Edwin Ambrose Webster (1916)
"I’m trying to write a piece of music that’s about what it feels like to be on the beach with you right now."
Ben Aronson, Coffee Break, 1997
today i had to fight through muffled tears and brimming guilt as my dog was put down today. i felt as rigid as her protruding and undulating spine that had been etched out of her body from the lack of food, as bare and vulnerable as her ribcage. etched in my mind are the sounds of her paws scratching scratching and clawing at the barren floor, desperate to stumble upon something familiar, something tangible, to not feel lonely or frightened in a place that once felt like her home. my hands still tremble from the times she shuttered as i attempted to trace the outlines of the patches of fur on her face as i did as a child, hoping that if i traced enough times she would remember. or forget the pain and realize someone something was there and reciprocating the unconditional love she gave me, gave us. my eyes feel heavy from the stinging tears that pooled as i watched her eat her last meal and collapse from exhaustion afterwards, her bones cracking and echoing. it’s hard to see past the veil of suffering that hid her for so long, the facade that masked her eternally calm and caring spirit. she once dragged a stuffed animal from the trash, something we had carelessly discarded, and slept with it every night for years until her vision faded and memories withered. she licked tears from my face when i was 10 after a disappointing birthday, woke me up each morning, watched soap operas with my mom at noon, loved to roll in the mud after a fleeting rain storm, and greeted me when i came home each day as if i had left for months and appeared again. thank you for your love maggie, thank you.