back in the mid 90s, my dog died. lovable, wonderful cocker spaniel named "Black Mane of Texas" (i was 8 when we got him and just picked words i liked) we shorted the name to Blackie.
I loved that dog, even as he got tumours on his face and paws, lost his teeth and went blind he'd always wag his tail and try to get up if you walked into a room he was resting in.
finally, his kidneys gave out and we put him to sleep.
i felt nothing.
i had closed myself up to the experience and tried to not let it affect me.
i was also doing a lot of acid in those days, but just spending the time on low level trips just reading and listening to records (hard bop jazz and industrial, mostly).
one time about a month after Blackie's death, i was on lsd reading Harlan Ellison. The Essential Ellison (an excellent collection if you are interested in his fiction).
I was reading The Deathbird, which is about The Serpent in the Garden of Eden and how one man goes to face God. Intersperced with this is a narrative digresion about Harlan Ellison's dog, who died during the writing of the story. He talked about how he rescued it, raised it, loved it and then eventually too had to watch it die and how it felt to hold the dog as the vet injected it with the chemicals which would end its life.
It was then that I felt, truly felt anything for the first time in months. I cried and couldn't stop crying for two hours, softly to myself as i allowed myself to remember everything about my relationship with that wonderful amazing dog.
even now i'm kind of tearing up, so i'm going to stop here and finish eating my lunch.
