Saying goodbye

To my dog: today I must mourn for you.

Maybe you’ll come back. I’ve heard it’s happened. Weeks—months go by and you just reappear. Maybe you’ll be that story. And if you are, I will embrace you and love you and be happy.

But in the meantime, I must mourn. Because this in-between? This hope that you might possibly turn up, that you’re safe somewhere, in someone’s home, or that you’ve figured out some wild lifestyle and are hunting and sleeping in the woods? It’s too much for me.

I know you’re a smart animal. You have great instincts.

You were tiny, eight weeks old when I first picked you up and knew you were going to be a piece of my heart. And already you were quick. You understood your life would change, you understood you were meant to follow me.

When we first walked into the woods you showed you could run, jump, swim. You showed you could hunt, bringing back rabbits and field mice, snatching young birds from the trees. I was horrified, but a little bit of me was relieved to know you could take care of yourself.

When we started learning how to live as a dog and human together, I learned that not only are you smarter than I thought a dog could be, but had more empathy and instinctual understanding than any human being I’ve met.

I was always proud of you, how you would walk by my side, ignoring everything else as we strolled through the woods or down the street. How well you listened—when you wanted to. How you could lead me home when I was lost and find your way back when I lost track of you.

And what a player! You knew when to run, when to chase, when to fetch. You knew when to come back and when to end the game.

When we met little children, you’d stand patiently beside me as you were poked and prodded by tiny hands not yet conditioned for gentleness. You’d never growl, you’d never lose your patience. You understood these small humans still had to learn.

When we’d meet adults, they’d spot your blue eyes and exclaim how beautiful you are, and both of us would respond with pride. Me with a smile, you with a high-headed look toward the source of the compliment.

Oh, and your smile. It’s almost human. When I greeted you at home, when I brought out a toy, you’d express your joy with a smile that was like a welcome home.

You’re my friend. You’re my ward. And yes, you are a piece of my heart. But you’re not here with me. With us. And although we miss you, we can’t stay suspended in this limbo between hope and mourning.

So return to me. Please. But forgive me, too, because until you come back, I have to mourn.

mihal@mihalzada.com