Pretty boy Liko. Photo courtesy: Ayoung Kim

Pablo is aging before my eyes.

He seems to sprout new fatty tumors on a daily basis; there are two that are growing like deer antlers above his ears. I was scratching his chest the other day and felt another plump, round bump. Assuming it was another tumor, I bent over to take a closer look and behold!—I was pinching an engorged tick between my fingers! And it was still alive and waving its legs! Gripping tweezers between my fingers and Pablo between my legs, I extracted the tick in one piece. Pablo is fine.

Pablo doesn’t listen to me anymore. I do think he’s lost some hearing in one ear because I can tell sometimes he hears a noise, but can’t discern the source (i.e. me).  And—he just plain doesn’t listen to me. He adores all Asian people and pity all Asians who do not adore him, especially the old Chinese folk in the park who visibly shirk away when Pablo approaches.  I yell and I holler but he doesn’t listen and there he goes with his ears flopping, trotting toward them with a gleefully large grin on his face. Pablo unceremoniously bursts into their morning qigong circle, interrupting their qi-flow, and wags his tail to each person, hoping for a hug. The Chinese people turn and curse me. Good thing I don’t understand.

Pablo doesn’t think he’s intimidating, but to non-dog people, he’s overwhelming. He’s a tall boy, and coupled with the fact that he loves to stand between peoples’ legs, he sometimes lifts them off the ground, like a real-life pony ride but not a pony. It’s a real-life golden retriever ride. Also, he assumes everyone loves him and can’t wait for his acts of affection. Thus, when he bounds toward them with his big ol’ boxy head and his long tongue hanging out, naturally some of his alleged fans recoil. Pablo does not understand, and tries to convert them by slobbering on them or standing between their legs. Then the cursing at me begins.

Liko—the younger golden retriever—

sniffed a foxtail up his nostril last week. What awful sneezing. We came home and he kept snorting, trying to blow it out of his nose. This went on for three days when finally I insisted that he be taken to the hospital. The vet used forceps and tweezed out a foxtail that had embedded far up his nostril. The foxtail was covered in fur and mucus. The vet asked us if we wanted to bring it home?  Yes, we’d like to display it on the mantle… .

The bill came back at an eye-watering price, and so a friend suggested we put a nylon stocking over Liko’s head when going to the park (to prevent snorting foxtails). What a lovely image of a bank-robber-goldie trotting through the park… .

Photo courtesy: Ayoung Kim

This morning,

I took the boys to the park for a quick five minutes while Pablo did his business. I led Pablo back home, then went back out with Liko for our usual long walk all through the Presidio. What a marvelous sight to see Liko romping through the woods, diving into the ice plants and writhing on his back. Witnessing his unabashed and unrestrained delight is to witness worship in action. After thoroughly baptizing himself in leaves, dirt, plants, and bark, he trotted back to me. He smelled of grass and trees. 

We returned home to find Pablo where I had left him; lying at the foot of the stairs. With encouragement—verbal and physical—I coaxed Pablo up the stairs. With the un-healing pressure wound, his leg was permanently bandaged. With his weak hips, his hind legs no longer supported him (hence having to wear snow-booties indoors, to grip the hardwood floors). I implored C to install a special doggie-chair-lift to transport Pablo up and down the stairs. It would only cost a big fortune, so what was his problem? 

On another note,

this reminds me of when our other dog, José, sprained his leg and was bed-ridden. At that time, my youngest sister was living with us. When we moved from the bedroom to the kitchen, José couldn’t follow us as he normally would. This situation was absolutely untenable to her, and bless her heart, she would drag the entire dog bed with José on it back and forth down the hallway as if he were a king.  Honestly, I think José weighed more than she did, but her heart couldn’t bear leaving him alone.

Liko, having worshiped in nature, resembled a nature spirit with twigs, leaves, and burs in his fur. I set about brushing and extracting all of the debris. I cut off some dreads from behind his ears. Then I cleaned the ears of both Liko and Pablo.

I let Liko have his lacrosse ball. We had to limit lacrosse-ball-time because the downstairs neighbors can’t tolerate the noise of a lacrosse ball repeatedly being dropped onto the hardwood floors, and I don’t blame them. Liko did his usual thing by gloating in front of Pablo, holding the lacrosse ball in his mouth and wagging his tail. (Typical younger brother complex, he does the same thing with treats; he’ll show off his treat to Pablo even though Pablo received the same thing).

Getting no response, Liko dropped the ball onto Pablo’s bed. I watched Pablo pretend to ignore the ball, but somehow, he ended up lying on top of it. He wouldn’t budge, even with Liko using his nose to nudge him. Liko was barking, trying to get his ball back. Pablo opened his mouth and let out a silent roar (old age had taken his vocal chords). After wrestling for a while, I presented them with treats and stealthily took the lacrosse ball away. They didn’t notice because I’d smeared peanut butter on their biscuits, and they were in peanut butter heaven.

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Lately, whenever my sister D comes over, Pablo immediately runs to the top of the stairs to greet her. He sits and she kneels down. He hooks his paw in her elbow and talks for a long time. Mostly I think he’s complaining about Liko.

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Pablo is gently dying. I expressed this to my family, adding that if they felt inclined, to send him lots of white light. He is a great being who continues to touch us all with his amazing gentleness.