Fin

Grief is such an odd thing, no? At any point during the day I could come across plenty of dogs, and I’d feel a tinge, but nothing too debilitating. If the sun’s not too harsh and the owner is friendly enough, I’d even kneel in front of the dog to give him/her a pat. Probably ruffle the fur.

 

Today, however, sitting in front of my table, the weekday stretching ahead of me, I remember you fleetingly, and once again, I am a mess — crying the same way I cried when you first left.

 

—

 

I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone why I named you the way I did. Well, save for Gersh, whose appearance in my life made naming you an easy task. One staring me in the face.

 

When we were just starting out, he mentioned that he’s never actually really had a pet, growing up. Incredulous, but also practically shaking from excitement, I bursted out, “My dog, Nami, is pregnant! We can have one of her pups! We’ll name it something we both like!” So we named you Bor.

 

You were named after an inside joke, but very quickly you became an external manifestation of how we felt. And I was so sure then: as long as you’re okay, we’re okay.

 

—

 

Things don’t always go the way you want them to, though.

 

As the runt, the only white pup, there was always a fear that you wouldn’t make it. We waited with baited breaths when you were born, mummy actually had to crouch down and help Nami give birth, a gesture which I think Nami appreciated.

 

We waited, scared, when you first had an eye infection, a result of running around faster than your little legs can manage.

 

We waited, hopeful, when the vet said you had little chance of surviving, but that you, my baby, were a fighter.

 

—

 

I guess there really are just some battles that you can’t win, and last Friday was yours.

 

But hell, you fought so goddamn hard.

 

When I rushed home to see you (alive for the last time), you were bloody, a result of having bit your tongue in a fit of seizure, but unbowed. You hobbled over to me, tripped over a few times in the process, but you stayed. You nuzzled your head in my arms, ate (for the very last time), and played.

 

My sister said she didn’t actually think you had a fighting chance until she saw your eyes light up, and you literally clawed through hell to make me laugh through my tears by playing with me.

 

That will stay with me forever.

 

—

 

You weren’t long with us, Bor, but you stayed long enough to make an impact.

 

I’m slowly coming to terms with your loss (save for the random days like today), but I’m never going to get over your leaving.

 

I love you, baby. No more seizures in doggy heaven. Nothing but bacon-flavoured biscuits larger than your head.

 

I miss you already. Look after us.