Photo courtesy: Ayoung Kim

I took the boys to the park.

Two men waved me over—I think they’re both deaf and homeless. One man wanted to know what happened to Pablo’s legs. I told him it was bandaged to protect the pressure wounds. He didn’t understand, so I lied and said, “His joints gets stiff.” 

The man replied, “Oh, arthritis? I have that too! It hurts so bad!” He said he noticed Pablo had difficulty walking, and said he’d been watching him for the past seven years. That’s true—we’ve known these men in the park for years. He motioned to Pablo saying, “I love this guy!” and gave him such a crushing bear hug that Pablo lost his balance and ended up flat on his rear end, but still the man wouldn’t let go and kept on hugging him. When he let go, Pablo returned the favor by getting up and standing between his legs!

Early this morning around 5:00am,

Liko was licking my face. Recognizing this as a sign of an urgent emergency, I immediately got up and opened the door. He bolted across the street and to the park before I could stop him or get a leash. By the time I put on C’s parka to run after him, Liko had returned from the park and was wagging his tail at the front door. We scooted right back out to the park for an hour walk in the pouring rain. We were all alone in the Presidio. Then we came back for Pablo. Poor thing—I woke him from a deep sleep and made him come to the park with us. He dutifully pooped and peed then looked at me with the sleepiest eyes ever! 

I don’t know why he was still sleepy when he was the one keeping me up all night. Over at C’s, I sleep on the floor, and last night Pablo and I were doing the bootie-bump—meaning—he was trying to make space for himself and wedged himself into a small area between me and Liko. Then he unfurled himself, stretching out and bumping me with his butt to make more room for himself! Then at some point, he got up, repositioned himself, and plopped down on my shoulder. Or—and this is my favorite—he gets up, circles three times, then settles down on my head, giving me a face-full of dog-butt.

After they eat and get their treats,

Liko pounces on Pablo. Liko lets out a normal bark, while Pablo opens his mouth and hisses like a big, furry snake. A big, furry snake wearing snow-booties. We had to put snow booties on Pablo inside the house. If we don’t do this, his hind legs slide and slide and then he’s doing the Chinese splits!

Now they’re napping while I listen to Hawaiian music. In a couple of hours we’ll go out and do the whole thing over again. A lot of fun. A lot of aloha.

Cadmium yellow paint, Chinese black ink. By Ayoung Kim

Two years

into my four-year master’s degree in traditional Chinese medicine, I decided to switch schools—50 miles away. I became a commuter student, renting a room for three nights during the week, but driving back to the flat I shared with my sister every weekend.

The transfer to the new school was not working. For the first time, I flat-out flunked tests, and couldn’t keep up with the material. This was completely incompatible with my over-achieving-straight-A upbringing. I lost my identity. I lost my grip. I found myself drowning in a constant state of panic, fear and dread. 

Simultaneously, C (my ex-fiancé) was sending me emails saying that Pablo was deteriorating quickly, and that I should get over there as soon as possible since he could die any day. C asked me and my family to pray for him. He admitted to crying and feeling very emotional. 

One evening after my last class,

I drove directly to C’s place (actually, our former shared flat). He had texted me to let me know they were in the park. I walked under street lights, smelling eucalyptus leaves as I approached the entrance. I followed the trail when I literally stopped in my tracks. I nearly rubbed my eyes because I could not believe what I was seeing.

Pablo looked like a strange ballerina, walking en-pointe on his front paws. C had put him in a harness. Pablo’s hind legs were suspended by ropes which C held in his hand. In stark contrast, Liko was scampering after every scent he discovered, pounced in sand holes, dug deeper holes, and greeted every other dog they passed. Pablo was no longer his partner-in-crime.

I was shocked;

things changed so quickly. Pablo and C moved at a painstakingly slow pace. The light of the street lamps silhouetted their shapes. Even in the dark, I could see C was exhausted. He stretched his back. Tears streamed down my cheeks and I couldn’t stop them. Pablo was so skinny and half-dangling in the air. C switched the harness ropes to his other hand. He patiently stopped when Pablo stopped to sniff, and dutifully followed when Pablo started walking again. 

Previously—and I am also guilty of this—when Pablo was collared around his neck, it was easy to jerk him forward and hurry him along. Especially on Fridays at the end of a long week. Now, with Pablo harnessed from behind, it was impossible to impose our pace onto him. I watched Pablo sniff a blade of grass. Poetic justice served.

C asked me if I could take care of the boys for nearly every weekend in January and February. I had to say “No.” I was too stressed with school, falling behind, flunking, and commuting. I felt guilty for not being able to help the boys, and for abandoning C. I staggered under the weight of being an even bigger failure. For the first two months of the year, I cried myself to sleep every night.

The bachelor’s studio

C had installed the boys in the basement studio since Pablo could no longer walk. No one told this to Pablo, because he continued to lumber up and hobble for a couple of steps on shaky hind legs, like a new-born calf. They lounged in bachelor-style digs replete with a full sized couch and a large TV. C played the nature station for them when he left for work during the day. All they were missing was a pizza pie and a six-pack of soda… .

When I entered the studio, Liko immediately ran to me. I sat on the floor with my back against the couch. Liko plopped down in front of me. A moment later, Pablo lifted his head because he smelled me—glaucoma had taken his vision. Heaving himself up, he limped over and took over Liko’s spot (always the older brother!), and Liko re-positioned himself next to me. 

As I stroked them,

my tears dripped onto their fur. I didn’t tell them about how badly the transfer was going, or how I was flunking, or how much my heart was breaking to see Pablo physically weakened and emaciated. I didn’t tell them how much I regretted not being able to watch them as often as C requested and not nearly as often as I wanted to spend time with them. I didn’t tell them that I stayed in the relationship with C too long because I couldn’t tear myself away from them. I did tell them that although mommy didn’t live with them anymore, she made sure to bring extra treats, smeared with peanut butter.

Liko’s and Pablo’s eyes closed, and their breath became deep. I massaged their ears, forehead, muzzle, and chest. I inspected between their toes to check for foxtails. My hands moved in sync with their rhythmic breathing. We remained like this for hours. Having left C, having left my original school, I was floating in no-man’s-land, no longer tethered to familiar ground. Sitting with the boys in my lap, I finally felt grounded.