You Look Like Your Dog Just Died

On Friday, September 18th, my darling Beau — Beau Heinie Beau, Hein-Pooch, Beau-linsky, Bitty Hom, Poo Chem, Poochadeen Mateen, Mon Peauché, more recently and who knows why, Pumpala (Pum Pum Pum) — a nearly sixteen-year-old black-and-tan miniature dachshund, left me for good, at 10:30 am. I have repeated the insane nicknames above so often they seem like actual words to me, and only when I try to spell them do I realize how far over the edge I have gone.

Beau had been a very old dog for a very long time. Years ago almost all the tan in his black-and-tan coat turned white -- we matched in this way. His eyes were cloudy with cataracts; a vet told me in 2018 he probably couldn't see much of anything anymore, though you couldn't tell by the way he got around the house and yard. How well he could hear was open to debate since he had never paid any attention to verbal commands. (This recently inspired my daughter Jane to claim that Beau was 'not a good dog.' Oh, Jane. You infidel.