Dear Gus, in Memory

Today you died and I am very sad, more sad than I thought I would be. I mean you were just a dog and crying over dogs is sometimes silly. But I have to be honest, you were good to me. You did all the things dogs were supposed to do like jump on my friends, pee on the carpet, and chew holes in everything. I just read that book Marley and Me, and I thought of you. You were the bad dog. The dog who thought his name was No Gus. You were the dog that ate momma's flowers and danced around the living room after getting into the house with mud all over you. You taught our other dog Sammie all the bad things dogs do. But you were the best dog. You let me ride your bare back when I was little, put my feet on your belly in the summertime. You would lick me even when I cried and screamed. And when I carried on about how miserable I was you were the only one who listened to me. We would walk late at night throughout the wilderness surrounding my house and you protected me. You fought for me. You helped me feel strong even when I felt weak. It's silly to cry so, but I loved you Gus. I loved you with all of my heart. You were the only thing in this whole universe that knew me inside and out--because you sat with me those nights on the porch swing where I would sing to you made up songs and tell you every little secret I had. You were every bit a part of our family. We all loved you so much. I am so sorry I couldn't be with you, to help calm you down but rubbing your ears (the way you like). I am sorry that we couldn't take you with us as we moved all of our different places. Gus, you were home to us. I will miss seeing you run so fast around our circle drive and how you jumped up to greet everyone no matter how many times we told you not to. I will miss seeing you wag your tail and hop around like a little puppy even though you were an old man. We love you Gus. You will always be a part of our lives.

Love,
Meg
ps- here is a poem for you

A Dog Has Died
My dog has died.
I buried him in the garden
next to a rusted old machine.

Some day I'll join him right there,
but now he's gone with his shaggy coat,
his bad manners and his cold nose,
and I, the materialist, who never believed
in any promised heaven in the sky
for any human being,
I believe in a heaven I'll never enter.
Yes, I believe in a heaven for all dogdom
where my dog waits for my arrival
waving his fan-like tail in friendship.

Ai, I'll not speak of sadness here on earth,
of having lost a companion
who was never servile.
His friendship for me, like that of a porcupine
withholding its authority,
was the friendship of a star, aloof,
with no more intimacy than was called for,
with no exaggerations:
he never climbed all over my clothes
filling me full of his hair or his mange,
he never rubbed up against my knee
like other dogs obsessed with sex.

No, my dog used to gaze at me,
paying me the attention I need,
the attention required
to make a vain person like me understand
that, being a dog, he was wasting time,
but, with those eyes so much purer than mine,
he'd keep on gazing at me
with a look that reserved for me alone
all his sweet and shaggy life,
always near me, never troubling me,
and asking nothing.

Ai, how many times have I envied his tail
as we walked together on the shores of the sea
in the lonely winter of Isla Negra
where the wintering birds filled the sky
and my hairy dog was jumping about
full of the voltage of the sea's movement:
my wandering dog, sniffing away
with his golden tail held high,
face to face with the ocean's spray.

Joyful, joyful, joyful,
as only dogs know how to be happy
with only the autonomy
of their shameless spirit.

There are no good-byes for my dog who has died,
and we don't now and never did lie to each other.

So now he's gone and I buried him,
and that's all there is to it.


Pablo Neruda