, with that one whisker that never goes in the right direction, as if to say that it must have been a mistake and surely that it couldn't have been her fault that she fell. She's proud, my girl. My first girl, I call her. I love her so much. Zoe has brought me so much joy, comfort, and compassion. How could I repay that with a selfish desire to prolong her discomfort? I hope that she chooses her own time to die, when she's ready and when she knows that we will be okay.

Dog Love

I had a strange thought just now: perhaps I love this creature more than anything on earth. How can that be when I have a cherished child and a reciprocally devoted husband? Someone with a psychological background would surely advise me that I am merely projecting onto the dog. And indeed, I am.

I was born in the Year of the Dog. I have always identified with the notion of dog. I consider myself dog-like. I have even, at times, wondered longingly what it might be like to have a tail. I relate more closely to dogdom than to the realm of any other animal, except perhaps that of the elephant.

Interestingly, the elephant strikes me as very similar to the dog in its emotional makeup. Magnificently, they invest physical locations with their grief for the deceased. The don't have a fantastically functional tail but they do have an awesome trunk. The elephant maintains such a wisdom and a gentleness of spirit despite its size.

And so I truly love this dog, as if she is part of me--an extension who is independent, willful, cheeky, playful and infinitely compassionate.