Today is the first anniversary of the death of our Springer Spaniel, Ollie. Though one year has passed, whenever we remember him our eyes still get misty, especially as we recall his last week with us.
We miss his talking, his grin when he greeted us when we came home, his love of his special diet of broccoli, sardines, tofu, and boiled potatoes and his eager anticipation at his window in the living room as he waited to be picked up each day by his walker to join his play group! A lot of ‘his’ as part of ‘ours.’
And so today we remember and are also thankful for his great-nephew Fritz who in a few weeks will be one-year old and has already started his list of joys and memories in our life.
And as Gertrude or Alice should, as much as possible, have the last word or words in each post on this blog, I turn it over to Gertrude Stein once again this time from her work “Identity a Poem:”
I am I because my little dog knows me. The figure wanders on alone.
The little dog does not appear because if it did then there would be nothing to fear.
It is not known that anybody who is anybody is not alone and if alone then how can the dog be there and if the little dog is not there is it alone.
The little dog is not alone because no little dog could be alone. If it were alone it would not be there.
So then the play has to be like this.
The person and the dog are there and the dog is there and the person is there and where oh where is their identity, is the identity there anywhere.
I say two dogs but say a dog and a dog.