A farewell to my dog with cancer
You were so ugly when we first met. Your nose all pushed in; your dirty dishwater blonde hair tufted out like a duck. Bisquit was convinced I was wrong and that you’d turn out beautiful. “Look at those eyes,” she said, meaning your eyes. I could not deny this. You reminded me of a beloved grandmother. Your eyes and her eyes were the same. Well, your one blue eye was the same as her two blue eyes. Your other eye, half blue, half brown was way too David Bowie, even the docile David Bowie singing Little Drummer Boy with what’s his name.
Bisquit called you away from your demanding sister at that first meeting. All of the others were saying in their own ways, “Pick me”. Loud ways, ways involving lots of movement. You were the only one standing there, solitary even while surrounded by those who could not remain still. You trained those eyes on us, following us as we passed you to check out your other sister, the white one, who was already so pretty, but so distrustful that she had to be kept apart from everyone else.
You are attending to your wrist right now, which has grown a small inflated innertube on it.
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