You were part of the capstone of each day for the last nine years after I no longer worked newspaper night hours. Before bedtime, I’d walk down Candia Street to Charles, past the million-dollar “castle” built atop an elephantine boulder on which Joe Daly used to play when he was growing up. (Has the Arlington High School Hall of Famer, in his 80s, grown up yet?)
You knew none of that. You padded along on our nightly ritual, looking for a spot to mark. You stopped short and peered up at the “castle” only rarely — when the owner’s massive mastiff bayed, a frightening low howl.
Frost’s poetry sometimes shaped our moonlit walks. I muttered in my mind:
I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain—and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.
Your poetry was an elaborate squat and pee or a graceful twirl and poo.
I had never had a dog. You were my first.
My daughters, their pleading eyes as large and brown as yours, talked me into it at Buddy Dog in Sudbury in January 2004. About this mutt named Carmencita rescued from the streets of San Juan, Puerto Rico, I asked: “Who will take care of her?” They answered: “We’ll help.”
The girls decided to call you Cita, but help? It hardly ever happened.
My wife and I walked, fed, cleaned up after you. You appreciated our efforts by joining us on the couch where we watched the Patriots or “Chopped.”
That’s where, while one of our kids was watching Spanish TV, you growled. We’re sure you understood.
That’s where you would jump up and head for your corner on the couch, where you looked out the front window. After dark, we kept one shade raised a bit, so you could peer out.
Looking for what?
An occasional passing pooch spurred your rare bark.
Otherwise, you taught all of us calm.
Your cancer emerged in October. More recently, you could no longer jump onto your corner of the couch.
You were a quiet dog, and, as the December holidays neared, you went quietly, under the vet’s needle.
You will be buried in our backyard — and in our hearts forever.
This remembrance was published Sunday, Dec. 14, 2014.
