Six days, six years, it's all the same.

Photo copyright Wings, 2015; all rights reserved.

Six years ago today, at about 10:20 in the morning, I said goodbye to this little dude as he curled up literally in my arm on the table at the vet's. 

He'd only been with us parts of six days; he'd reportedly been hit by a vehicle at the village, and the girls at the gallery next door didn't want to leave him there crying, but couldn't take him. So we did, of course.

His whimpers turned out to be less from what was apparently only the slightest of taps, and more from distemper, as became evident over the weekend. [This occurred on a Wednesday evening; our vet was unavailable until Monday, so we took him home.] In those few days, he burrowed his way solidly into both our hearts. Animiikins, Little Thunder Being, was his name, for the constant thumping of his feet. Also Little Dude, Little Man, Big Man, and Little Big Man, because as young and tiny as he was, he went toe-to-toe with a bullying Raven and backed him right off. He also followed us everywhere, head cocked to one side, overjoyed at having a pack, and having love.

The vet said he couldn't be salvaged. Griffin clearly thought otherwise; he gave me the cold shoulder for weeks after I brought his little body home, where Wings had already dug a grave for him. We laid him gently in the earth, wrapped in little quilt, and bawled.

Six days. And yet, six years later, I still miss him. He was such an outsized presence that not a day goes by that I don't think of him, and occasionally, I'll see Griffin out walking gingerly around the rocks that mark his resting place.

He didn't have much in his young life; it was mostly starvation, dehydration, abuse, abandonment, illness, neglect, pain, privation. But for the last six days of his life, he had food and water and a pack to call his own and unequivocal love, and before the needle went in, he looked up at me with knowing eyes, as though to tell me he understood and that it was all right, then curled himself into a ball in the crook of my arm and went to sleep. He never felt the needle; all he felt was love.

All content, including photos and text, are copyright Wings and Aji, 2015; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.