Wednesday, July 10, 2019

My Litter Mate

The fields are so large I could run forever in one direction
and then forever back.

There is no end to these fields.


In Mongolia, when a dog dies, he is buried high in the hills so people cannot walk on his grave. The dog’s master whispers in the dog’s ear his wishes that the dog will return as a man in his next life.

Then his tail is cut off and put beneath his head, and a piece of meat of fat is cut off and placed in his mouth to sustain his soul for its journey; before he is reincarnated, the dog’s soul is freed to travel the land, to run across the high desert plains for as long as it would like.

I learned that from a program on the National Geographic Channel, so I believe it is true. Not all dogs return as men, they say; only those who are ready.

I am ready.

- Enzo, "The Art of Racing in the Rain" (Garth Stein)

1 comment:

  1. Strange as this may be, I have never missed anyone as deeply and utterly as my litter mate. To paraphrase e.e. cummings, if there are any heavens, I hope to see you in one.