underdogishere

...because that's what we do at the end of a year, isn't it? Retrospect? Because we in "the West" have arbitrarily chosen this point in the Earth's orbit to look back on what has happened since Earth was last at this point in its orbit.

For me, there were two events in this past orbit that easily stand out above all others: The first was the death of Barkley. The second was the death of Andrea.

I never knew, until this past year, how much loneliness could ache.

Yesterday, on the final day of the past year, we were out in my car and we were behind a car that had a bumper sticker that said "Dog Only Nose." In case you're not a dog person, this is a common conceit among dog people, to play on the fact that "dog" is "god" spelled backwards, as in, for example, "dogspeed."

When I saw "Dog Only Nose," I thought it was pretty clever. But as the day wore on, and I couldn't get thoughts of Barkley and Andrea out of my head, I realized that it was in fact profound.

Happy New Orbit, everyone.

Labels: Darkness, Dogs

Andie has been gone
four weeks; heartbreak still opens
a lonely home's door.

Labels: Darkness, Dogs, Haiku

I desperately
want to build a bridge, but can
see no way forward.

Labels: Darkness, Haiku

I've finished The Island of Dr. Moreau, by H. G. Wells. I enjoyed it very much, but one thing in particular really jumped out at me. This book was written in 1896, yet Wells's description of what is unmistakably PTSD (or "shellshock," as it used to be more vividly called) is truly remarkable. I'll try to illustrate without giving away any more of the story that Wells himself gives away in the Introduction, but this is how the narrator introduces his condition:

They say that terror is a disease, and anyhow I can witness that for several years now a restless fear has dwelt in my mind

Then he talks about how he knows he's crazy, but can't help it:

I could not persuade myself that the men and women I met were not also another [redacted] and that would presently begin to revert

Even more remarkably, he finds professional help:

But I have confided my case to a strangely able man {snip}; a mental specialist, -- and he has helped me mightily, though I do not expect that the terror of that island will ever altogether leave me.

And it never does. Does the following sound like a panic attack to you, too:

At most times it [the terror] lies far in the back of my mind, a mere distant cloud, a memory, and a faint distrust; but there are times when the little cloud spreads until it obscures the whole sky. Then I look about me at my fellow-men; and I go in fear. {snip} I shrink from them....

When I lived in London the horror was well-nigh insupportable. {snip} ...prowling women would mew after me; furtive, craving men glance jealously at me.... {snip} Then I would turn aside into some chapel, -- and even there, such was my disturbance, it seemed that the preacher gibbered "Big Thinks".... {snip} Particularly nauseous were the bland, expressionless faces of people in trains and omnibuses; they seemed no more my fellow-creatures than dead bodies would be, so that I did not dare to travel....

Wow. Creepy. And consider that Wells, although raised in poverty, never served in a traumatic situation; he was, in fact, a socialist and a pacifist, so he would have had no personal experience with shellshock.

I just have one final, secret aside, for Prendick's ears only. If you aren't Prendick, don't listen:

The preachers? That's really not in your head. They really are gibbering "Big Thinks."

Labels: Darkness, Language, Writing

at my side He lay,
as His great heart slowed, slept, and
then stilled forever

Labels: Darkness, Dogs, Haiku

I was in a Hallmark store yesterday, and I noticed that they were selling a change purse made to look like a stocking. I suppose it was in keeping with the season, but it struck me as... mocking? Why would I want to buy a change purse that looks like a stocking when there are people too poor to own change purses, or wallets, and carry what money they have in a real sock?

I suppose it's the holiday season that makes it easy to feel melancholy. Is there anyone besides me who finds O. Henry's The Gift of the Magi inexpressibly sad?

Labels: Darkness, Musing, Out and About

dog
Years ago, my little dog, BJ, developed cataracts. I had them operated on, and for several years her vision was restored, but gradually scarring from the surgery made her blind again. And, as she approached her fifteenth birthday, her health declined. Between the blindness and her health, she wasn't able to make her way into the back yard to do her business, so I had to carry her out front and stand with her while she wandered around a little, picked up a few scents, found a spot, and did her thing. I took her outside every morning, at noon if I came home from work, after work, and before we went to bed. But sometimes BJ would have to go in the middle of the night: She would cry quietly from her kennel, and I would get up and pick her up and carry her outside.

I'm afraid I'm not a patient person, and people who know me might have expected me to be angry or resentful when my sleep was interrupted. But, strangely, I wasn't. I gently picked her up and cradled her to my chest and carried her outside. We stood together in the dark, fending off mosquitoes, until she squatted and stood again and it was okay to carry her inside and just as gently return her to her kennel.

One night, a year ago tonight, as I was carrying BJ down the dark hall about two in the morning, she tilted her head up and gave my a lick -- a kiss -- on the bottom of my chin. As if to say, "I appreciate your doing this for me." It was precious to me, at that moment. It made every time I carried her down that hall in the dark worth it. At that moment.

The very next morning -- a year ago tomorrow -- BJ didn't seem well. By lunch time she seemed to be in distress. I took her to the vet, and she was admitted to their hospital. That night -- just twenty-four hours after giving me The Kiss -- BJ died.

Now The Kiss haunts me. Was she thanking me? Was she saying she loved me? Was she saying goodby? Or... was she asking for my help. Could I have saved her if I had brought her to the vet that morning, instead of waiting until lunch time? Did she give me The Kiss and then did I let her down. Let her hang her head back down and die.

I loved BJ. Those of you who don't have dogs will be shaking your heads and wondering why you ever read this post -- yeah, you wasted a few minutes of your life. Find another blog. Bye. BJ and I had spent all of her life and a third of mine together. I miss her terribly. But I can't shake off The Kiss.

Labels: Darkness, Dogs