God's way

Billy the dog is back.  He is back because Diego died last night.  He was in his box and never woke up.  I cried and cried and cried, worse than when I rolled on the chick three years ago.  I felt like Tough Boris, the main character in the children’s book of the same name by Mem Fox.

     There was something about little Diego that really touched me.

Seffy and Diego.  They had just met.

     After three nights, I knew Diego was going to make it. Surely, the first three nights are the worst.

     Seffy and I had his routine down pat - formula made up in the fridge, he cries, one of us warms 5 ml in the microwave and the other tenderly scoops up little Diego, always planting a kiss on his head as we walk to the kitchen as one draws up the formula in the syringe and passes it to the other nursing him.

     Diego and I spent an idyllic last day together. Seffy trusted I could manage myself and she went to a friend’s house for a play.  Diego spent most of the day wrapped in a pillowcase and tucked under my shirt.  We did some MYOB data entry, we wrote the post about him coming into our lives, we sorted out food so Tony could take the boys fishing, we wrote my bios for the Brisbane Writers’ Festival, we finished the sketch of the above-ground Japanese grave and started on the outline for Dr Joseph Wassell’s gravestone. 

      Diego even went on his first drive although he was oblivious, curled up on Kibby’s lap.

     I fed him his last feed during dinner, roasted fish, caught today by the boys. When Diego was full, he fell asleep in my hands, his little head resting on my thumb.  He was purring like a tractor.  I didn’t eat because I didn’t want to disturb him. We were in our own world while everyone finished eating.  One of my greatest pleasures is nursing an orphaned animal and having it fall asleep in my hands.
     I had fallen in love with little Deigo.

     But dishes needed doing, Tony’s staff needed paying and kids needed yelling at (“Clean your teeth, Kibbim!”  and “Leave your brother alone, T'Kido!”).  So I wrapped up Diego and cocooned him between a thick towel and a large sheet, fluffed up for insulation, fitted the lid of his box and looked forward to him meowing for his morning feed.

     I woke at 3 am and while waiting for him to cry out, I did some thinking.  I suspected Diego might be blind on account of his vacant stare.  If he was blind, we’d keep him knowing native birds and lizards were safe.  He’d be an inside cat and he’d have a kitty litter tray at the back door he’d sniff out when required. 

     In the dark of night, while waiting for him to wake, I made plans.  He could sit on my desk while I worked, like Stormy, our other stray cat, did when he was little.  I would sketch Diego now I had some time.  After all, I’d finished my studies and Tony had sold the business.  When Diego was a bit bigger, he’d be able to sleep with me. Well, Seffy and I could take turns having him curl up at our feet. Of course, I would buy his love by offering him treats while she was at school.

     At four o’clock, I couldn’t wait any longer to cuddle him.  I padded in the dark to the kitchen, flicked the light and went about measuring 5 ml of formula into a cup and warming it.  Then I made my way to his box.  As I removed the lid, then the sheet, I wondered why he was not stirring.  And then I found him, stretched out, still, cool and stiff. 

     I held him and cried and wondered what else I could have done to keep him alive.

     Was he too cold?  Was it the milk he was fed before arriving at Hannah’s?  Was it some fluid in his lungs as he seemed to aspirate a little at feed times?  I cried.

     Perhaps it was God’s way, after all, he was one of God's creatures, said Seffy. 

     Billy’s back and I know because I can hear him tearing at the plastic bag of dog food he’s managed to pull from the table. He’s locked on the veranda so he doesn’t escape.  If I don’t rescue the food, there will be dog crunchies all over the veranda like the fluff from the cushion he disemboweled last week.  

     My grief for Diego will be spent chasing Billy, calling him in from the street, cleaning up after him, making excuses to Tony when he's dug up another crop of seedlings, trying to escape-proof the fence and so on.