Bella

Bella laid across my dress, resting on my thighs, her head light on my left arm, as I sat crosslegged on the dark blue dog bed, this bed larger than any she’d ever had, my small sweet girl, her eyes closed and encased with her signature black eyeliner that never faded, not once in her 18 years, even when her red face turned whiter and whiter, as her mouth slightly opened, as each exhale released, as her belly, softly and slowly rose and fell, and fell and rose, not like the way it did when she was a puppy, when she would run across the hardwood floor when you came home, when she’d run so fast she would slip and slide, when she would breathe so fast with the excitement of ones heart beating wildly, when she would pee just a tiny bit, just a little bit, in all of her love of your arrival, and now across my right thigh, i felt her pee again, the light drizzle of urine leaving her body, spilling onto my green and white floral print fabric, my dress, my skin, getting wetter and darker, as her muscles relaxed from the sedation, so that the water she drank, and she drank so much water that day, she knew it was her last day to drink, to taste how good, how pure, how clean and comforting each sip, she loved going to the water, swimming in just enough to cool the belly on a hot summers day, to paddle around in little circles, smiling until she was ready to come out, shaking off next to you, getting mud and water across your calves and your shins, so that all that water she drank, was transformed now, and gently pouring onto me, heating my skin, as she got cooler and cooler and colder, as her rise and her falls moved slower and slower, as I kept saying her name, as I kept telling her how much I loved her, how loved, how very loved she was, I kept naming it, kept witnessing it, kept holding it, as though I was waiting for her to burst into the very essence of love itself, because she was, and she is, and I can still see her sitting at the side of my sons bed, gazing at him, and playing along at tummy time, she used to show her tummy, all the time, to all the children who walked past her, those many years ago, when we first found her, when we still had the wild and huge dreams of our 20s, when she was alone, when she was on the outskirts of downtown Los Angeles, on bellevue avenue, when we brought her home, when she fit into my hands, when she was the size of the cds people still played back before we were all streaming, when she would offer her tummy to the children, when her tail slapped against the sidewalks and the grass with glee, when they would squeal and pet and laugh, and i felt her release, and i felt her last breathe, and she was still, and she was silent, and the only liquids left to fall were the ones from my face.