2003-11-07 - 12:17 p.m. Love 8 Gone
My Dog died about three days ago. It�s not like I didn�t know it was coming, because he had a tumor in his throat that was slowly cutting off his airway. Despite that malignant force in his life, Jip always kept wagging his tail and trying to play with me the best he could. I feel like I should blame myself for his death. I suppose I could have paid for the operation, but even then Jip probably won�t have had a full life. I suppose that he may have been able to play and be happy, but I guess more of I want to think that he wouldn�t have had a good life. That�s selfish of me. I made a selfish decision. I decided that it wasn�t worth the money to try and heal my pet. Whether or not that was the correct decision I won�t know, but I do know that it was selfish. I am sure that if Jip were aware enough to make such a decision, he would never have given up on me. He wouldn�t give up on me even if he knew that I gave up on him. It begs the question, I suppose, of whether I ever really loved Jip. I think I did. Dogs were made to live for a much shorter time than humans were which is often why they make such excruciating pets. While you live, they die. It�s not too often a Dog will be there for the death of its owner, and I suppose that might be why they are always so happy. They never really have to lose you. Jip was my third dog. Sally was my first dog who grew up with me when I lived at home. In my twenties I decided to get a dog of my own as well. Hank. Hank was hit by a car, which made the end of his life quick for both of us. It was fifteen years before I decided to get Jip. I named him Jip, because I got ripped off at Debbie Pet Land. That place is so hard to go into, but I did one time because I just wanted to look at the puppies. They are so new and so small that they just have this attractiveness. They attract me because of their innocence. On that day, there was this lone puppy that looked so sad. I swear that they cram them in there to sell the poor things. I had gotten the previous dog from the animal shelter. Anyway, I paid 900 dollars for this poor puppy, who became my loving companion for the next nine years of my life. Jip, in the end, was not a rip off. In the end though, I was the one who was frugal, and in a cosmic sort of karma like way, allowed him to die to maintain my financial security. It�s a decision that I can never take back. My Dogs loved me so much. They gave me everything that they had. More than my parents ever gave me; more than my wife gave me, and certainly more than I gave everyone. When I think of what perfect love is, I imagine my dogs. I imagine Jip, wagging his tail while he struggled to breathe. But what does that say? If a seemingly lesser for of life can obtain a better sense and understanding of love than a human can, then what have we lost in our evolutionary process. This love that we value so much means so little to us in actuality. In our daily lives, more often than not we are not loving. More often than not we ignore our compassion. What does that say about us? The poets and the artists try to grasp it and try to capture it in words and in oil. We dream of this perfect love, but we can never really obtain it. If I couldn�t love my dog enough to try and save him, then did I ever have a pure love for him? Or did I just keep him around for a source of amusement, like a pool table, or a good book. Is reason the actual love killer? Is that voice in my head that tells me that rent is going to be due; you can�t afford this, you have to let him go? You won�t have money for Christmas. Ugh. I loved my dog. I really want to believe that. But the only thing that I know for sure is that he loved me. | |||||||||||
