Lily and the Octopus

by Steven Rowley

The very best thing about dogs is how they just know when you need them most, and they’ll drop everything that they’re doing to sit with you awhile.

I, too, am hiding in plain sight. I am walking through life invisible, skulking like a failure, hoping few people notice me.

I have to be better about living in the not knowing.

To focus, I think of how dogs are witnesses. How they are present for our most private moments, how they are there when we think of ourselves as alone. They witness our quarrels, our tears, our struggles, our fears, and all of our secret behaviors that we have to hide from our fellow humans. They witness without judgment.

My sister is all grown up. I’m grateful we did our growing up together.

“It’s natural, as our loved ones age, to start grieving their loss. Even before we lose them.”

“All of my memories are my favorite memories.”

“So many adventures we had. And I loved every one.”

I look up at the vet, pleading. Inject me. Give me the poison, too. At least enough to make my heart stop breaking. Anything. Just please make it stop.

“I will love you forever. For the rest of my days and even all of the days after that.”