Then, Now, Forever
Two days after Lefty died, I went bravely on my first hike without him. A small road sign for the Pacific Crest Trail passed by the car window, and we pulled off to follow the path. We walked through blackened forests while big dark clouds rolled in and out, now drenching us, now not, and the mixture of rain and sun, of death and life everywhere, well it felt exactly right. All I could do was nod along. Yes, that happened. Yes, more stuff will happen.
When the vet came over last Friday, Lefty wagged up to her like he would any other visitor. Three days earlier, I'd stabbed the shovel into the hard dirt of late summer while he rested on the lawn watching me, looking straight into my eyes, and I swore he knew that I was digging the hole for him. He wasn't afraid. On the threshold of the kitchen floor, where he always would lay to feel the cool tile and also to keep a close watch on me, he now slouched there sick and struggling to breathe. His head was in my lap, the wild river of my undignified tears raining all over it. I told him he was the best boy. There was the last big breath, and then the final quiet.
It's hard. But I'm so glad I was there. Being in the presence of death is powerful--it's the ultimate mystery. My intuition was high, and I felt the energy exchange. First it was in there, then it was out here. We wrapped that soft fluffy body in a soft, fluffy blanket and carried it out into the yard, knowing all the while that it was no longer him.
Anyway, my guy is gone.
He's with Benny now. With Jake. With Poa. With Otis. With Orchid. With all our old buddies, then, now and forever.
Lefty's Prayer
The dog named Lefty came into my world on the heels of opening an indoor skatepark, a tough era that wouldn’t have been navigable without the company of a life-affirming fluffball. And at this, he excelled. For the past 5 years, Lefty went where I went. Working. Skateboarding. Camping. It was all better with him there.
Two weeks ago, I found out Lefty had cancer. Now he’s on the other side. He departed us on an auspicious Friday—a lunar full-moon eclipse. We buried him at sunset under a sapling maple as dark-winged birds flapped south in formation and the sky turned peach overhead.
In 5 years, we had enough adventuring to last 5 lifetimes. Still, I thought I’d have more time. But you get what you get. We aren’t guaranteed shit. I do know that there’s no easy way to decide when it’s the right time to end another life.
Despite the profound silence in the house now, I feel lucky. How lucky am I for knowing this giant-pawed squealin’ bear? Friendship with animals is, maybe, one of the purist, most joy-giving things in existence. Dog tails wag with happiness and hope; their soft coats offer warmth and comfort. We feed them, we exercise them, we command them to sit and stay—and then we tell them they’re good. In return, they LOVE us. Pow!
The September Report
The mood I've been in for the last week and a half, contemplative you could call it, seems to suit this time of year, when summer floats like a feather to the ground, leaving you with a lovely sort of early fall, cool and clear, the sun inarguably gold—always shining on you at some odd autumn-ish angle.
I've been spending a lot of time at home. When I walk the dog, we walk slowly. It's okay to slow down. And it's okay when things end. Loss is, when you get to thinking about it, just the other side of love. Gah, which reminds me, I was watching the Netflix animated version of that Antoine De Saint-Exupéry book The Little Prince on Sunday afternoon (hey, I find it relaxing to watch cartoons on lazy weekends whilst I cook and tinker, don't you?). Anyway, this movie snuck up and caught me unawares. Before I knew it I was gritting my teeth and the tears were flowing because, as it turns out, The Little Prince, well it's a story about death. Stupid cartoons ...
Paint It Black
I'm about to leave on a quintessential summer vacation, but first, here's a small post about a big game. Paintball. Have you ever? It's very and truly scary. You sweat and your mask fogs up. All you can hear is your own breath coming in short frantic bursts. Right away or after awhile, it makes no difference—you always get hit. It always hurts. As the game wears on, your greedy hoarding of bullets gives way to reckless shooting everywhere, anywhere. And that, my friends, is paintball.
It was my first time playing, and I went ahead and wore a high-vis purple sweatshirt. Hindsight being 20-20, I could've worn black, but it honestly never occurred to me. I learned many lessons that night—the virtues of camo was just one.
I'm a poor shot. I'm a pacifist. For so many reasons, I'm not cut out for this type of thing. Still, though, it was fun, exhilarating you could even say. A physically demanding activity that leaves you covered in sweat, gooey paint, and bulls-eye purple bruises.
Thanks to Trevor G. for the all the action pics. War journalism is a noble calling after all—he's truly one brave man.
A Summer Slice
Last week was a very good week.
The temperature was summerish, in the high 80s, and the vibrations were good, from an astrological standpoint. No cosmic storms or real ones.
On an unassuming Wednesday evening, our pal Patrick arrived from New York, causing us to convene at the Bracewell mini ramp to celebrate such things as skateboarding and old friends. It was lovely. It was hot. Everyone sweated through their tee shirts. Then we all went to the Alleyway for food and cold drinks. To have a day so full of friends and fun so early in the week? One can only hope for this kind of thing.
On Friday afternoon, after everyone had gotten up early and worked hard, a river trip came together with very little effort at all. The water was tropical green and that just-right temperature—cool but not cold. You could swim for real, not just dive in and shiver calamitously back out. And did you know that we saw a bald eagle while we were there? A hush fell on the beach as it soared over the sun bathers—a benediction on the water and on summer and, I guess, on us.
Anyway, I am no reckless optimist, but good portent was everywhere last week. To be friends, to be together, to be happy ... what a neat thing.
