Windblown, Sun-Faded Fragments in the Desert
In fact, death, decay, impermanence, loss and change are not sad themes. These are the catalysts to the glory of life, to a richness of reflection, to a framework for living. Why do people struggle so hard against acceptance of basic reality? Why do television news crews, possessed of incredible technology and skill, who could record anything, choose to shove cameras into faces and record bursts of emotion over deaths and disasters? Where is the learning in rubbing old wounds? Is it not all soon to be like this picture in the desert?
During my rambles in the local Nevada hills, of late I have sensed the presence of my warm now dead puppy Melba, my puppy for 17 years. I say puppy because I love the word and because she was a Libra like myself and like myself maintained an awed naivete to the very end. Naivete and low self-esteem; this was a dog anybody could mess with.
I got her as a plaything for the more sophisticated and complex basset/beagle Melody who preceded Melba in death by 7 years. Melody was six months her senior and mercilessly rolled her about the back yard. So Melba grew up as underdog and although she was slightly larger than Melody, it never occurred to her to challenge the older dog's leadership. She would occasionally put on a show of barking, for instance if a person suddenly appeared on the trail and startled her, but the barking was so hollow as to produce laughter in most observers.
The deep booming bark of her earlier years became croaky and fainter with time. She overbarked and later paid for it.
Even after she was disabled and inert, not even able to roll over, finally not even able to eat or drink, she could utter faint, feeble little barks and this she did right before she died. She gave a series of staccato two-beat barks. The very last bark of all was only one beat. Now whenever a dog barks in the neighborhood, I imagine it is Melba and perhaps it is, perhaps she barks through them now.
I do not exactly miss her because she is not exactly gone. She lingers in the essence of my cosy messy home and in the glorious Nevada sky and sage expanses where we went for solace, for entertainment and for life itself so many days.
I will seek out and post to this column a
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