もん 1991-2008

Our dog (the one who didn't compose any Beethoven symphonies) passed away this morning.

Even though I'm not a pet person, and knew this was coming, it seems that no amount of mental preparation or rationalization quite buffers you from the sadness and numbness that suddenly outpours out of nowhere when the reality hits. Kind of like a brick wall, really. One minute, you are theorizing about "when he dies" in an abstract sort of way and hoping that it stays that way, and the next minute, he's really gone, the theoretical becomes reality in a strange, surreal sort of way, and then you are stuck brooding over the implications of this ertwhile-theoretical, now fact: that I won't get to see, tease, play with, use as a footrest, and take silly pictures of him again, and that he won't be around the next time I go visit my family.

I mean, I was just talking about him with my brother last night. He was right there sleeping, breathing near my brother, while we were skyping away, I guess less than 10 hours before he went--wherever dogs go when they die.

He would've been over 110 in human years, so his time was definitely due. He lived a long, full life, and I dare say, lived a better life than probably many humans. He died in the most peaceful way possible--naturally, of old age.

In fact, truth be told, he was often a royal pain of a dog, and several times, the cause of much serious tension in our family.

And yet.

Isn't grief strange. . ..

But this sad process and our need to grieve--I guess is what makes us human.

We got him in the fall of 1991. JJ (my youngest brother) was 11. I have many pictures of the two of them being silly boys (see below). He (the dog) was an absolute beauty, but a royal pain, too. And quite a trouble-maker.

a head shot of one of my favorite pictures of JJ and M sharing
spaghetti. From like 1992 or so.

He had an annoying predilection for shredding toilet paper and knocking over garbage cans, especially while we were gone.

My parents tried to return him to the original owner when they decided to go back to Japan, rather than deal with moving him there, but JJ cried, so after one day, we brought him back, and my parents took him to Japan, where he lived a long, long life.

During his youth, he ran away from home several times, causing much mayhem. He'd eventually come back after carousing about and doing whatever teenage dogs do, but of course, this didn't stop my parents and my brothers from searching the entire neighborhood for hours.

But now, all of this is but a fleeting memory.

The biggest adjustment will be for my parents, and particularly for my dad. After having him around for practically (but not quite) half of their married lives, they will have to get used to the emptiness and the silence and the unturned garbage cans. (Though actually, I think he finally stopped doing that the last two years of his life. Still, he was turning them well into his 80s and perhaps even 90s.)

Well, may he rest in peace and turn over garbage cans to his heart's content, wherever he is.