I am currently writing from my apartment in Pittsburgh! Those of you who recall trivia about me should find this shocking, since my parents living in the Philly area. This is the first year that I have not gone home for the holidays, opting to catch up on a good deal of work before my last semester finishes out. Regardless of my workaholic tendencies, this is, in fact, kind of significant because, all things considered, I only have my immediate family. Few of my relatives are close enough (physically or emotionally) to get together for holidays, so our 4-person clan often spends the holidays with... ourselves. For most people I know, this is a little jarring, since there's always at least an aunt or two at table with them when carving the turkey, but for me, there's a close-knitness in it that can't be expressed.
Long story short, it was a bit sad to not be able to spend my long weekend with them. Thankfully, I'll be done in a few weeks, and then I'll have a good bit of time off to have share some R&R with them.
Also, luckily, Dillon was also here, for similar reasons, so we split a humble meal of homemade chicken enchiladas and bacon-wrapped jalepeno poppers. Yum.
But this isn't about my family. Well. Not my human family, at least.
This is about my dog:
When I was in my last year of high school, my sister sent me an email, telling me that her friend's dog had just given birth to a litter of pekingese/shih-tzu puppies, and the family in the care of the dog wanted to know if we wanted one. It took a little convincing, but my parents said yes. I was ecstatic. I had "owned" two dogs before - the first was an overactive lab that pooped on my toys and scared the living daylights out of me (I was but 2 or 3), so he only stayed for about several hours. The second was a Jack Russell Terrier that was so vicious that we were forced to also give him up after a few months (I was 9 at this time - bit older, but uninformed). After these abysmal attempts at owning a pet, I was determined to be more prepared and to raise this dog successfully.
Unfortunately, that wasn't to be. The puppies were staying with my sister's friend's mother, who seemed rather unwilling to part with the pups, and continually pushed back the date we were supposed to take the dog. This was problematic - I was leaving for college in August, and if we didn't get the dog soon, there wouldn't be much time for me to at least train it some for my parents to take care of. It was finally July when we managed to settle on a date - well past the time when most pups are to be separated from the mother and siblings. A bit annoyed, a bit anxious, I head up to NY to pick up who I hoped would be my fuzzy best friend. And I admit, it was hard to stay angry when I was greeted by this:
I wanted to call him Yukito, for this snowy-white fur. Cindy wanted to call him Kenzo. After awhile, Kenzo stuck better, so that's who he was. Kenzo, formally Kenzo Yukito. He was a stubborn little thing, but warm and innocent. I remember my dad telling me that, one morning we woke up to find Kenzo sitting at the foot of his bed, despite us putting up barriers to keep him from leaving the kitchen. Turns out, he had become so frantic that he actually pushed the barrier over to find us during the night.
But August too quickly arrived. Kenzo proved to be very well behaved, and loyal, as all Pekes are, but my parents were old, busy, and unwilling to take care of the rambunctious ball of fur. After some debate, crying, and sneakiness, Cindy declared that she would take Kenzo.
The next time I saw him was over Christmas break, after my first semester in college. I recall at one point, my sister went up to the second floor to use the powder room, and when she left Kenzo's sight, he whined so horribly that I thought his heart was breaking. No such distress was displayed when I was absent. It was then I realized, he had became my sister's son, and it broke my heart a little. And yet, he was happy, and my sister, all goodness she was, had found someone to dote upon. They loved each other, and that was good enough.
However, about a year ago, the the unthinkable happened. Kenzo lost the function of his two hind legs. Pekingese dogs are notorious for having disproportionately long backs. If not handled carefully, it is easy for them to develop back issues. Kenzo had learned on his own in earlier years to greet people by standing up and hopping on two legs, and though adorable, it seemed the repeated action had caused him to slip a disc. He underwent surgery, but even then, he remained paralyzed, only able to move by dragging his body with this front paws. Still, he remained the sweetest, most loyal dog one could hope to find. Cindy kept up with physical therapy, and as recent as October, he was able to hobble a bit. It seemed as if everything would be OK.
Suddenly, several weeks ago, he became fully quadriplegic. Pain kept him from sleeping, and of course, a dog who cannot even move is ... not a dog who can live life to the fullest.
My sister's dog passed away three weeks ago.
All the while, the only thing I can seem to think of is something I wrote when I first started work on L'Operetta di Mezzo Forte. I meant it to be a preface of sorts, but it didn't seem to fit at the time, and it was kind of reminiscent of my teen angst. But for all curious enough to read on:
"My dog, a Pekingese/Shih Tzu mix, has the body of a Shih Tzu, the face of a Pekingese, the pride of a human, the mannerisms of a cat, and the desires of a dog. I tend to think that, by some miracle or mistake, he became the amalgam of the dog my sister always wanted, the cat I wanted, and the grandchild my father wanted. Sorry, Kenzo, but you’re only 1 for 3.
I’m never certain if he consciously desires to be human; my only clue would be that he walks on two legs to greet us in the morning. All I can guess is that he wants to command the respect of a human. (After all - it’s in his good opinion that we ought to let him eat at the table). He belongs with us, yet we feed him from the floor. He stands to greet us, but we scold him to stop jumping. And at night, when we have all gone to sleep, he pines out of want of company. This isn’t a stand for PETA or the Humane Society. I can safely bet that 70% of dog owners treat their pets the same way. Not to mention, if little Kenzo Yukito is conscious of anything besides the plate of bacon on the countertop, he certainly never shows it. Judging by my dog’s ever-wagging tail, I’ll safely assume that he is content.
Regardless, I have to ask myself, is there ever a time when his neurons click together in such a way that, suddenly, color reaches his eyes, our words mean more than simple commands, and he looks down at his tiny furry paws and thinks, “What am I?” But, the synapse passes, and he is back to chasing his tail.
It must be a very lonely moment."
I think that, when I relate all this, I'll get a lot of sorry's and sympathy, but it should really go to my sister, whose heart broke when her baby left this world.
I get very awkward when I try to be emotional, so I suppose I'll come out and say it. I think Kenzo was aware of much more than what I initially gave him credit for. And maybe, even if I was right, I think, during his loneliness, he had someone watching over him, who made him feel happy, and if he could, he would thank my sister for the life of love that she bestowed upon him. And for that same reason, I have to thank her, too, for treating him as more than a simple pet to be passed around like an unwanted doll. His smile was full of life, and I think you gave him that.
Kenzo Yukito Lai
4/30/2007 - 11/9/2011
