Memorial Day 2008

Two years, Bear. In the second one, I started truly being here, where you brought me. Where we came together. In honor of you, this weekend I gave your name a place on me physically. It is the only thing I ever thought should go there, and it is the only tattoo I will ever have. Kind of like you were the only dog I ever loved the way I did. Now that I have you on me, forever – for the rest of my ever anyway – I feel even closer to you. And, somehow, freer of the sad memory of two years ago.

What’s replacing that sad day is my good memories of you. I remember you best as always wanting to be outside. No matter where we lived, there had to be a way for you to be outside. (It’s why I rented the place we still live in, with its tiny “backyard” that I know you would be on right now, watching the birds and planes fly over, the wind moving the ivy on the old church, the old Brooklyn ladies next door wheeling in their laundry.) Lying in the grass, or the dirt, or even the driveway…watching the world, taking it in: That is Oso. Then the little game you would play with me when I had to ask you come in: You’d pretend to not hear me, but you’d be very still and sort of looking at me out of the corner of your eye. “Os!” I’d say again. Suddenly you’d jump up and run to me. I love that this seemed like a vestige of your young-dog run-from-me days. I love you for it – I always did – because you were strong-willed and independent, but so loyal. Just as I was to you. You only find that kind of connection with another soul, Os. We had it. We still do and we always, always will.