Bo-Bo Knows "Death's a Breath Away"*

As Bo and I left the beach and turned toward home this morning, I was gunning to get home and write a post about how bittersweet a sunny April 30 is (Winthrop kicks pooches from the sand from May 1 to September 30, the jerks). But tramping toward home and working up a good lather, I saw something that short circuited my grousing.

On a porch about a block from the beach, a couple emerged, each holding a handle in a sagging, circular blue tarp supporting a mound wrapped in yellow plastic. Behind the couple, a tall man I recognized pressed his arm against the doorway and leaned. This was a guy who was always walking a few steps in front of an elderly, yellow lab who followed him in loping, slow steps. A dog I'd marveled at before because she could be trusted to lie out in the lawn without a tie, even while Bo was sniffing her over. The yellow plastic went electric. When the owner caught me gaping, I looked down and hurried away; I wish I'd said something, but any comfort I offered would have been swallowed by the healthy dog at the end of my leash.

Bo will be seven years old in June. How many years does that leave him? Five? Seven? Eight? My nephew, Ryan, is 6 years old now. It's quite possible that Bo has less time left than Ryan has lived, but then again, he could go tomorrow. I don't like thinking about it, of course, but I figure that maybe if I let my heart break a little now, the part that Bo has curled up in won't shatter when the time comes.

As I turned the corner, an Alastair Moock song called "Lovely Day" danced through my head:

"And it's a fast paced life;
death's a breath away.
I'm so glad that you could stay
on such a lovely day."

To be fair, this song is not about losing dogs--it's more a gentle giant of a song that'll coax a response hum from the tuning fork of your soul. But I'd been listening to this album (Let It Be) on a loop in my car for days, and so it was there for me in this moment. In its still way, "Lovely Day" is an anthem. And really, there's this: A part of your world could be carried away on a round stretcher tomorrow, so you better enjoy today. Even if it is the last day you can frolic on the beach for six months.


* From "Lovely Day" off of Alastair Moock's album Let It Be. Listen to it here, and be sure to click on "Unwanted Guest." That one's an anthem for anyone who ever struggled with depression...at least to my ears.