Lil Mama

I arrived home from work, a little early (but not by much). Daveen was sitting on the family room sofa, a stack of papers before her.  It seemed like the same stack she had worked on for thirty-five years.

I said “Hi”.  We embraced. She sniffled a bit.

“I brought my papers down to work on them here, so I could be near Lil Mama,” she said, “but I couldn’t do much with tears in my eyes.”

“I know. I’m so sorry.”

“I called the place where our daughter took her dog, but they close at four.”  Daveen begins to cry.  “She still has the ashes.”

“I’m sure they’ll be open tomorrow.”  What else could I say?

“I took her outside once, earlier today, but she didn’t pee. Today she hasn’t eaten anything. But she looks a little better.”

Lil Mama is a fifteen-year-old dog that Daveen rescued two years and two months ago.  This dog must have been seriously mistreated because she flinched when anyone reached over to pet her, though she will permit a small amount of contact.  Daveen was told that Lil Mama would live no more than three months.  She’s lasted a lot longer than that, thanks to Daveen’s close attention and loving care.

“She’s still breathing a bit too quickly,” I said.

“Better than this morning.”

“Yes. Better than this morning.”

I sliced half a banana into my cereal. Daveen heated her frozen enchilada, for the second time.

The two of us quietly enjoyed a simple dinner. Our children are grown. The garden is ready for our Sunday party for my dad who recently died at 104. We sat alone, together for awhile.

With difficulty, Lil Mama circled in her bed, then curled up and lay down. She could hardly walk.

I felt close to Daveen.  Separately, I felt close to Lil Mama.

Later, and tomorrow, and after, we will cry.

Love,

Alan