Letter to My Dog on the Eve of Her Last Full Day on Earth
You carried me for eight years, and now I am going to carry myself
I’m sorry I brought you to the city.
I’m sorry we ever left the mountain, I’m sorry the last four years of your life were attached to the end of a leash, and I’m sorry I didn’t take you swimming enough when we came here. I’m sorry for that time we had been driving for 12 hours, and I yelled at you in the car for trying to climb from the back seat into my lap in the middle of the night somewhere in Ohio. I’m sorry for every walk that wasn’t long enough because I was tired after work. I’m sorry for not letting you on the bed.
I know you don’t care about any of this right now, while you lay with your head in my lap. I know you have forgiven me, and you would forgive me for anything in the world. I know you have no idea that I am sometimes awful, that you have no interest in hearing about my ugly moments. You’ve never called me a shitty friend and been right.
To you, I am perfect. I am the most perfect I ever could be, and when I think of the kind of person I want to be, I think of the infinite faith and trust you have in me. For eight years, you’ve lain on the bath mat while I showered, stayed within earshot outdoors, warned me about intruders, run ahead on the…
