Dog Days of May

I believe dogs have a sixth sense, and Manny, my blind puggle is no exception. It's just that his sixth sense is actually only his fifth, since he cannot see. A mere technicality.

He knows, I believe, that this is the one year anniversary of the worst day of his life, the day I carried his best friend, Leo, away, and never brought him back. Sometimes I think I should have taken him with me that evening, given him the closure that I got as Leo looked at me with his trusting, soft brown eyes and wagged his weighty tail for the last time. But that would not have been fair to Leo, for whom the feeling of unconditional love wasn't exactly mutual.

Though I hate to admit it, the worst day of Leo's life was probably the day I drove off empty handed and returned with his odd looking new little brother. Like any older sibling, he resented the intrusion, the sudden sharing of his long held post as king of the castle. But Leo, a lab through and through, was always kind to Manny, or at least subtle in showing his annoyance. He never bit, never shoved, rarely even barked at the little pain in the ass (and believe me, there were times I would have barked and taken him in my powerful front paws and tossed him across the room, if I could have). Leo was kind to the core, and was just never much of an alpha male. I hate to speak ill of the dead, but he peed in a squat until he was about two, and continued to do so well beyond that, as long as none of the other guys were looking.

To be fair, in the months Leo was sick, Manny seemed to know, and became much more respectful of his privacy, his need for personal space. That sixth sense -- it kicked in almost immediately. He would stay away from Leo's food, he cut down on the frequent bark alerts when he thought there was something interesting enough outside to drag Leo to the window, he would stop spooning with Leo for naps, reluctantly skulking off to a less cozy location.

I wonder to this day whether Manny's eyesight had been failing him for a while, and I failed to notice. Manny had spent his entire life following Leo around, looking to him for guidance. When Leo was the first one barking at some fascinating scene out the window, Manny would race over, barking wildly before he even reached Leo's side. We often joked that he had no idea what he was barking at, but if Leo had seen it, it must have been a dilly. Maybe Leo was more than his mentor; maybe he was Manny's eyes.

Manny has decided to commemorate the anniversary of Leo's death with an ear infection. There's a part of me that is terrified, for both me and Manny, that he will lose his sense of hearing as well. Stranger things have happened. Come to think of it, he doesn't appear to hear me most of the time; maybe, like his blindness, it's something that's been brewing for a while and I've been so preoccupied I have failed to notice. I remain optimistic, though. There is no reason to believe Manny will be adding deafness to his list of disabilities (which, in addition to blindness, includes morbid obesity and unbridled stinkiness).

At the very least, he retains his sixth sense, and I expect that he will be quite subdued today, joining me in silent remembrance of our loyal friend.