dog days

I wanted to write about you.
So I did.
I wrote about you with my eyes
watching the world dry out
my face crunching up like tin foil
after running out of routines.

When the vet told me I did a good job.
I really lost it.

You were yelling our names for hours at night. I hate myself for feeling irritated over sleep.

So when I pray how I think prayer was meant to be, with my hands against my face laying fetal in bed and crying, I say I’m sorry.
I’m sorry.

When I came home from the gym that day, I thought the kitchen smelled bad. I had a feeling you probably pooped your bed but I didn’t want to deal with it. So I went up stairs to finish some work and let mom or Josh handle it. I’m sorry.
I’m sorry. I don’t know if I did a good job, when I felt a bit irritated and annoyed everytime.

You’ve never even seen us before and our smell is everywhere. You’ve only ever felt us. I thought about this when we drove to the animal hospital.
So I stroked your head the whole way there. Slowly, to let you know
the slowness was okay.
Behind the ears and between your eyes, to let you know it was me.

We laid you wrapped up in a towel in a basket.
I think we all tried to close your eyes like they do in the movies. But yours were so old and swollen
they wouldn’t stay shut.

You died in my brother’s arms. He loved you the most.

I open the kitchen door carefully, my eyes trained to look at the bottom right. There’s nothing there, and I know there’s nothing there, but my body does not.

When I lift my hands from my face, my nose is stuffed and I’m forced to breathe from my mouth, so I mouth I love you. And I think about what I mean when I say it. When I say it, I remember .

You used to walk with us outside. You had a leash once. You used to wrestle with my socks and winter gloves
and growl
and I forgot.
I forgot how pretty you were Ming.

Your fur covered your whole body, how your eyes were tiny black beads and your torso was heavier. Much heavier. How you were always there. There’s a picture of you sitting on the couch on my birthday and I swear it looks like you could see me opening my presents.

I feel a little better now that I wrote about you. Thank you for loving me always. I love you. I love you, always.