3 pets: the dog

My brother brought him home and announced flatly, sternly even, that he would live with us now. “He’s better off with us.” He never told us where the dog came from, or what caused the deep scar on its rump.

He had a brown coat, smooth and shiny.
His eyes were bright and alert but his brow always carried a concerned frown, like he was worried for you. And maybe he was.
He was a wonderful guard dog. He could tell someone was approaching a hundred feet before they reached the door.
His ears were like a bat’s, large and triangular.

We called him Radar.

The year before last, his liver, then his kidneys began to fail.
But he would always get up to greet you, no matter what.
He struggled to his feet often in those last months, falling occasionally.
And then one day, my dad noticed he was bumping into things. Then we saw his eyes.
The vet told us he’d had an aneurism of sorts and it filled his eyes with blood, striking him blind.

But when you came home, he’d get to his feet without fail.
And he’d find you with those amazing ears.

One morning, we found him lying in the sun, asleep for the last time.
I called my ex and I spent 10 minutes on the phone with her, just listening to her cry.

We put him in a blue blanket so he wouldn’t be cold.

My dad still leaves a big gap between the door and the front fender when he parks the car.

I wish you coulda seen him.
He was so beautiful.