Like An Angel

Many wearisome days and nights have passed since my dearest Sebastian was taken from me. He was stolen---as all of us who loved him know---from none other than the cruel one we call God, on the fourth of a most depressing November. He was a heroic dog if I'd ever known one, and a very heroic one at that. I found him many years ago, or as I say, he found me. 1

     His mother, Gypsy, was a pit-bull from California---where a small part of our family had been living then---and had puppies when I was but a mere infant, and Sebo was shipped to us by airplane. So this little bundle of fur and slobber was ours from then on.2

     When I became a toddler, Sebo was as well but a puppy. I could not stand the thought of him being out in the frigid weather in a weather-beaten doghouse, so I pleaded that he could stay inside. Not having the hearts to say no to a toddler, my parents agreed. He developed a habit of sleeping at the foot of my parent's bed, and my parents said nothing; I was satisfied. 3

     Though thick and thin, for years Sebo was my faithful companion. And what a friendship it was---a relationship of man, (or woman) and man's best friend. And I believed as I do now that it was more than loyalty that tied us together, but the kowtow he had, and the unconditional admiration I felt for him. 4

    With deep, brown eyes as cool as ice, he stared at me through the window, nose softly pressed against the glass. I make my way to the door, and as I open it an anxious mutt pounces on me and soils me with kisses. I whisper that I love him in his ear, and he lifts his lips in a grin, as if he understood what those words were all about. This had become the routine of my arrival at the end of a tedious day with nothing to think about but answers and statistics, in a prison we call school. Oh, how I loved seeing the expression on Sebo's face after listening all day to the tyrants we call teachers. I could also see that he had missed me as well. We would play a game of fetch and roll in the flowers, basking in the sun. Nothing, not even death could tear apart this affection. 5

    Weeks after we had known of his disease, Sebo was put to sleep. Although I felt he was still with me mentally, there was a hole in my heart, that no creature, no person could replace. He is with me in a way that cannot be explained. I can almost feel him beside me, and I stand beside his grave; loyal even after death. And death has but the slightest effect on our friendship.6

    But a few nights ago, I had a most odd dream. I dreamed that I was lying awake in bed, when a familiar little wad of saliva and fur came trotting into my bedroom. He leaped onto the foot of my bed. With  a shining halo and a beautiful pair of angels wings, he sat down there, on the bed, smiling. We talked about the times we had had, and how much we had missed each other. But, to my dismay, he said that the time had come for him to go now. And he flew out into the middle of the night. Just like an angel.7

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                -In Memory Of Sebo9

                  November 4th, 200310

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