Heart Vignette

My cousin has an annual lobster bake in Maine. It's attended by a wide variety of folks, many of whom I don't know except as lobster bake folk. I see them all in snapshots basically, even when I don't take their picture.

There used to be a lot more dogs in attendance. Many years ago one couple had a harrowing night in a bed and breakfast with their two Bernese Mountain Dogs after the pups had slurped on lobster shells all afternoon. A jovial Russian dude used to bring his curly coated retriever (I think) Vasia. Suddenly one year I commented on Vasia and he had to tell me that this dog was Pasha. Vasia had been hit and killed by a car.

The above photo is of Pasha. He's 11-years-old. I haven't seen him for two years now. We don't have any special connection except that memory of his first lobster bake appearance and my gaffe. I love to watch him leap around in the shallow waves chasing rocks that the kids can't help but throw into the water. I love to scritch his ears when he's on lockdown after climbing the pebbly beach for so long that his paws bleed.

This year there was no rock chasing. The urge was there, you could tell, but the body couldn't comply. He did some swimming, though, and still refused to sit down and chill until we all settled to eat. I know there's no rhyme or reason to it but seeing him hobbled made me wildly sad. He's a tough guy, I might see him next year. I'm going to be crushed when he's gone. Simply inconsolable.