To Love a Dog

Kuttu Puppins. Nov 2002 – Jan 2016.

Yesterday, you were alive. You followed me, looked at me, and asked me if I could help.

Another yesterday. You were alive. You played ball, you swam in the river, you went canoeing with dad and I, flipping our boat over with your attempts at constantly getting in and out of the water. “Look at me swim!” “Look at me taking a break from swimming!”. We wrapped a life vest around you, and towed you alongside us when you wanted to swim upstream. Maybe it was your instinct to hunt for salmon, or maybe you were just being yourself. Silly, goofy, doing all the things we said you shouldn’t do.

Like eating gravel. Your very first vet record said “Indiscriminate eating”. Every vet record since then has made a mention of your sweetness. Of your joy. Of you wanting to hang out and play with the vet who neutered you. Of how you don’t have a bad bone in your body. And you don’t. You are all love. The only thing bad about your body is that it gave way far too early. Far too early for me. For dad. For Ro, who loves you with all his mighty heart.

Yesterday, you were a baby. You fell asleep in my lap. You ate drywall when you got bored. You had your first bath in my kitchen sink, and ripped every saree my mom owned when she visited us. You harvested my ripe strawberries and tomatoes. You bounced with the very happiness of living that we all long to feel.

You were a lover. You loved when I trained you to do silly things like dispensing ice for your entertainment. For the rest of our lives together, I could never own a refrigerator with an ice dispenser. And I still won’t. When you were a baby, you would wait patiently for me to say “Take it”, before gobbling your meal up. Remember that one time when I forgot to say “Take it” for a very long time? There was so much drool!

Yesterday, we traveled to the mountains. You hopped in and out of snow as we snowshoed by you. You loved snow. You could spend hours fetching snowballs, never getting unhappy about how the ball seemed to melt away as soon as you caught it. There was always another ball, another toss, another snowy catch.

Over the years, you became my best friend. My yardstick by which all other dogs are measured. My love, my sweet yet fiercely independent companion. We road tripped, we camped, hiked, traveled, and went through so much of life together. You rid me of my fear of dogs. You taught me to hear your thoughts. You taught me what it means to be loyal, no-matter-what. You taught me how deep love can run. But I had to learn by myself that there is no end to the tears, because of how deep that love runs.

There will be no other Kuttu. There will be no other dog who has a way of holding his ears when he is happy, that one look is all I need to say “happy ears”. You leave a giant, massive, hole in our hearts, which is where your true home is. All we can do is to keep loving you, from our home here.

• ← Strolling around Santa Fe
• The End →