esrosedotblog

We did the Sunday walk this morning.

The one we all three did together until Booker's death last week.

Booker's death. I had been using the euphemisms and have stopped. He died. He is dead.

My god how I miss him.

But it is better today as it was yesterday.

Today we are remembering funny stories, things he did that amused us or things we did that amused him.

He was a daddy's boy and, in his case, a daddy's boy twice. Two Dads.

He had a set of responses that fit each of us.

On the walk it was understood that he would lead and John would hold the leash. I pretty much let them do their work and tagged along. It was my job to carry and use the poop bags.

Mostly, we saw his ass as it walked purposely where the nose led it.

He had a purpose and sometimes would reveal it, other times not.

Then there were the unaccounted for stops. A quick halt or a fast reverse to examine some spot that had changed or some area another dog had been and perhaps (better) peed in. There were also the standard stops. A certain patch of grass that would provide a quick snack. The huge water fountain and pool at an apartment complex down the road. And the pooping places. Almost always the same chosen from about five optional locations.

We were to wait.

Eventually he would move on for the walk. His Dads following dutifully.

He had several routes but in the last months the directions pretty much followed what we call "the dead babies walk".

It is so named because it passes an RC church that has, in its lawn, a small monument to all the aborted babies who died, I guess, ever. Yup.

We would almost always pass when the first Mass was assembling so we kept the remarks and ripostes down to a dull roar. I am happy to report that Booker never, ever, peed on that little monument. Not that we tried to restrain him in any way. But he never did it. I figure it was out of a sensitivity, more sensitivity than I have, to the assembled church goers.

Today, our walk was nice and not morbid in any way. We did a little reminiscing. And then we came home. Enough.

I don't know if we will do this again.

We did the after dinner walk together last night and it was too hot to do again. Booker and I could do it at a slow amble pace but it is not walking weather now after about noon. Soon, earlier.

It can be done and if you are a confirmed desert rat even be enjoyable. But not for two at a fast pace.

I miss him and think of him often. Not all the time now. It is hardest at those times we would ritualistically meet. At the morning pee. I have gone out each morning for a little weep and goodbye to the stars.

He would always be there when there was food. Not so much because he loved me, which he did, but because I loved him and would spoil him with tastes and bites. Likewise when it is his meal time a little mental bell rings and I want to answer by getting out the kibble. But that job is over.

People want to know when or if we are getting a new puppy. The new convertible is the clearest answer we can give. It is not dog-able. And we are not goddam getting another new car for a long time. It is embarrassing enough that we did this one so soon. But the car pre-empts. I think we will need this. At two or three weeks we might get an itch which would send us to the Airedale Rescue people to get a new guy. And that is not going to happen. Sad but true.

Labels: Booker, family, routine