(no subject)
When I at age 28 first saw Peanut in his 4-week-old litter, one of his brothers shied away but he came up to me and bit my finger. I knew then he was the one I wanted to call mine. With his small size, I could hold him in one hand. At age 8 weeks, on our drive from his birthplace in Prescott, Arizona, he was afraid and curled in my lap, shivering the entire trip. The first few nights, he lay on a blanket I bought him, but cried until I relented and put him in bed. I was deathly afraid I would roll over and smother him, but I lay still with him curled up against my chest. Thenceforth, he slept in bed with me.
Over the next few months, I woke up early for a job I hated and was slow to be up and ready; I usually moved to the couch and had coffee while I watched TV. Peanut moved from the bed to cuddle up with me on the couch and go back to sleep. Soon after, I lost that job during the Great Recession and seldom left the apartment. Despite all the uncertainty and anxiety, he was a constant. I moved to Oklahoma after being unemployed more than a year and Peanut came with me. While I built myself up professionally, personally I was unhappy. He always found ways to make me smile. There were frigid winter nights when he jumped into bed and scratched the blankets, signaling to me that he wanted under as many layers as I was. On cold weekend days I would lay on the couch and he elbowed his way in between me and the couch back to keep warm. He followed me west back to Phoenix and eventually to Los Angeles.
If I needed to vent, I could complain to him and he would cock his head and look at me intently as if I had been saying the most profound, interesting thing he had ever heard. I would often lie supine in bed looking at my phone, and he would step onto my chest and drop down on top of me so that I couldn't get up and lick my face for as long as I'd let him. He was inquisitive and wanted to be friends with every person he met on his walks, and if we passed a bed of flowers he loved to stop and smell them. He took to Los Angeles about as well as I did. When we passed by restaurants he stopped to smell each one, particularly enjoying a Korean barbecue place, and he even looked in bars as if he was looking for one with the right vibe; on one occasion, he walked into one he liked. I drove him an hour to Long Beach so he could see the ocean, and when he realized he could get wet, he wanted to go back to the car after less than five minutes. He loved his food and often finished his dinner before I could get mine plated. He always expected a taste of mine, and once licked his lips when I was eating a bowl of pad thai. He loved carrot sticks his entire life, but I had to watch my fingers if I gave him fresh pineapple or mango. Often I would lie in bed with him and pet him, then stop; he was never shy about telling me he wasn't done with me petting him and often hooked his paw around my arm to pull it back to him.
His health started to go in September 2023, beginning with his hind legs. He still wanted his walks, so I bought him a wheelchair. As he aged, I began to grow more frustrated. It wasn't him-it was that for 14 years I had been able to do anything for him and he looked up to me for it, but I was powerless to stop the ravages of old age. I came home from work and he lectured me (quite loudly) for several minutes as I took care of a few things before getting him in his wheelchair and out the door. It pained me to watch his health decline over the next several months, but he still had spirit. People on his walks often cheered him on.
His passing has left a void in my life. I knew his death was coming soon, and the day before he left me I had a chance to tell him what he meant to me and say my goodbyes; as usual, he looked at me intently, though he looked weary of life. There has been an infinite, all-consuming, unending sorrow and sadness. The world without Peanut feels as it were a frightening, vast abyss. I must feel my way through the dark, but my arms hold myself for comfort. These cold, cavernous depths of despair force feelings of grief and horror. He was an amazing, reliable friend and companion and I only hope that he left the world knowing how much he had done for me. He was one of a kind and there will be an eternal emptiness in his absence.
Over the next few months, I woke up early for a job I hated and was slow to be up and ready; I usually moved to the couch and had coffee while I watched TV. Peanut moved from the bed to cuddle up with me on the couch and go back to sleep. Soon after, I lost that job during the Great Recession and seldom left the apartment. Despite all the uncertainty and anxiety, he was a constant. I moved to Oklahoma after being unemployed more than a year and Peanut came with me. While I built myself up professionally, personally I was unhappy. He always found ways to make me smile. There were frigid winter nights when he jumped into bed and scratched the blankets, signaling to me that he wanted under as many layers as I was. On cold weekend days I would lay on the couch and he elbowed his way in between me and the couch back to keep warm. He followed me west back to Phoenix and eventually to Los Angeles.
If I needed to vent, I could complain to him and he would cock his head and look at me intently as if I had been saying the most profound, interesting thing he had ever heard. I would often lie supine in bed looking at my phone, and he would step onto my chest and drop down on top of me so that I couldn't get up and lick my face for as long as I'd let him. He was inquisitive and wanted to be friends with every person he met on his walks, and if we passed a bed of flowers he loved to stop and smell them. He took to Los Angeles about as well as I did. When we passed by restaurants he stopped to smell each one, particularly enjoying a Korean barbecue place, and he even looked in bars as if he was looking for one with the right vibe; on one occasion, he walked into one he liked. I drove him an hour to Long Beach so he could see the ocean, and when he realized he could get wet, he wanted to go back to the car after less than five minutes. He loved his food and often finished his dinner before I could get mine plated. He always expected a taste of mine, and once licked his lips when I was eating a bowl of pad thai. He loved carrot sticks his entire life, but I had to watch my fingers if I gave him fresh pineapple or mango. Often I would lie in bed with him and pet him, then stop; he was never shy about telling me he wasn't done with me petting him and often hooked his paw around my arm to pull it back to him.
His health started to go in September 2023, beginning with his hind legs. He still wanted his walks, so I bought him a wheelchair. As he aged, I began to grow more frustrated. It wasn't him-it was that for 14 years I had been able to do anything for him and he looked up to me for it, but I was powerless to stop the ravages of old age. I came home from work and he lectured me (quite loudly) for several minutes as I took care of a few things before getting him in his wheelchair and out the door. It pained me to watch his health decline over the next several months, but he still had spirit. People on his walks often cheered him on.
His passing has left a void in my life. I knew his death was coming soon, and the day before he left me I had a chance to tell him what he meant to me and say my goodbyes; as usual, he looked at me intently, though he looked weary of life. There has been an infinite, all-consuming, unending sorrow and sadness. The world without Peanut feels as it were a frightening, vast abyss. I must feel my way through the dark, but my arms hold myself for comfort. These cold, cavernous depths of despair force feelings of grief and horror. He was an amazing, reliable friend and companion and I only hope that he left the world knowing how much he had done for me. He was one of a kind and there will be an eternal emptiness in his absence.