#69 A WOMAN'S BRIEFS -- THIS IS OTIS
This is Otis.
A week ago, Friday, Otis visited his best friend in hospital, a people hospital. Then, on Sunday, after a few months of failing health, his friend, Houston, died.
It wasn’t easy, qualifying to make that hospital visit. It required a visit to the Vet, toenails clipped, proof of good health, and an assurance that he is not an aggressive dog. He got all that, even though in frustration he bit the Vet Tec. It hasn’t been easy, his separation from an inseparable companion. But it is believed that when the hospital visit occurred, when Otis lay on his best friend’s lap, when they communicated, when their eyes met, when their touch was exchanged, the scent and sounds and seriousness of a life ending came clear to Otis. His beloved friend, our amazing son-in-law, Houston, was dying, and before Sunday’s sun brought light, he died.
Imagine the world of Otis between Sunday last, and this one in which I write from his house in Santa Fe. Sorrow hung in all the rooms like Kudzu covers a Georgia field. Let me try to describe it from Otis’s point of view: house stuff like furniture, stayed where it belonged. Not much else did. People came and went, human habits changed. Someone folded the blanket he and Houston shared, and moved it to an ottoman from the recliner. Strangers even sat in their recliner. The doorbell rang, the phones rang, family members rang saying they were coming, the sound of sobs and soft conversation rang in his ears. Otis retreated to his crate, to the safety of the familiar. No one’s lap, thank you, no. Jump to his usual spot on his humans’ king-size bed? Not since last Sunday.
I’ve been with my daughter, Houston’s wife, since Thursday. Otis has been more than willing to ask me for food, he’s been more than willing to have visiting dogs sharing the house, more than willing to move over on the sofa to make room for people, but return to his people’s bed, no. Until last night. Rather, this morning at 3:13 (I checked the clock). I felt the bounce when his feet hit bed’s end. I certainly felt his body’s weight when he climbed over my hip and spooned against my belly.
“Hello, Otis. Welcome.” Good for Otis to realize that grief is best met in company.
“I miss my dog, Scooter,” He’s home in Washington,” I said. “Welcome to his spooning spot.” Except, unlike Scooter, Otis refused to shift from that spot when shortly after five I indicated my readiness to climb out of bed. So, that is what I had to do. I climbed from under, moved up and over the covers, crawled down the bed past his position to reach mattress’ edge and dropped my feet to the floor. Otis stayed, sleeping, satisfied. He’s going to be fine.
