R.I.P. Bullet
Dear Bullet,
Chuck, Hollie, Matt, and I dug a hole for you yesterday under the plum tree. It was April 22nd, 2009 -- Earth Day. What an appropriate day to bury such a dear friend.
We know that when we go looking for nightcrawlers at dusk and dawn that you will be a part of them. They wil catch the fish that we will eat and you will be a part of us forever.
We burned sage over your grave and recounted all of our good memories of you. We forgot about all the toilet paper rolls you guarded. We forgot about all the times you nipped our toes when we passed "your" bathroom. We forgot about the times you ate the leftovers off of the counter. Instead, we remembered the day we took you for a walk on the beach with Bijou. When you just couldn't go any further, you plopped, stiff-legged, over onto your side like those goats that fall over when they're scared.
We remembered all the times we went swimming to look for crayfish and sometimes we felt a scratch on our backs. It was you. You always swam out to us to make sure we were okay, but you would always get scared, touch us, and then swim back.
Bullet, I'm sorry I ever said I hated you when I got too annoyed.
I'm not sorry I fed you delicious snacks when Matt told me not to.
I'm sorry I kicked you off of our bed when I thought you took too much room.
I'm not sorry Matt and I laid you on our bed one last night while we slept even though your wounds leaked onto our hands.
Bullet, I guess we're sad because we feel like it wasn't your time. We feel like you didn't have to die. These countless memories race in our heads and we cry because we'll never get to see you again. We'll never get to pet you again or take you for walks or brush out your fleas.
I'm angry because I never got to see you normal and happy one last time before you were bitten, before Matt's mom and Tom decided that you were too much to take care of anymore.
Chuck fed you a lot of marijuana to help your pain. Following the days after you were bitten by Chuck's dog, Love, you were in such a drug-induced stupor that I don't know if you even knew we were there. I don't know if you understood your name. When we brought you in, I wanted to be in the room with you so that you knew you weren't alone. It was all so fast. I put my hand on your chest to feel it rising and falling. Then it was still. A child-wishfulness in my head thought you would magically start breathing again. Your eyes were slightly open. I rubbed your paw. You never breathed again.
You were too aggressive. Everyone had to live their lives around you. But, you were neglected by humans and it's our fault you were ever mean or stubborn. It's our fault you had to die. I'm angry because sometimes humans don't think it is a lifetime commitment when they take in an animal.
I guess in my mind I know why the decision was made, but it all seems so surreal. I can't believe that you're not under the coffee table. You're buried in the earth instead. And I don't know where you are now. I can't feel comfort from people saying you're in a better place because I don't think there is anything else.
Bullet, remember that Matt loved you. I had to watch him lose his childhood best friend. I had to watch the person I love the most break down because he had no say in your fate. I've never seen him so catatonic. I fell for him because when I first met him, his whole life revolved around you. Our first date was taking you for a walk. He was such an awkward kid who really felt alone, but that's why he cared about you so much.
Bullet, I'm staring at your old collar and tags now. I know I'm writing all of this for my own therapy, but I promise to put that collar on a dog that Matt and I will have someday.
Goodbye Bullet.
