The family dog, Moe, died yesterday. This is one of those moments of deep frustration with myself for this year. Opportunity, yes. Adventure, for sure. But you leave people behind with all sorts of sadness alongside all the good. You’re not there for either. This is among the most mandatory aspects of the Watson, this sort of absence, which I have never wanted to be good at. Following are the quick words that had to get from Thailand to New York to remember a living creature I left behind, blinders self-applied, more than I left anyone else.
From Thailand, where the dogs are not as good as Moe.
The dogs here bark more than he did. If Moe woke the house up in the middle of the night, you probably wanted to be awake.
When Moe was territorial, it was cute.
Dogs here often drool and scratch. They chase your bike.
Their personalities are cartoons. Moe was always himself, even if that meant not wanting to snuggle because he was, excuse you, too hot.
He felt entitled to peeing on your carpet if he so chose. He observed all aspects of the house.
I still wonder what he did when we were gone. How he managed to look skeptical even without eyebrows.
Moe was not the kind of dog who “just knew” like the slobbering faithful Golden Retriever.
He was not St. Bernard lethargic, nor Greyhound anxious, nor brain-numbingly annoying like the satanic Chihuaha-rat.
He was an excitable prince, who more often than not respected where you were at.
He took his space when he needed it, but more often than not was at someone’s door, providing company.
In a bustling home, everyone running off to finish a thing, Moe could provide company for the isolated and incite cult-like group worship. We can always talk about Moe.
He was really the perfect dog for our family, where loneliness had a different name I don’t know yet.
I’m so sorry I am not there. I am so, so sorry. I am angry I am not there.
This is sometimes the reality of leaving, for college, for a trip, out of the house.
I always knew Moe would be at house.
With all my love, my whole heart, for my people at the house,
With subtext and subtleties and without analysis,