Bigfoot, my heart dog

My apologies--the dogs are fine, this is me trying to be foresighted.

With surprising prescience, Zayrina asked me last night if I had any pre-need funeral arrangements made for the 'Foots. I do, sort of. I haven't pre-paid for cremation, but I've talked with Kogi about custom urns for their ashes. I'll provide the words and pictures, and she'll make them for me.

I keep coming back to this window, writing something, letting Blogger save it, and then backspacing over it. For all of my education, all of my reading, all of the talking that comes so easily to me, I can't seem to find the right words to describe my dogs, and to some extent, I can't make it real that they will need these words written someday.

Bigfoot has been with me since he was five months old. He was rejected by the family that adopted him from a shelter on the grounds of being "too big." He was fifty pounds and in that gangly teenage stage when I adopted him. His legs were so long and his feet so large that he looked like half a spider. From the first, he slept on my bed. When he was fussing, I'd sing to him--Jimmy Buffett's "Death of an Unpopular Poet." I still sing that to him on the nights when he can't seem to settle down to sleep and is pacing restlessly around my room crying.

He tried to bite my ex on our first date and I didn't listen to him--silly me. I could have saved myself a few years of hurt had I taken my dog's advice. All the times the jackass abused me (never physically), Bigfoot was there for me. I've soaked his fur with tears and never once has he let me down.

He's done two MS walks with me, pulling me through my first one in a freezing rain back when I weighed well over three hundred pounds. He's lightened my heart with a million silly antics, and made me crazy with his genius for opening things like cabinets, closets, cupboards and the refrigerator.

I can say all of this, and I can't properly describe the soul in Bigfoot, my heart dog, the one who is so much a part of me that I will miss him forever when he is gone. I am exasperated and miserable that I can't seem to sum up what a perfect dog he is even when he isn't being perfect.













Eight hours later, I give up. This will have to do for now, and tomorrow I shall endeavor to describe Littlefoot.