When I was a kid walking home from school (35 miles, barefoot, through the snow), I had a lot of time to observe the world and ponder. On three or four days EVERY YEAR, the snow melted (spring) and the world leaped out of its monotone cloak into vibrant brown with greenish hues and on these days, as I left the empty lot and crossed into my friend Joyce's backyard, I was confronted by white dog poo. Yes, Snowflake the Alaskan Spitz was a white dog, but so was the poo that coloured (not the best choice of words here) the grass under the clothes line on which he was frequently chained. Even then I thought it was odd because my dog, Peanut, had brown poo.
I still think it is odd. I've now lived with dogs and picked up dog poo for close to twenty years. Poo is white only when it is stuffed with kleenex. What was Snowflake eating? Granted, I have figured out that it didn't leave his little white bottom as little white poo but aged and bleached into these calcified nuggets. Still, did he have a metabolic condition that over-mineralized his excrement?
Zelda has been dancing on the other side of the rainbow bridge for 4 months now and gross as it may seem to you, I have been watching the few and scattered fecal boluses in the back yard. I couldn't bring myself to scoop them up and dispose of them. They were what I had left of Zelda and maybe cloning technology would take a leap into easy affordability in the next few days and then I'd want that poo! Anyway, there's still a couple of pieces left - under the clothesline though she was never chained there - she just knew it would be a most inconvenient spot - and now they are white. I still don't understand Snowflake, but these, I've decided, must be angel-dog poo and it brings me a little explosion of joy to think she's still checking in on us.
I miss you my princess. Even though you had been confined to the kitchen for your incontinent ways for the last year, I expect to see the blinds stir and then you to meet me at the door when I come home. I keep the screen door closed when I close the sliding glass doors in the kitchen so you can see the closure and not run headlong into the glass. As the days then weeks roll by, in my heart you get younger and are once again in your prime. You tear through the house chasing a balloon. You dash around the backyard playing soccer with me. You pause for minutes to meditate with your peace lily. You leap over and over again at the table while we eat hoping to attract a scrap. Your chin is on my knee when I sit on the couch or lie in my bed. You never give me kisses. Zelda, there is SO MUCH FOOD on the floor these days. I am so sorry you aren't here to enjoy it - sometimes, it is even watermelon!
On occasion I try to think about having a dog again one day but my mind struggles. In my heart - having a dog again - means that somehow I open the door and Zelda is back. Where have you been, dear friend? I love you, so. How I have missed you!
