Those were the last words I said to my beloved dog, Arrow, as he lay dying.
And those were among the first words that came to mind tonight when I saw my friend Norine’s message: “I don’t know how to tell you … Mica’s gone.”
Mica was one of a kind. He had the coat of a llama, the eyes of a doe, and the philosophical soul of a Buddhist. I used to love going for walks with him and Norine, because it was like being with a celebrity. Everyone wanted to get close, touch him, know more about him.
Many of my memories of Mica involve him running toward me at full speed. I also remember him frolicking with Tucker in the snow, and fox-pouncing when I asked him if he wanted to go for a walk. He loved going for walks. He was was a fixture in our neighborhood.
And now he’s gone … just like that.
It’s strange to consider that so much personality—so much energy and life—could vanish just like that, just because of a twisted stomach. As Norine said to me tonight, “I don’t understand.”
But how can we understand? Death may be as natural as life, but still it makes no sense. How can Mozart and Einstein and Mica vanish … just like that?
I did my best to reassure Norine tonight that it gets better. She’ll always miss Mica—just as I still miss Arrow—but eventually the sadness will yield to happy memories.
In the meantime, the Bard’s timeless quote rings true: Goodnight, sweet prince …