Then Along Came Bernie

***Bernie loves sticks . . . mmmmm; April, 2004***

While you make pretty speeches
I'm being cut to shreds
You feed me to the lions
A delicate balance

And this just feels like spinning plates
I'm living in cloud cuckoo land
And this just feels like spinning plates
Our bodies floating down the muddy river

From the irrepressible amazingness of Thom Yorke, Radiohead. I'd listen to and sing this song, which is actually about war, full volume while I drove, Bernie in the back seat, me envisioning in her later years Bernie and I "floating down the muddy river" together. The emotions illicited within were a delicate balance of eerie and beautiful, just like the song. Check it out at the end of the post.

I've had a dog basically my entire life, and one (or two) my full adult life. Lassie when I was way young, a Collie that had to be put to sleep at a young age due to a spinal condition; then Frosty, a lovely Norwegian Elk Hound, who passed away at eight from heart disease but not before having a litter of awesome puppies. Then Poochie, an Old English Sheepdog who was a fabulous piece of work, made it to 14, even enjoying (I think) a two-mile hike her last day! What a dog. She moved to California with me. Then along came Bernie.

My childhood dogs were outside dogs, which isn't entirely a bad thing. It's not the same as an indoor pet though, for sure. Poochie became an indoor upon our move, and Bernie was an indoor dog, when I was home, her entire life. It took me fully a year to truly bond with her. I liked her, I guess, but she did her own thing, nature by and large providing her entertainment. She became the dog I always wanted, though. One who followed me everywhere, and I mean everywhere. Up until the very end she would follow me from room to room, including the bathroom. The past year or so I closed the door to upstairs when I went up to brush my teeth or for something quick, to save wear and tear on her legs. She'd meet me up there in a flash, otherwise. I have always warned my roommates to make sure the door latches behind them if they want privacy, because snoop dog would pop that door open in a heartbeat. She went everywhere with me, within reason. If there wasn't a reason to not take her, she went. We'd ride, walk to the store, just walk. Only a month ago during an errand run, she crawled into the front seat and helped herself to a bag of groceries when I'd gone into another shop. It makes you laugh and smile when an older dog does that. She was the dog I always wanted, and I'll never have an equal relationship with a dog like the one I had with Bernie. I'll tell you why in a subsequent post.

I never told her she was old. I'd call her a "veteran dog" from time to time, but not old. She aged well, and it was only in her last couple days that I told her she was sick, very sick. She knew, though, dogs know. They know when the end is near, and I truly believe they are much more accepting of this than humans generally are. I like dogs more than any other creature on Earth (this just might mean more than humans) and in fact told my friend Alex often, "I am a dog." I sort of meant it. She'd say that her dog liked coming over to my house, thinking, Oh, I get to go over to see that dog who owns a house! That would be me, the dog. Bernie was the dog I always wanted, my very own Boy and His Dog story, live and in stereo.

Our bodies floating down the muddy river together, a perfect segue to eternity someday.