Chasing the Car - Dec 13 2024

 

Chasing the Car

Dec 13 2024

The dogs seem endlessly forgiving.

I’d like to believe

this is unconditional love,

but am resigned to think

it’s simple forgetfulness.

That they live in the moment,

and while we stew

nurse grudges

and feel hard done by,

they are programmed for basic survival;

no time

for cataloguing grievances,

self-pity,

reprisal.

No indulging

in illusions of justice

in a world that’s not.

I am told that as well as forgiveness

gratitude

is key to happiness.

But the dogs, who have never missed a meal

or spent a night

out in the elements,

take all of it for granted:

that I am here to serve,

that they will be loved

no matter what,

and that life goes on

as it’s always done

   … at least so far.

So when the old dog

was one day simply gone

they seemed untouched by her absence.

No moping, missing, grieving.

No black mourning clothes

covered mirrors

tearful epitaphs.

No hands

to place stones on marble slabs,

or leave a bouquet

of red spider lilies

white chrysanthemums.

Again, simple forgetfulness

as life goes on

and the jumbo bag of kibble

rustles temptingly.

But also no memories

we can share.

No anecdotes

about a life well lived,

no inside jokes

she may have left us with.

As well as no fear of death

we can open up about

in hushed tones

in the funeral home

amidst the reassuring ritual

of laying to rest.

The dogs, who never rest.

Who even as they sleep

twitch and pant and yelp;

tracking rabbits in their dreams,

barking at the mailman,

chasing the car.

No way to know

just how badly that ends

when it’s finally caught.

I was hard on the dogs last night (after all, they never really deserve it), but tend to go easier on myself about over-reacting ever since I realized that my temper is to them like water off a duck’s back: that they simply forget; that it’s like it never happened, and life goes on as before.

Which reinforces how envious I am of their ability to live in the moment, to be fully present.

But also helps me realize how living only in the “now” can diminish the richness of life. The recent death of my old dog made this even more clear. That I’d rather be sad, nostalgic, and regretful than oblivious. That there is something disrespectful in not remembering. That by being such solipsists and innocents, they’ve had to give up a large measure of meaning, connection, and grace.

Even poets do research! (A little, anyway. And depending, of course, on the debatable accuracy of the internet.) Apparently, red spider lilies and chrysanthemums are symbolic of death, and frequently used in funeral bouquets.

When I sent this to my neighbours, I included this introduction:

I was wanting to drop in and mark Skookum’s life with a little reminiscing with the only other people who really knew her. Unfortunately, the timing of that terrible week with salmonella got in the way. Because being alone with her death makes it seem as if she was never really here. And, by the same token, as if those 15+ years of my life amount to nothing as well!