throw the dead dog in the fire.

what else can you do?

i never got to say goodbye to Otis the epileptic labrador. he is dead now. my father doesn't know yet. when he finds out he will be very sad and I don't know what he will do. he loved that dog. it wasn't even that old. five. maybe six, if that. poor dog.

i found out this morning, laying on a tatami mat far away from home. vicki and alexa had left already and mike and lauren and jaya and i were left laying in the room and it was raining outside and cold. after the festival we took a train to the city and met with many others at an expat hangout called GOD'S BAR. i switched from beer to whiskey too early in the night and as the drops of rain pounded on the window the next morning, the aching in my head kept the same rhythm.

when was the last time i saw that dog? maybe in june. yes. june. i had quit my job and was spending time at home with family after the bonnaroo. the big black dog would greet me when I went over to dad's. he never barked. he'd put his big head on my lap and keep it there until i tired of petting. then he'd roll around on the carpet and chew on his toys. one day dad found out that if you give the dog an empty two liter soda bottle to play with, he'd be happy for weeks. simple things bring the greatest pleasure in life. hugs and kisses and empty plastic bottles.

last time i talked to dad he said the dog was fine. fat and happy as always, he'd say. one time when we were talking over the summer dad said that once he finished the work on the inside of the house, he would build a fence so the dog could run around and not be in danger of getting hit by passing cars or harassed by horrible children. he never built that fence. now he probably never will. poor dead dog.

i was laying there on the floor, not really listening to the conversation going on. they were talking about the festival yesterday. it was a fire festival in sukugawa. people say it's one of the largest in the country. i stood up and walked into the kitchen. it was cold. it was becky's apartment and she was still asleep. my phone was on the table. i picked it up and went back in the tatami room where it was warm. i decoded a message that arrived at 4 in the morning from a crazy japanese woman who i believe may be a borderline stalker.

everybody was still talking about the festival, sharing photos, rehashing how the burning pyres were so hot and how the towering flames mesmerized us all. i pressed a button on my phone and connected to the internet and went to check my gmail. i had a mail from shea, a friend of my dad's. the day before dad was at the hospital having two of his vertebrae fused together. shea had mailed me then to say that the surgery went fine, but that the dog was rushed to the vet and they didn't know what was wrong. the latest mail from shea said that the dog died and they don't really know how or why and that they haven't told my dad yet.

this is where things get strange. where the line between life and death and human and animal starts to blur. it was a strange thing shea said, that when he went to the hospital to see dad after he was out of the surgery, dad, who was still heavily medicated, said: "I keep seeing Otis' face. It's like he's here and he's trying to tell me something."

maybe as my father lie unconscious on the operating table, under heavy anesthesia, flying through the vast and unknown plain that exists between life and death, he and otis found each other.

maybe that was their last moment together. as otis was taking his last breaths of air in this world, and my father lie comatose on the far side of consciousness, they found each other. it was there, on that plain far away from us all, where they shared one last moment. and otis got to say goodbye.