Bonnie crossed the rainbow bridge on Friday. Even though she was not well for a long time, it still hurts. Unlike human relationships (your kids are always babies, your grandparents are always old), with a pet you see the whole expanse of a lifetime, from cradle to grave. She’d been my dog for 12 year and straddled three decades—I got her when I was 29 and I’m now in my forties.
I adopted Bonnie when she was three years old (though her veterinarian speculated she may have lies about her age at the shelter), so I never got to see her as a puppy. (Can you imagine?!?!?!) Were I presented with three wishes, my first would be: to hear Bonnie tell the story of her life, in her own words. I imagine it would be full of world-weary wisdom and unlock the mysteries of her checkered past. Since you cannot tell me, Bonnie, I will tell you the story of your life:
I went to the shelter to see a dog named Clyde and left with a dog named Bonnie. I named you after the director of adoptions at the NY Humane Society who remarked, “This dawg is a little puttana.” Your ribs were visible and you were snow white. Beyond that, though, your origins were unknown. One story was that you were a lap dog for an old lady and then she died. Another was that you were picked up off the street on Staten Island after Hurricane Sandy. I like to think that both were true, and when you acted dramatic about your new accommodations—an apartment in Chelsea, a rented room in PLG, a loft in Boerum Hill, a brownstone in Carroll Gardens—I always wished I could show you footage of your early days. A true reversal of fortune!
When you arrived at the shelter you had recently had a litter of puppies. One was stillborn and you had to have a doggy abortion. You went in with a puppy and you left with me. I think you always thought you were my mom. You once jumped into a pool to save me. It was a somewhat unhealthy attachment, but it made me feel cared for and special. When we brought you home you were so anxious, trembly, and barky and only calmed down when you could be on somebody’s lap and ideally under a blanket.
I adopted you at a time in my life when I really needed something to care for. And you initiated a cycle of the deepest love and creation in my life. You were my first family member. In your younger days, you were unstoppable. I took you to puppy school where you did not excel but when you are as good looking as you, who needs “to be good at school”? I would often ride a Citibike around the neighborhood with you running alongside on a leash. Whenever I took you hiking you did the hike twice—once to run up ahead and see what was there, and then doubling back to come get me. You shed like a motherfucker. You have the funniest, most expressive ears- Jack Russell when you are calm, giant chihuahua satellites when you are nervous or want something, which is often.
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