I told him he was a funny guy, whispered it in his ear. Julia says he was a clown, and that’s probably true, but I can’t help but feeling that a dog with a sense of humor is something else—it was his method of taking care, to keep our spirits up, we, his family, who all have a propensity towards profound darkness.

And now here I am, without him, in the dark. It’s still daytime, barely out of morning, the morning of his death, and yet I can feel it coming on: the long night of my life without him. Still, I have to tell you that I did not expect to feel the way I did at the moment of his death on the vet’s floor. I thought I had no faith, because I was going against my faith by putting him down. And then I realized that I knew that his consciousness, so pristine—my young boy, my healthy clown—would leave his lame body, his clouded mind, and he’d be free again.

So it is not a lack of faith; it’s a knowing. I told you how he would leap through the grass, taller than him: soon he’ll be flying, outwardly and inwardly. If you breathe him in he will enter your heart (he would appreciate it), and when you see a comical leaf, a funny wind, a laughable wave, it’ll be him, working to light up the darkness: sweet Scout.

Good journey, my funny, lovely boy.


4 thoughts on “Scout”

  1. Hi Trish –

    A friend told me that Trungpa Rinpoche said that animals dont learn by suffering, and that if they are suffering too much and are going to die soon, its OK to end it.

    Best wishes,

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