The Rip Van Wrinkler, Volume XIV, Issue 3, August 2010
Page 5 <previous page next page> |
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In Memoriam A Girldog & a Boydog we lost: Ruby & Chauncey |
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Ruby
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Chauncey
Basenji Boy
by Patricia Pergola Rivers (essay & photos)
I had to put Chauncey to sleep this week. He was my beautiful “fawn-colored” basenji boy that has surpassed in longevity any relationship I have had, including boyfriends, kids and my husband. He was my pre-kid dog. I grew up with Chauncey. We both weren’t perfect. I should have trained him not to pull like a “sled-dog” and he should have showed some restraint (as a pup) and not have eaten my sofa, my eyeglasses and anything else in his path. He should not have bolted out the door on that rare occasion, and he should have come back when I called him! But somehow we forgave each other, and we were inseparable. I was his person and he was my dog. He slept underneath the covers at my feet for 14 years. My husband insisted that Chauncey had to be between the comforter and the sheet because he was “too itchy.” So that was our compromise, in the bed, under the comforter. It worked and he warmed us for many years.
When I knew it was his time to go, there was no hesitation. I wanted it to happen the next day. He was such a proud and regal hound. He wasn’t going to lose his dignity. I took him home from the vet and I looked at him lying on the backseat of my car and I knew I was approaching a bunch of “lasts.” Last time in my car, in my bed, in my arms, last walk, last chipmunk to cross his path that he still managed to go after ever so slightly. Now I’m experiencing a bunch of “firsts.” First time in my bed without him, first time on the couch with out him, first time I don’t have to feed him. He has left a silent void in my house, and emptiness in my heart. My female basenji doesn’t quite know what to make of his absence.
The night of Chauncey’s last night with us my daughter read a book to him about the Wampanoag Indians. I didn’t know it at the time, but after he was gone she told me. “You know I read the Wampanoag book to him and he listened, and looked at the pictures too.” Then my husband chimed in and said, “and he really seemed to enjoy it.” The arrow struck my heart. How could I have missed that special moment? I was busy cleaning, or folding, or planning and I missed my ten-year-old daughter read a book to Chauncey on his last night. John Lennon said “Life is what happens to you when you are busy making other plans.” I don’t want to be so busy that I miss the “life” that happens around me. The precious moments that unfold unhurried and effortlessly, unplanned and lovely, need to be seen and heard and felt. Chauncey’s gift to me was not only a great love by a great dog, but a reminder that sometimes life should be a spectator sport. That to appreciate the love and beauty around you, you sometimes just need to sit back and take it all in. I can still feel his fur if I close my eyes and imagine. I have his collar that I can jingle, and I still feel the love that we have for each other.
I will miss him forever.