Monday, July 23, 2012

Good-night, sweet prince

The way the universe fucks with me is... unreal.
This past weekend was so pleasant for me... I smiled SO much... I hadn't been that happy in quite some time.
I hung out with Darcy, for crying out loud! That's like... something that was not even in my dreams, because I saw it THAT implausible.
Ok, maybe you'd coincide in one place... but to purposely chill more than once? Get real, idiot.
Everything felt so light... so airy... even if the most I did was give him a half-assed hug.

Then this morning happens.
I was chirpy... so fucking chirpy, despite having only slept four hours.
I had a bounce in my step, I was enjoying my breakfast... and as I happily wriggled in my seat while munching on my berries, I though:
"Well, shit! You know who deserves a good breakfast as well? Tyson!"
I stepped outside and noticed Tyson's mat was missing. I went for his food bowls and saw that both had been drank out of.
Ok, so he didn't run away.
As I walked towards the game room where we store his food, I made a quick glance behind me, and saw Tyson splayed under his favorite tree-- our giant fig tree.
When I approached the room's door, I noticed a couple of chipmunks, brazenly standing in front of me.
These little shitheads... who the hell do they think they are, standing up to me like that? Shameless little bastards.
These chipmunks are the same chipmunks that always scatter the moment they hear me reach for the food bowls. But not today.
I prepared Tyson's food... still chirpy, still smiling, and I headed back to the porch, where Tyson likes to eat.
I quickly glanced over towards the fig tree, and noted how Tyson had not moved... I could only see his backside, though.
I reached the porch, and decided to walk towards the fig tree to encourage Tyson to come get his breakfast.
I cleared the built-in grill that was obstructing my view of Tyson... and then everything went silent... I could not hear a thing... as if I were suddenly submerged under water.
"Tyson? ... Ty... son?"
He was laying on his left side. I looked at his belly first... it wasn't moving. Almost reluctantly, I looked at his face.
His mouth was open... with his usual, enormous, silly grin showing... his little tongue sticking out.
There was a puddle of slobber under his mouth, his eyes were wide open... still slightly watery.
"No, no, Tyson... Please no... Tyson? Tyson. Tyson. Tyson.... Please. Baby?"
I reached and shook his right shoulder. He was warm... but did not move. He did not breathe.
"Oh, Baby..."
This can't be happening...
I covered my mouth and jogged back into the house.
I ran into my room, where I couldn't hold it in any further, and I screamed.
Before I allowed the sobs to overpower me, I remembered my baby still had his eyes wide open.
NOTHING is going to eat his eyeballs right now.
I went outside, and did my best to close his eyes... the whole time wishing he'd suddenly reanimate and do his stupid little "I was kidding!" face... since he has always loved scaring me into believing he's dead... the little jokester.
Maybe I just saw wrong and he was just in a really deep sleep?
He never did reanimate...

I went back inside and called my mother.
"Tyson's DEAD, Mom... Tyson died..."
We both began to sob wildly over the phone.
I kept repeating the line... and she finally managed to get me to stop by asking me to recount everything to her.
I asked her what I should do, and she asked me to go back outside and fix his little legs before rigor mortis set in, and as a favor to her, splash a bit of holy water on him. Everything else she and Dad would handle.
After hanging up on Mom, I went back outside... this time completely dreading the process... and I tried moving his right hind leg-- it was completely stiff.
The puddle under his mouth? Dry.
I went ahead and sprinkled a bit of the water Mom indicated... and tears flooded my eyes.

The love of my life, my best friend, was officially dead.

Mom says he was alive, and resting in the sun when she filled his water bowls at 7:30 in the morning. He looked up at her, gave her a sad look, and went back to napping.
I found him at 10:50... obviously recently deceased due to the watery eyes, puddle of drool, and warm, soft body.
I barely missed seeing him with life for one last time...

By 11:30, I kid you not, a group of song birds had assembled in the fig tree, and were loudly chirping away.
It was like I lived in the fucking enchanted forest and all the little animals were coming out to pay their respects to the fallen old man of the hood.
I couldn't stop crying. I was a fucking mess. I still AM. My eyes have NEVER EVER been this swollen. The tears just keep coming.

My Pops was the one to dig the hole behind "Tyson's Room" aka the play room.
He freaked out a little when he returned to grab Tyson to drag him to the hole, and found me petting his little neck, whispering "You were a good boy. Good boy. Thank you. Thank you. I love you, baby..."
I started to sob loudly when I saw my dad begin to drag Tyson by one of his hind paws and drag him across the backyard.
Me: You're NOT going to treat my dog like that! His face isn't going to get dragged across the ground!

I reached for Tyson's front legs and lifted him, having Dad lead the way as we both carried him to his final resting place.
I finally had to allow my dad to drag him by one foot when it came time to place him in the grave.
Tyson's body positioned itself into his "baby chicken" position I loved so much, the one where he tucked his paws under his body, usually around the winter time... the one that made him look like a hen incubating an egg... this always made me giggle.

I once again sobbed very loudly as I watched his brindle coat disappear under the dirt.
Goodbye, my sweet, sweet boy.
My love...
I didn't know I could be THIS possessive... but Tyson was my fucking boy. MINE.
No one, absolutely no one has had my back like that, and no one ever will.
He was mine since the day I turned 16. He saw me through some of my toughest years.
He knew when to defend me, he knew when to lick my face, he knew when to lick my hands, when to lick my knees, and even when he could be a sick little bastard and fart in my face... which was always only used for comic relief... he knew that shit.
No one has looked at me with such loving, adoring eyes like my little Tyson.
No one has loved me as unconditionally as Tyson.

He wouldn't want me to join him outside so I could show him my love, he ALWAYS wanted me to go outside so he could show me HIS love.

So many nights this boy sat at my feet, and calmed me down. So many nights he listened to my heartbreak and traumas... and he always solved the problems by looking at me in a way that made me feel like the coolest, smartest, most amazing girl... human, in the world.
Girl, you rock. Don't cry. It'll be ok.

My fucking best friend is dead...

No comments: