Being There


Dear Eugene,

My dog Sumi is about half way done.  She finally catches up with me.

Her hair is not as smooth and more white is growing out of her brown part.  I take these as signs of her aging.  I won't bother to Google and verify.  If you know please don't tell me.

All my worries for her I'll only have to make a copy of them and repeat for the second half, like taking prescription, once in the morning, once at night. She's healthy now and sickness comes with aging; I know. But I've been imagining many times over her getting old and sick since the very beginning, a helpless ball of meat on my lap.  Of course it's different when it finally hits you, the real thing, but I've cried about her dying more than once before so I got my practice.  It takes only a cup of water to replenish the melancholy.

And what else...?

Yeah, I've seen her being run over by car, skinned by coyote, and together we've faced down many a bear.  I've got my routine worked out.  Since Sumi is really a chicken disguises as a dog, I have a feeling she'll do her usual celestial dance of one within a circle of no more than two feet in diameter, barking up a topical storm to scare herself out of being scared.  I hope she will put on an act big enough to distract as I charge forward giving Winnie one big punch right in the nose.  I don't play basketball but I saw myself jumping up and got what I aimed for.

It helps.  Telling myself stories.  Thinking ahead.  Reading.  And now writing.  It wore my guts out to picture the punch.

A week ago when walking down the hill Sumi was scared by a dark shadow and I followed her view to join in the scare, all happened so quickly that she jerked and I took a step back almost right after and our hearts were at one.  It was my own shadow.  Of course I knew that already.

I was just happy to have joined.

Yours, Alex

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