I really tried.
I harangued my friends on Facebook looking for the right dog. A friend reached out, the same one who, in her evil, evil way, gave me the beagle to “foster,” and asked if I wanted to foster a chihuahua. I said sure, but the picture of the chi included another mini, some terriorist, so I said I’d take both, figuring at least one of them would be mine.
And they’re both really nice dogs.
But they’re not my dog.
In late March the Beagz and I toured a property for sale, a jalopy of a house that was a nice size for me to handle, downsizing from my current big digs of multiple floors, renters, and all that entails, in my dream location in Provincetown, Cape Cod. She and I had spent years there roaming the streets, sitting in restaurants, walking the beaches, talking with friends, making new ones.
I fell in love with the place, and I don’t think I’ve ever in my life spent as much time day-dreaming as I did thinking about the time we’d spend there, Nellie and I, in our cozy Provincetown home once the long list of repairs were done and we could move in.
The closing was April 26th. She died on the 25th.
The terriorist, Methhead Mary, I placed with a good friend, and she’s going to have a fantastic life with four adults and three kids doting on her as she tells them all what to do, and where to do it.
Ali the chihuahua, whose mantra “I am a strong, Latina woman. I am calm as fuck” may or may not be taking effect, stayed with me as a foster, but then the Trollop died. For those who don’t know, she’s my father’s ersatz partner, thought they’ve lived apart for some time, and for reasons I cannot fathom he is sad. In typically annoying form, this is requiring many trips to many places I don’t want to be far from where I live, and so Ali will be going to another foster person tomorrow because it would be animal abuse to take her to all those places, be around those people, and in the construction zones in between.
This is how I found her this morning when I woke up.
That’s eight pounds of sheer manipulation right there.
I lost another special animal many years ago, and I wrote this song for him. I’ve been thinking about being lonely, and lost companions, and how sometimes you just can’t fill a hole until it’s ready to be filled.
(If you can’t get the audio file, it’s here on SoundCloud)
Someday the house will be ready, the repairs and fixes done. Someday the hole will be filled.
But not today.
Morning Teaistisms
Truly, iced mint tea is one of the greatest things on earth. I’ll fight anyone who says otherwise.
As soon as I’m done with my tea.
Nellie was special, but you will find a new dog to ease your heart in time. Not a replacement, but a successor.
Although, I've had 7 beagles now and it's difficult to consider a real dog after that. Each left a huge hole when they departed, and each new one has been a comfort and an occasional hair-pulling torment. They are little problem-solving insatiable appetites on 4 legs.
Somewhere out there is a beagle who wants a life of luxury. Walk carefully. You may be it.
So lovely. So your dog helped you find the place which eventually you will call home. In India, they have a concept called "rna" which is a debt that people can have to each other or to an animal, or vice versa. I think your dog had a debt to you (and probably worked the other way too), which was completed when she saw you'd be well settled in an appropriate space. Then, having fulfilled her debt to you, she was free to leave the planet. Although I suspect she is always close by, watching over you.
Hugs!