Eulogy

I’m swimming.

I look up, and all I see is the blue of water all around me. Then her substantial black body and her four black dog legs are swimming overhead. Like a dolphin playing near a ship, I twist slowly to avoid her churning feet, and watch her sail on. Moments later, I am sitting at the edge of the pool, soaking up the sight of my family playing in the water, in the sun. She comes to sit beside me and I reach out to pat her back. I listen to the slap, slap, slapping sound of my hand on her fur, still heavy with water. These are some of the last moments with her that I would have, because later that night, she would die, passing from this life to the next while we slept.

Since we aren’t having a funeral for Bindi, and her body already rests somewhere in the desert, under a tree, where Nate says she can be in the shade, I felt I needed to memorialize her somehow.

On the day Bindi joined our family, she was young, but not a baby, kind of like us. We were still newlyweds and went to get her within hours of learning that she was looking for a home. We introduced her to our backyard and imagined she would like it there, but after 4 days and nights of crying and standing with her nose pressed to the back door, she got her way and became an inside dog. She was an instant member of the family, accompanying us on snow trips, trips to the pool, and even one crazy middle-of-the-night drive to the beach, and camping. Camping with Bindi was something to look forward to. She was her best self when she was camping. She loved having her family outside with her all the time, and she loved chewing pinecones and exploring the forest. We had to put a glow stick on her collar at night because she blended in with the darkness.

I’ve said before that if Bindi could talk, I know she would make me laugh. She had a funny, cheerful personality. She knew when to be serious too. She learned all the rules and obeyed them (mostly). We never could convince her not to jump up when people came to the house to visit. She didn’t jump onto them, just up high in front of them, the better to see their face. She had a loving nature and welcomed all people and dogs to our home.

My ears miss her. She was really pretty loud as far as dogs go, and not because of barking (although I was proud the first time I heard her big, deep bark). Her panting could be heard by people on the other end of the phone. She also had some sinus thing or apnea that made her snore loudly in her sleep, but she could be silenced with a firm SSSHHH! Whenever she put her nose to the ground and went around sniffing, the same apnea thing caused her to make a chugging sound, like a train. And lately, she always let out a long groan as she lowered her body to the ground to lay down – probably because of sore hips. All these sounds became a part of our home and our lives, and it feels quiet, even with the three kids running around.


Seems like a lot to say about a smelly, hairy dog. It’s OK if you think I’m weird. I think I’m weird. I didn’t think I would love an animal this way, but I did. I do.

Bindi May 5 2000 - June 30 2009