I’m taking a break from posting about social concerns today because my roommate had to put his dog, Guinness, to sleep last night. That’s her with a catheter in her arm in the photo above (those eyes! even to the very end, though dogs can’t communicate verbally, she was letting me and Ashish know it was alright with those sad eyes).
Guinness was a loyal, oftentimes rambunctious (I say this only half-jokingly), and loving dog. After a few pints of (what else?) Guinness in her honor, I wrote a quick poem–yes, I do write poetry, though only about once a year–also in her honor.
Goodbye, old friend.
EXPENSES You get three options for your dog when it's time. A ceremony, sandal wood candle, five hundred. The funeral: friends, Handel and cremains. Five thousand. Her disposal-- just like Coetzee's Dis- grace, nothing, fifty bucks. No one should profit, really, but I'm not naive. I know you're not supposed to write about dogs, just like you're not supposed to choose. - Ricco Villanueva Siasoco, 12.12.08