She Was a Friend of Mine

I have been working, slowly, on a piece about swine flu-mania in Korea. Unfortunately, and very very sadly, our family's crazy yet lovable pup, Gypsy, died very unexpectedly on Monday. She was a great dog, from the uncontrollable wag of her tail to her sneaky face licks to her inability to stop playing fetch--sometimes bringing her dangerously close to heat stroke.

I remember when we first got her...My mom and brother brought her home from a breeder in Shakopee, and she was soooo cute. She was extremely calm and had a huge pot belly. Only later did we realize that both her placid character and rotund waste were caused by some digestion problems. We woke up the next morning to a nice pile of partially digested puppy puke, a much more lively pup, and one that was noticeably slimmer.

Gypsy joined our family in the spring of 2003...when we were all grieving over the loss of Evan and Jackie. One week after their accident, our aging dog, Toby (also an upstanding canine companion), had to be put down. His health had been declining quickly; and, I believe, the stress, sense of loss and chaos surrounding Evan's death was too much for the little guy. I was going to be leaving for school soon, my parents weren't on the best of terms (and hadn't been for a while), and it was soon apparent that my little brother was going to be more or less an only child...(this is at least my take on it, memories do change and mold through time and experience). I think she was also seen as a potential hunting dog. Gypsy? a hunting dog?!? Extremely laughable!

She was born on Valentine's Day, 2003, and we got her some weeks later. Truthfully, I don't remember much from this period in my life...grief, antidepressants and reefer have a way of making one not remember (I think this is worse than forgetting...not remembering...). I remember that she was cute...super cute. That's about it though, kind of sad, really.

The only other time I lived at home in the last six years was the summer between my freshmen and sophomore years of college. I was still pretty messed up then, but doing much better. I was dating a boy named Paulie, and we would bring Gypsy to Excelsior to play in the commons near the lake. She was still a little afraid of the water but would walk in until the it hit her chest. Passerby in the park would make remarks about how beautiful she was. And she really was... She was lean and jet black, with one of the shiniest coats I have ever seen.

I don't mean to be all woebegone and retrospective, but if there's one thing I know fairly well, it's grief. And in grieving, we must relive and celebrate...or it will pop up later at the most inconvenient of times...Grief doesn't disappear--it dissipates and gets less with time, unless you shove it away in some hidden, proud place. I will not be proud about this. I will cry and the Koreans will think I am a shameful person but I don't fucking care. Yesterday, I was told that I am "ugly" when I am sad. I have been laughed at several times for expressing grief over a dog. I guess I shouldn't expect much more in a place where dogs are a delicacy. I guess I shouldn't be surprised in a place where pets are a new luxury and viewed as accessories rather than friends. But it still sucks, and some of these people don't help at all. Some people are sympathetic, but I find it hard to face those who are critical. They don't understand that this grief goes further than the dog...it goes to grieving for my mom and brother--her real companions.

Gypsy accompanied my mom to the farm and, even in her craziness (Gypsy's :) ), kept my mom company while her children were hundreds, if not thousands, of miles away from her. How could I, or my brothers, or my mom, ever rely on a person to do that? We couldn't, but we had a great lovable big hearted pup to be there when she was needed. And when she wasn't, she would generally sit quietly in her kennel, or maybe whine in the front yard...oh man...I'm gonna miss her.

I'm going to miss her snotty nose marks on the court yard windows; and the way she would wedge a ball between your leg and the chair, begging for you to play fetch. I'm going to miss her sneaking face licks while we tied our shoes, and her perfect sad puppy dog eyes when she wanted to be let out of her kennel. I'm going to miss going on runs with her when she'd criss cross all around me, making my run more of an acrobatic performance than an aerobic one. I'm going to miss Nola yelling "Jippy!". I'm going to miss seeing her get old and finally settling down. I'm just going to miss Gypsy Rose.

It is eerily fitting that she was born on Valentine's day, lived with so much unconditional love and excitement, and died because her heart was too big.

You will be missed Gypsy Rose...and if there is a doggy heaven or doggy reincarnation or something, I bet you're with the best of 'em.

This blog is for my Mother Dearest, "Gypsy was a pain in the ass, but at least she was my pain in the ass..." I secretly hope some poor pooch shows up on your stoop one day (I guess it's not so secret anymore).