Down South Perspective

A letter from my girlfriend

Tuesday night 8
Guapisimo mio,
Today was not easy – as I called you with the bad news about Flaco at six in the morning, I had guests – Alfredo and his family. Alfredo wanted me to accompany him on a short walk to his finca to look at the trees. Turned out his finca is a half hour in 1st gear up the mountains of La Hierba, then a hike of another hour+. A jungle hike first thing in the morning, with my grippe, and after being up with Flaco last night, wasn’t what I needed.

William helped me bury Flaco on the east side of the house, you can see the area from your office window.

I’m still sick, this has been a hard day physically, and it’s sad to look for Flaco and not see him. The mix is different without him, he was such a good soul, gentle and dignified. I took good care of him at the end, and Alyssa was with him too; the two companeros were muzzle to muzzle.

I can’t imagine how badly things would be going without your good luck charm hanging from a silver chain around my neck. I am so very very tired and uncomfortable and sad today, but I am not depressed. Just waiting for this day to be over.

Flaco had a lot of love here, and he gave us a lot of love in return, I will miss him, poor boy. I’m so sad I can’t stop crying.

When I returned from San Jose he was only a little thinner but looked healthy, shiny and no flies buzzing around him. He ate very little. Then, on Sunday, he couldn’t stop panting, but very quick, shallow breaths. I tried to figure out what was wrong with him. Looked in that one bush medical book I have – Where There Is No Doctor - which said me he might have some generic “respiratory illness” or “heart trouble”. Not much help there. Flaco was taking fast, shallow breaths and refused his food.

I hoped it would pass, but Monday came and he was still breathing fast, yet he followed the pack and me down to the river for a swim and was moving around o.k. But Monday afternoon, it struck me that he would die, and I gave him a nice doggie massage and spent a lot of time with him, holding him and talking to him. I didn’t think, “Oh, I’ll take him to the vet in the morning” because I somehow knew he wouldn’t make it to the morning. In the afternoon he went off by himself, to a spot in the yard away from the house and me and the other dogs. I put my ear to his chest and heard fluid in his lungs, his weak heart couldn’t keep up.

I just had this feeling, maybe I imagined it in the way he looked at me, that I couldn’t help him. I knew he might be preparing to die. So I brought him and Alyssa in the house to sleep for the night, and at three o’clock I heard him cough his last breath, and I woke and went to him; there was no other breath coming from him. I pet him awhile and spoke to him, there was still a pulse but he was gone. Later I lifted him onto a thick horse blanket and closed his eyes and mouth so he could be as dignified as we remember him. In the morning I pet him some more, when he was stiff, then covered him in a sheet so no flies would land on him.

When I came back from La Hierba I started to dig a place for him, but after three hours of hiking with my violent cough, I was exhausted. I stopped and lay down and fell into a deep sleep. When I awoke Flaco was already buried, by William, and I’m thankful he did it for me and for you, to bury our dog, our Flaco.

Even on his last day he was sweet and dignified and coherent. Such a good boy. Sleep well dear Flaco.

Goodnight Allan. I love you,

my girlfriend

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