I walk my dog on the square of the small cowboy town
a few miles from home. Now my dog is 14 years old, he lost sight in one eye,
and I need to speak louder for him to hear. Still, he looks forward to these
daily walks. In fact, we walk less and less. He stops frequently, says hello to
the dogs he meets every day, and at some point just lays down there watching the
world pass him by.
So our “walks” are really social outing, not
exercise any more.
During these social moments, I meet many of those in
a similar situation as I am. So we talk about our dogs, the weather, and
sometimes women.
One of these folks is a man who walks Molly. I have
now seen and talked to him a few times in the past year and enjoy seeing him.
He is in his late 80s perhaps, but in good shape and always in good spirits.
Molly is a mix, mostly Collie. She is 5 years old and very calm, making her the
perfect “laying down” companion for my Rocky.
I had not seen Molly or the man-at-the-other-end of
her leash for a while. I saw them this afternoon.
“How are you, “ I asked.
He rotated his right hand sidewise. “Coussi-coussa.”
“Your back acting up again?”
“No, I lost my wife.”
We looked at each other for a few minutes. There is
nothing to say in moments like that.
“She was unable to recognize us for a while. Three
weeks ago she fell and broke a clavicle. Then the hospital, and nursing home.”
“Were you with her when she passed?” I asked.
“Yes, she sat down to have dinner in her bed, did
not eat. A minute later she was gone.”
I put my arm around him, and he put his around me.
We stayed silent for a while.
“We were married for 62 years,” he said, “we had a
good life.”
And then he looked down, smiled slightly and said:
“But I still have Molly.”
October 5, 2017
©Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2017
