Moose and Bajot
There were two dogs. Now, it's just one.
These are the names of my wife’s dogs. They were around before we moved in together. This week, they made the painful decision to put Bajot to sleep after a week’s palliative care for pyometra. She had been cremated right after. Moose has no idea.
It’s been hard for my wife and her sister for the past few weeks. Mostly due to sleep deprivation. But they’re doing ok now, they grieving in their own ways. The dog who would find the weakest link for food in the kitchen is now nothing more but a picture and ashes. By the way, the weakest link is often me. My wife would tell me that if I feed one of them, I should also feed the other.
I never grew up with dogs. So I don’t have a sentimental value for them. In fact, it’s been difficult for me too since we moved in with dogs. Sometimes, everybody else can be so occupied that I would have to pick up their shit. Uggh. But I’d rather clean up their vomit. I’m glad I didn’t have to do those chores every time they poop and puke. The sudden barking and howling make my ears ring and head spin. They could even wake you up in the middle of the night.
As payback, I’d gently blow the dogs’ ears while they nap. I enjoy the sight of their ears swatting whatever it is they’re feeling while their eyes are closed. My wife would scold me for this. But I had my times with them.
It hit me when Bajot’s ears didn’t swat me away when I blew them for the last time. I felt like Simba calling to his dad after the stampede. I never thought I’d shed a tear for a dog. But I did. Seeing my wife cry for her pup even made my crying worse.
The house is going to be less noisy now. And I got so used to the chaos that I wasn’t sure if I wanted this kind of peace.