The Bitch is Dead

With a single bark in the middle of the night, one of my parents' dogs died last night.

Marris lived a happy and healthy thirteen years, moving a few times between California and Colorado. She was a Corgy - the dog of the Queen of England - with short legs and no tail. When she was excited, she wiggled her ass.

But for most of her life, Marris faced her antagonist morning and night. For the most basic of her living needs, she depended on a woman who despised her.

She and my mom did not get along.

And my mom had plenty reasons to dislike this canine. She conveniently forgot her potty-training at the most unfortunate of times. She tore through screen doors and carpets and furniture. She barked and shed. And she was odd looking - some said ugly. So very ugly.

But she was a living being, one who breathed and felt and saw, one whom my step dad and step siblings loved dearly. And so, in time, my mother and the dog came to a cold peace, a truce of sorts. She got her food and water, and was left alone most of the day, and, in turn, she left my mother alone too.

Back in the day, my mom would joke about a future in which "that dog is dead." And then, this morning, when the yellow animal's body went into rigor in the wee hours before the sun rose, my mom nearly shed a tear. She was actually sad.

The witch missed the bitch.

It's funny how our perspective can change dramatically in the face of loss. My mom is sad following the dog's demise. The Israelites fled slavery in Egypt, then missed their old home. American Jews romanticize the shtetl, that splendid place of pogroms and poverty.

And I, in my final days in New York, find myself reveling in the worst things this city has to offer. Noise, dirt, obnoxious people - I want to hug it all. I have so many reasons to celebrate my departure for the Golden State - no more subway, cheaper rent, burned bridges to leave behind. I look at what my future is bringing with awe and excitement - a gem of a rabbinical school, new and old friends, plenty of sunshine.

But the known bitch is so often more easier to accept than the unknown one. And, so often, we yearn for that which we specifically can no longer have.

So the sooner the time comes for me to leave, the more I clench to that which I love here. New York. New York.

It is a wonderful town.

My three years here have been unparalleled in the opportunities they've presented me. Great friends. Amazing jobs. A new world each day, twenty-four, six.

I came, I saw, I did. And now it's time to go. The bitch is dead. It's over.

And no matter how right that is, no matter how ready I am, it's still sad. Good, exciting, but sad. I'm sure, come a week from now, that I, like the witch, will shed a tear too.

So this post is for Marris, the dog who died this day. She was good. And we liked her. She gave her time in this world. In her passing, we all learned what it means to love, to like, and to hate - to yearn and mourn and hope, how natural it is to miss that which is gone, no matter how much we took it for granted while it was here.

Thank you Corgy. I'm sorry you're dead.

Comments

[John]

I'm sorry about your dog, but I'm excited for your starting at Ziegler. It's a beautiful place, with beautiful people. Cheers.

[Stephen]

Thanks for posting about Maris, David. Well written. She was a haggity bitch, for sure, but we loved her. She's been in my life since I was ten, coming into it shortly after my mother left. It's hard to imagine going home and not seeing Maris there. For all my travels, she never forgot me.

Good luck with your move. Best wishes, Stephen.

[Debra]

boy do you hate your mother! She may well have earned it, I have no idea, but I still found it rather shocking to read in a blog post by someone who I generally to be very thoughtful writer.

[David]

For the sake of full disclosure, I love my mother dearly, and she, in turn, loved this post.

[Lori Bolotin]

I loved this post, as David states, and did not take it personally! I really did terrorize poor Maris. And, now that she's gone, I miss her!