My dog Mango died this morning, he was seventeen. You can read my little obituary for him in the previous post.
I was surprised, leaving the animal hospital, to see that it wasn’t even 9 a.m. Drove around. Parked at the Gables cuz I’ve always found it comforting. Sat int eh car and notified my mom and brother (whose reactions I was relieved to find mournful and consoling and not the same sort of mess as me), then my roommate, and then I went for coffee. Had my laptop with me so I wrote and posted an essay about Barefoot Contessa. Walked around, went to the bookstore. Now I’m at Merrick Park getting a beer. Gonna catch a movie.
I feel calm. Resentments melted away. It’s overcast and gloomy outside with the outer bands of Hurrican Dorian grazing us. World feels mercifully quiet. Everything feels gentle.
I didn’t stay to see him euthanized. There was this torpor in the moment where I was wondering if I”d done the right or wrong thing. Told myself I couldn’t handle it but also knew he would want me there if he was facing his final moments.
Now I just feel quiet about it.
Over the past two weeks I’ve heard Laz, Elle, and my dad call out to me from some other room to say, of Mango, “He’s looking for you!”
That’s ringing in my ears right now with some kind of feeling I can’t name. A quiet weight. He’s looking for you. He was blind and always a little disoriented and he could sometimes look a little panicked about it. Again and again in my head: He’s looking for you he’s looking for you.