Hootie loves a bbq
I killed my friend
People keep offering me sympathy on Katie’s passing. No doubt they think me quite stoic when in spite of their long embraces and heartfelt assurances that they understand how difficult this can be, I fail to break down in front of them. I am just waiting for them to realize that I was the perpetrator, both in the very real sense (I signed a form okaying her euthanasia, and sat with her on a leather couch in a room with a large paw-shaped mirror, an even larger Sandra Kuch showing a little strawberry-blonde beauty in her flannel nightie, praying over a breakfast in bed of soft boiled egg and toast soldiers while two little Jack Russells look on, and petted her and sang to her while she gasped at the strong taste of the barbiturates — I always do, too, Katie) — but also in the more thematic, primordial literal, virtual, fictional sense. And it was because of my own selfishness.
A couple of years ago it registered on me that they were not going to make any exceptions for Katie. She was growing old. And I wondered how I would manage when she was no longer there. I knew it would hurt a lot. I wondered if it would plunge one of us into a depression — Katie was such a big part of all of our lives. Logically and from experience, I knew that if we had another dog, it would mitigate the pain of the loss much more quickly. So I agreed to bring another dog into the family, and conspired toward it. Katie knew nothing of this.
The little dog came and preoccupied us all intensely. Katie could hardly believe it. She had given us years of faithful service, and now we expected her to raise a puppy? She was not interested. And she got sick.
We treated the sickness diligently, but every time we loved the little dog, Katie understood why we had brought it into the house. And her feelings were hurt. It was no mistake that she went downhill quickly when the family shrank by one for a while — but to a dog every minute is their permanent existence. She was sure she was losing friends as fast as her vigour and the household was no longer the safe place she knew it to be. So she gave up.
I wonder when people will realize that I’m responsible.
