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Ajar
1994 - 1996

He never hit his stride, except in death. He'd sit on a dog bed with a constant bewildered look on his face. Unable to focus his attention on any one thing, he'd go along with whatever was asked of him, but no light of understanding ever blinked on. It was as if he was a potter's vase, still on the wheel, turning and turning and being formed. He'd been with me three weeks, when I let him off leash to run with three other hounds in a large contained area. His countenance lit up, his body stretched out, and he started running circles of joy around me. In joy, he ran into a small ravine, followed by the other dogs. He walked out to me, and I checked for cuts and abrasions. There were none. But he died in my arms five minutes later, gagging and spewing blood.

 

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