Farewell my Friend
On my way to bury my dog
A beautiful one she was!
To be emotionally unavailable… heh, guess that’s not as terrible as it sounds. Sometimes, I tell you, it is the bullet proof you need. Not from fear of feeling, only from fear of explosion.
I’m on my way to bury my dog.
The entire incident brings me back to the comedy Netflix special where Kelvin Hart made a joke about his brother wondering if he’d be a good dog owner, so he took an imaginary dog out for a stroll. Maybe I should have too. Perhaps when I lost mine I would have gotten all the answers I needed. What the hell did I think?
Buying dogs? I can’t even take care of myself.
My mom made the call and instantly I knew. Dear my family, maybe next time don’t give such calls to my mom. She’s not as sleek with it as she thinks.
Might be I picked it up because I’m known for reading too much meaning to things.
Or maybe I picked it up from the first time she made the call.
But no, it wasn’t because I expected it. I spent all I had, I took the little chance she’d survive, and I prayed for a miracle. I believed. Even with so much faith, some mountains will never shake. The cost of living; death.
In the place I stay, the little apartment I rented, a stretch from home—my mother’s house, female dogs weren’t allowed to exist. Something about a female dog once biting the ruler and from then was banned to be brought anywhere near their land. Their land is vast. I mean, give the entire Porthacourt city to the Ikwere’s, they’ve dominated the place.
Since my apartment was rented, we figured the best option would be to let the dogs live at my mom’s while I find another house outside the state. Yes, I have to start a living in another state just to be with my dogs. So I started putting my money together.
God bless my brother, my younger brother Henry, for three months he’s helped me care for those dogs like they were his. I visit from time to time, take them to the vet, follow up on their vaccination and general healthcare. I send money for their upkeep nearly every week. But he does all the hard labor, and he does it well. They were in good hands, until the first panic.
The First Panic
My mom called, asked about the movement plan. She opened up and said that neighbors had found out we had three female dogs in her compound. One belonging to Henry. Initially, we thought they had no right to come into a compound you own on a land you bought, but all that didn’t matter. The law was as long as it was on Ikwere soil, you cannot keep female dogs. She was freaking out, mentioned they could come in any moment and kill the dogs with the system backing them up and still fine me a million naira for each dog I own.
Whew, I spiralled.
What the hell was wrong with this country?
A dog bit you, you flex your power and decreee all female dogs on your land be put to death? And many decades after, that law is still in existence, and the agenda being carried out by youths. So much for the 21st century. So much for growth.
Now what do I do? I needed a few more weeks before I’d be ready for the move.
The Second Panic
My mom’s elder sister lived in the compound with my mom too. She had a church thing where she was going to bring her members to the compound every Sunday. That program put the panic on us all. If those members were to see the dogs, that would be the end.
My aunty called me, “Come and carry your dogs oh.” but carry them to where? Surely if they weren’t safe there, here was the last place they’d be safe.
Oooh I hit that button, I hit it hard.
I called up my agent in the other state, the house was almost ready, “two weeks,” he said, two weeks.
The family and I agreed that the dogs would be sent into the house whenever the church people came. I don’t know if that was carried out religiously.
The Last Straw
Few days after that, my brother finally called. The dogs were sick. Very sick. “What’s wrong Henry?” “Buddy can’t eat, she also has diarrhea, and her ear is hurting.”
So this ear thing, we found out pretty late. Few days after we purchased the dogs, both Caucasians, was when we found the injury on Buddy’s left ear. It wasn’t cropped well, just a little more the entire thing would have been blocked.
After the first two months the injury got worse and pus was all over it. We sought professional help, and my brother cleaned it daily, righteously dressing the wound.
“Also sis, we need to treat tick, it’s everywhere.”
“Jesus Henry, how long has this been going on? This sickness.”
“3 days now. We’re suspecting Parvo.”
“Why didn’t you call me sooner?”
“You have other problems, I didn’t want you to worry.”
I get his intentions, but if you know what Parvo is you’d understand my reaction. I rushed over immediately and we took the dogs to the vet, all three of them. Because if he was right and indeed Parvo had found it’s way into the compound, all of the dogs were at risk of death. Given we were already four days late, fear was surplus. With Parvo, anything above three days was borrowed time.
We got to the vet, the caucs were due for their last vaccine, but she was skeptical, seeing the look of Buddy. She told us about her fear, administering any injection in that state could be a risk. She warned that it could be Parvo and we should isolate Buddy. We explained how they’ve all been together, surely the other two would have shown symptoms by now if it was indeed Parvo? We suspected the ear, or maybe just food poisoning, a problem with the stomach since she peed out her feces.
“Is there no way of knowing, ma? A way to be certain.”
She shaked her head, “We usually just tell from the signs and place them on treatment.” God, the cost of that treatment was a neck cutter. And there wasn’t any guarantee it would work. Daily treatment until your dog either got better or died. And we still weren’t sure it was Parvo!!
The vet gave the vaccination to the caucs, gave the three tick injections, then finally gave Buddy a flagyl tablet for the stomach.
That night the dogs were very weak, they couldn’t help themselves up, Stormy I heard even peed on herself. We felt it was the weight of the injections. Tick and vaccination all at once, they’d be fine given a few days of rest. And truly they were, the next day. Stormy was up and about, Smalz, the Lhasa was up and about, but Buddy remained down. Buddy didn’t rise, she laid to eat. Her feces was still just liquid, but she was eating now. The vet confirmed, “It couldn’t be parvo.” the other dogs didn’t have it. And five days had passed.
I wasn’t at rest so I phoned a friend, he gave me a new vet’s number and I booked an appointment. We were to go the next day.
I had exhausted all my money so I was heading to the bank that morning to pull out funds from the house rent when my mother called.
First of, mummy would never call with a line other than hers. Yet I picked my brother’s call and there was her voice, “My Taste, where are you now?”
“On my way to the bank, what’s wrong?”
“Leave the bank, come straight home.”
“Why mummy? What’s wrong with the dog?”
“Nothing, I’m going out soon, I want to see you before I leave.”
“Mom, I don’t have any money for the vet, I have to get to the bank first.”
“I’ll give you money for the vet. Just come straight please.”
“The dog is dead, isn’t she?”
“No, she’s eating now. You ask too many questions, just get here. She’s very weak. Come straight so you people can go quick.”
Big lie. Big fat lie. My dog was dead. I knew it.
“What if she’s saying the truth? Why must you always embrace the bad?” my girlfriend asked.
“Because my mom has made this call before.” I was younger then, my first dog. I was in the university, at Enugu state, miles away from home. Henry was a little boy by then, he knew nothing of dogs. But we wanted one so badly my uncle gave us one.
I had just stepped out of the bathroom when my mother called, “A taste, now listen to me, be strong okay? Nicky is dead.” There was this coldness to her voice, this firmness, whenever she gave the death-news. That’s how you’d know, that’s how I knew.
My girlfriend kicked on, “Be positive babe, Buddy is not dead.”
“Nah, Buddy’s gone.” Buddy’s gone. I did everything right, I couldn’t save her.
I went to take a shower, there was no point rushing home.
In the bathroom I thought about Henry, losing two dogs to me, he’d never forgive himself. He has nothing to prove to me, he did an excellent work with those dogs, if I could do it all again, I wouldn’t change a thing, there was no question to his service. He did an excellent job!
I got on the road. In my ears were headphones, the journey was a blur. Only one song blasted on repeat, ‘I came by prayer_Theophilus Sunday.’ I don’t know why, but it helped me stay together.
To be emotionally unavailable… my girl thought if I was so certain Buddy was dead why wasn’t I crying? I’d explode babe, I’d explode.
So I’m on my way to bury my dog. God help me, give me the strength to comfort my brother. Because he grew a bond with these dogs. I only pumped in money.
The compound was quiet when I walked in. My eyes darted to all corners of it. Finally, there was Stormy, racing towards me, crying. Yes crying, not barking. She knew. Stormy knew her twin was dead.
I tried to comfort her, but sad dog, that was her look.
Her wail brought my brother out.
“Welcome,” he said.
“Where’s Buddy?”
“At the back.”
For a moment, only a moment a pang of hope struck. Maybe Buddy’s not dead.
I walked towards the backyard, this would be one of the times I’d be so happy to be wrong. Please, let me be wrong Lord. Buddy shouldn’t be gone.
“Why you no follow inside house?” my aunty asked as she saw me walking towards the backyard.
“No worry, make I pass here.”
I met my brother at the back and he pointed to were Buddy laid, teeth all clenched, dead as a doornail.
An arrow pierced my heart.
Nothing can prepare you for death!
Leaving the house, I knew I was going to bury my dog, but seeing her laid down there, lifeless, ahhhhh. My heart hurt. It hurt so much. My Buddy was gone and I was terrified at the sight of her.
I squatted and held her head. Usually, I patted her there. I was expecting a reaction, maybe a movement, maybe she’d know I was here and jump around. She was always excited to see me. It was like she knew of all the love I had for her. Feel that love now Buddy, come on, please react.
But nothing, no feedback, she was gone. I was patting the head of a dead dog.
I turned behind to ask my brother how, but he started weeping. Wailing couldn’t define it. I held him close. He tried explaining but he was only making it worse for himself.
“I… I… I… fed her this morning
She ate. I don’t…I don’t…I didn’t… kill…”
“Shhh, I know. Henry, I know.
You did your best. You couldn’t have saved her. None of us could.”
“I tried.”
“I know.”
I held him for a long time. Tears streamed down my eyes too but I wiped them off. I had to be strong. I had to be strong for him.
I took him to the parlor and after he let it all out, we spoke.
Buddy was alive when I called to confirm our appointment early that morning. She was in pain last night. All night, she wailed. Nobody slept. They sent her to the back, separated her from her sister. Luckily Stormy never saw her die. But she knew. I know she knew.
When my brother was settled, I went out back to see Buddy one more time. And then I cried. The silent kind. You know, those kind where your heart is just falling out and you’re pressing both hands against it trying to hold it steadfast.
The kind where your mouth is shaking, wide open but you’re careful not to make a sound.
Where your eyes are all blurry and mucus running down your nose but you can’t scream, you can’t even draw it back because they’d hear, because they’d know you were crying. Yes, that kind.
I cried. I cried to my heart’s content.
Buddy was gone.
Buddy I cried because only seven more days and we’d have moved out of this Godforsaken state. Seven more days and I’d have been able to groom you, be your owner, show you how much I care, how much I’ve wanted this from the first moment I held you in my arms and called you my friend. Couldn’t you have waited seven more days huh?
I sat out with Stormy for a long time, watched her eat, watched her. Just watched her. She looked healthy, although she was sad.
We took her inside with Smalz when it was time to bury Buddy in the grave my brother had dug. None of that could have been easy for him.
Writing this, I still can’t shake the image out of my head; my Buddy in the ground, her legs and arms up, her teeth clenched. God the pain she had been in the past week. I couldn’t save her. All the money in the world couldn’t save her.
Was it Parvo? But we never took the dogs out, and no other dog came in. We were careful. We were always careful.
Was it poison? Could it be that someone dropped something in her food?
Was it the injections, too much to bear? She couldn’t walk after that day.
Or was it the ear infection that spread that wide?
We’ll never know. All we know for certain is, she’s gone. She’s gone. She’s gone.
Here's to the dog I never got to know:
Buddy, with all the dreams I had about you. With the way I felt you even when you were far. I cared, much more than I'm letting on. I know if given the chance we would have had a blast.
All those plans I had…
Rest now friend, you deserve it.
Glossary
- Why you no follow inside house? — Why didn’t you pass through the house?
- No worry, make I pass here — Don’t worry, let me pass here.
