Saturday, January 21, 2006

Life Without a Tail

It has been over 10 months since I buried Annabelle. Increasingly, what I miss is seeing her tail - from above- wag as we walked down the sidewalk. We walked three times a day- she'd sniff the traces of the other neighborhood beasts, and I'd sniff too. I'd playfully squeeze the skin above her back hips- signaling that I wanted to play- and she'd run ahead a bit, benignly throwing her head back and acting as though she wanted to nip my fingers. On Grove Avenue, she got into the habit of running the last half block of our walk. She'd sprint ahead of me - stopping a house before ours- and look back to make sure I was following and that it was okay for her to continue. And when she saw that I was, and that she could, she'd dart the rest of the way, bound up the steps, turn around, and wait for me to open the door. How automatic it was that I pet her jowls, and called her "the nose" as I ascended the stairs, thinking about the day that lay ahead of me.

Walking is lonely (and quiet) these days. Kim, Todd, and I walk together- but it's different. I talked and listened to Annabelle in ways that I've never done with anyone else.

No comments: