Sunday, January 20, 2008
abide
Yes.
"The Dude abides." - The Big Lebowski
Yes.
Yes he does.
As I write these humble words, my dear reader, I must share with you that I ache. Oh, Lo'dy how I ache.
I ache within body, mind, and soul.
And while I'm quite pleased to report that my father is one week away from retiring from a forty year career to spend his remaining days traveling the country with my mother in their new home on wheels, a 38 foot bus of an RV, I can't report similar pleasant news about my dog.
My dog just died.
In my arms.
In the vet's office.
At around 4:30 Friday afternoon.
The vet is a wonderful woman who I greatly admire and respect most highly. She is the mother of one of my students, I have known her many years.
She shot him up with some bad-ass opiate pain med so that his pain would finally end. He relaxed limp in my lap. A few minutes later she returned and gave him an intravenous barbituate overdose. His heart stopped almost instantly. His body jerked and struggled for a couple last gasps of air.
"A reflex," she said, "He is already gone. . . I'm gonna leave you alone for a few minutes, take all the time you need."
Yes, he was gone. His eyes were open but they had lost their light.
I gently picked up his head and leaned down for a final embrace. . .
The damn dogged grumped at me. He grumped at me!
He let out a soft slow low gutteral growl, not of anger but of irritation and annoyance. Just like had done thousands of times before throughout the brief decade plus of our lives together.
He never was a very snuggly dog.
But he was my dog. He was my companion, my friend. He helped my though the most difficult period in my life thus far. He loved me as we sat on the couch with his his head in my lap, or curled at my feet on the pulled out sofa bed. He loved me in the depths of many drunken dark nights when I felt as though no one would again.
Yes, that was eight or nine years past, but I think of him and remember it as though it were yesterday.
I feel no shame in sharing with you, my dear reader, that I wept like I have not done since I was a small boy.
I wept then, and in quiet moments of reflection I still do.
This has been one long sucky ass weekend.
And did I mention that I ache?
I ache emotionally and I grieve for the lost life of another beloved friend. I see him in the shadows, and lurking in the corner of my eye. As I quietly get up in the middle of the night to go check on and turn The Boy, I am careful not to step on him as he lies sleeping at my side in his bed on the floor. In mid step I remember he is not there.
Physically, I awoke this morning with my back, chest, shoulders, and arms on fire. I could not move my hands without great effort. They were like clubs, useless on the ends of my arms.
My whole body aches.
Yesterday afternoon, I spent about five hours digging what I referred to all day as "a hole" in our backyard. I hacked, hoed, shoveled, and dug until the impending darkness, ever present cold, and imminent exhaustion finally took hold and I called it a day.
Yeah, that's right, "a hole". I can't yet bring myself to call it what it is: "a grave". That still just hurts a little too much.
I'm about 18 inches down. My goal is at least three feet. No science or anything behind it. It just seems deep enough for a dog. At about a foot down I hit a layer of solid limestone. It is rock, yes, but is at least still soft enough to be hackable with a garden hoe.
And cripes is it ever a giant pain in the ass, not so much literally as with the rest of my body, but figuratively, you know, to dig through that damned solid rock.
Just picture me, my dear reader. Imagine me, if you will, standing out there, in the corner of our backyard, whacking at a hole in the ground with a garden hoe. A can of Lone Star is at my side and the Greats -- Johnny, Buck, Waylon, Willie, George, Merle, Hank one and two -- sing their sad laments on the briPod.
Don't you think it's just fucking ridiculous?
Cuz' I do.
But dig I will and dig I must.
And so I will.
I will abide.
|
"The Dude abides." - The Big Lebowski
Yes.
Yes he does.
As I write these humble words, my dear reader, I must share with you that I ache. Oh, Lo'dy how I ache.
I ache within body, mind, and soul.
Everybody knows that the boat is leakingI've got that broken feeling.
Everybody knows that the captain lied
Everybody got this broken feeling
Like their father or their dog just died
- Leonard Cohen
And while I'm quite pleased to report that my father is one week away from retiring from a forty year career to spend his remaining days traveling the country with my mother in their new home on wheels, a 38 foot bus of an RV, I can't report similar pleasant news about my dog.
My dog just died.
In my arms.
In the vet's office.
At around 4:30 Friday afternoon.
The vet is a wonderful woman who I greatly admire and respect most highly. She is the mother of one of my students, I have known her many years.
She shot him up with some bad-ass opiate pain med so that his pain would finally end. He relaxed limp in my lap. A few minutes later she returned and gave him an intravenous barbituate overdose. His heart stopped almost instantly. His body jerked and struggled for a couple last gasps of air.
"A reflex," she said, "He is already gone. . . I'm gonna leave you alone for a few minutes, take all the time you need."
Yes, he was gone. His eyes were open but they had lost their light.
I gently picked up his head and leaned down for a final embrace. . .
The damn dogged grumped at me. He grumped at me!
He let out a soft slow low gutteral growl, not of anger but of irritation and annoyance. Just like had done thousands of times before throughout the brief decade plus of our lives together.
He never was a very snuggly dog.
But he was my dog. He was my companion, my friend. He helped my though the most difficult period in my life thus far. He loved me as we sat on the couch with his his head in my lap, or curled at my feet on the pulled out sofa bed. He loved me in the depths of many drunken dark nights when I felt as though no one would again.
Yes, that was eight or nine years past, but I think of him and remember it as though it were yesterday.
I feel no shame in sharing with you, my dear reader, that I wept like I have not done since I was a small boy.
I wept then, and in quiet moments of reflection I still do.
This has been one long sucky ass weekend.
And did I mention that I ache?
I ache emotionally and I grieve for the lost life of another beloved friend. I see him in the shadows, and lurking in the corner of my eye. As I quietly get up in the middle of the night to go check on and turn The Boy, I am careful not to step on him as he lies sleeping at my side in his bed on the floor. In mid step I remember he is not there.
Physically, I awoke this morning with my back, chest, shoulders, and arms on fire. I could not move my hands without great effort. They were like clubs, useless on the ends of my arms.
My whole body aches.
Yesterday afternoon, I spent about five hours digging what I referred to all day as "a hole" in our backyard. I hacked, hoed, shoveled, and dug until the impending darkness, ever present cold, and imminent exhaustion finally took hold and I called it a day.
Yeah, that's right, "a hole". I can't yet bring myself to call it what it is: "a grave". That still just hurts a little too much.
I'm about 18 inches down. My goal is at least three feet. No science or anything behind it. It just seems deep enough for a dog. At about a foot down I hit a layer of solid limestone. It is rock, yes, but is at least still soft enough to be hackable with a garden hoe.
And cripes is it ever a giant pain in the ass, not so much literally as with the rest of my body, but figuratively, you know, to dig through that damned solid rock.
Just picture me, my dear reader. Imagine me, if you will, standing out there, in the corner of our backyard, whacking at a hole in the ground with a garden hoe. A can of Lone Star is at my side and the Greats -- Johnny, Buck, Waylon, Willie, George, Merle, Hank one and two -- sing their sad laments on the briPod.
Don't you think it's just fucking ridiculous?
Cuz' I do.
But dig I will and dig I must.
And so I will.
I will abide.
|
Comments:
Post a Comment
