Puck

In August of 2003, I drove to Sac City, IA and picked up a fluffy ball of aussie. His parents were full of mud from swimming, but met me eagerly as I walked up. In the car on the way home, more than an hour's drive, he started out whining from his box in the passenger seat - alone for the first time. I pulled him out, and he sat in my lap, and was happy and quiet the rest of the drive.

Today I drove him to the vet for the last time. He was quiet, on the floor. He needed help getting in and out of the car. On the way home, I put his tag on my keychain; his leash didn't cry, but I did.

Puck hated it when his people left the house. He was a shepherd and we were his herd; he was upset when we strayed off and he wasn't there to keep us together; he didn't like being left. Today, well after he'd gone, I didn't want to leave. I could handle talking about it with the vet, and watching the sedative take hold, feeling him relax into my arms. I could handle watching his last breath, with the knowledge that he didn't have to struggle with his frail, failing body anymore. But I didn't want to leave. I sat on the floor in the exam room with what was left, feeling viscerally the 13 year bond with my friend.

We got Larry within a week of Puck - they'd been born on the same day, as it turned out, and they were best friends, co-conspirators, roommates, and pack. Larry grew a garden of tumors and passed years back, and when it happened, when Larry left the house and didn't come back with me, Puck sat looking out patio door for two days, waiting for his friend to get back home, alone for the second time.

I catch myself glancing at the patio door, like I'm expecting him to be there again, waiting in vain for himself to come home.

We got Merlin (another aussie) already an old man, a gentle old man, a gentleman. Puck learned what an old dog was like, as he began to grow old himself. They were genial, friendly, always nice to each other, but I don't think Puck felt it the same way when he was alone again, for the third time.

He's always been the one who's still here, except now he isn't. I didn't want to leave. It still feels like I should go back and pick him up. What's in the place where he's supposed to be, if it isn't him? This bond is still attached to me, but what is it attached to on the other side?