My Dog Salvy

 My dog's best friend has issues; that's why we like him. 

The friend in question, Shep, views all nearby pedestrians as invaders; a battle inevitably breaks out. Shep's ferocity has consequences. One of my neighbors--the dearest, kindest neighbor--actually lost a portion of his hand.

At the same time, my own dog, Salvy, has a challenge. His weight is never what it "should" be. For a long while, Salvy would visit Shep--and it was easy to imagine that the two would simply talk, and listen. Salvy could be a kind of saintly therapist, like the Ted Danson character on "Cheers." And Shep could do the same.

Recently, Shep broke up with Salvy. It wasn't a "ghosting"; we were told that Shep needed work on his kitchen, and the contractor felt afraid of non-Shep doggies. We tried to move Shep's playdates to our own yard but, oddly, Shep wasn't interested. And this was all a prelude, like the moment your boyfriend announces he wants "more alone time." The big news is that Shep is moving off the continent--for a full year. He is moving to Spain.

In this house, we pretend to be primarily concerned with Salvy's feelings--but, really, I think we are *all* grieving. I recall Anne Tyler. When her spouse died, she behaved in a predictably sensible way. She observed the various single, aging women of Baltimore, and she said, "Each of these women has been in my shoes. Each is enduring. And I will endure, as well."

To Shep. We'll miss you. Hasta luego.