She died doing what she loved. When I got home, clutching quincys leash and chucker, loaded with a tennis ball still wet from her mouth, and spotted her water bowl and Foxy, her favorite stuffed toy, i cried for the first time. And after calling Charlotte to give her the terrible news—she didnt blame me, though I did, torturing myself—I didnt stop crying for the next two months, it seemed, a child again as I repeated to no one in particular, i just want my dog back. A hole had been torn in my life, and I sensed quincys absence like a phantom limb, still expecting her to greet me when I walked through the door by scurrying back and forth between my legs. I found myself stunned to see the world go on around me as, out-of-synch, i plodded heavily through a sped-up city. One afternoon, at Trader joes, as I reached for some turkey bacon, i remembered how i used to always cook a few extra strips so that I could share with quincy—One for you, one for me —and I burst into tears. Months after quincys death, i was still struggling to get through the days.
Essay on my pet Dog for Children and Students
This is how it ends. My second was: I was given something perfect, and best I destroyed. I walked over to her and kneeled down. There was a small trail of blood on the side of her face, and her tongue was lolling out, but otherwise she looked perfect. I felt something go out inside me, like an old-fashioned tv set being turned off, the picture collapsing to a pinpoint of light before vanishing. My friend david happened to be driving by and had pulled over. He put quincys body—she looked so small—into the back of his truck and drove us to her vet. He met us outside, put a stethoscope to her chest—for one second, i fantasized that she might be alive—then looked up and said, She was a great dog. He assured me that she had been killed instantly and hadnt suffered. If youd kept her on a leash, she would have been miserable, he said.
She took off like a shot after what I guessed was a deer, and I recognized the same tunnel vision drive that Id seen in the colorado canyon. Terrified, i called for her, but she didnt even look back. I ran after her, but she was gone. As I beat my way through the woods, my phone rang. I picked it up, and a mans voice said, do you have a dog named quincy? Youd better get over here. I stumbled about half a mile through the snow till I saw a truck, a police car, and several other vehicles pulled over. There, on the shoulder, lay quincy, a blanket over her body, and I heard someone say, im sorry. With the surreal clarity of tragedy, my first thought writers was:.
So, in February, i brought her words out. Unfortunately, it was during a polar vortex, but that didnt deter quincy. One bitter morning, because i had some phone interviews scheduled, i gave her a perfunctory walk. By noon, she was thrumming with pent-up energy. It was too cold for the beach, so i took her to a nearby park. Despite the sub-freezing temperature, she was indefatigable. As soon as I started to even think about putting the leash on her, she backed away, shooting me an aggrieved look. I was just loading the ball into the chucker when, suddenly, her ears pricked up and her head swiveled in the direction of the woods.
There were days when i awoke feeling a dark undertow of melancholy and wanted to stay in bed, but her resolute exuberance carried me along, keeping the bleakness at bay. When she would wake me with a wet nose, raring to go, and I would announce, its another good day for a dog, it was a promise to us both. I was also delivering on the promise that Id made when we first got her—to myself, to quincy, to lou—which felt especially significant because i was doing it on my own. I cleaned her ears with a q-tip, brushed her teeth with meat-flavored toothpaste, and made sure that the last words she heard before she went to sleep were i love you, quincy. Youre a good girl. However short I fell in other ways, i knew that this was something that I was doing right. . taking care of quincy not only showed me how to take care of myself but, like mary Oliver with her dog before me, how to live my life—exist completely in the present, love wholeheartedly, ask for what you want, play it as it lays, and. I would also add: use placemats and cloth napkins, even if you have the laundry skills of a six-year-old. Whenever we werent on Long Island, i somehow felt that I was cheating quincy.
All Essay: Short Essay on dog (100 Words)
I knew that they had become a shredder tight-knit pack of two, and I was grateful. On the flight to colorado, i brooded that quincy might not recognize me, but when I walked into the arrivals area, she sprinted over, peeing with excitement. Quincy had grown, if possible, more athletic and had tapped even deeper into her wellspring of wildness. One morning, i stood with Charlotte, watching with a mix of awe and alarm as she streaked across a canyon in pursuit of a deer, bearing down on her prey with a ferocity that seemed more wolf than terrier (she didnt catch it). A few days later, i flew back to new York with quincy on my lap, courtesy of a therapist Id found online who, for a fee, emailed me a letter designating her an emotional support animal.
With quincy back, my life instantly felt at least a thousand times better. I found the rhythm of my days happily dictated by her schedule. After months of running at altitude, she needed at least two hours a day of hard, frenzied fetching—her vet said, Shes one of the healthiest dogs ive ever seen, but youve created a monster—so i gave in and started using a plastic ball chucker. She had a chaste summer romance with a black australian Shepherd mix named Baron, the second fastest dog on the beach, to whom she showed her affection by letting him win races and then cooling off by his side in the shallows of the bay. I brought her with me everywhere—to the coffee shop, to cookouts, to dinner parties. When quincy and I walked into an art opening on a barge in Montauk, someone teasingly said, hey—its Adam and his bae! In the fall, i started taking her on the subway up to central Park in the early morning.
She decided to move to colorado, where her sister lived, and she wanted to bring quincy with her. That seemed right—Charlotte had found her, and now, driving across the country to an uncertain future, she needed her more than. Though the decision was mutual, we were both devastated, and quincy picked up on our mood. Sensing the imminent upheaval, she moped around the house with a pair of my gym shorts in her mouth, her mournful eyes almost human. With Charlotte and quincy gone, i felt more alone than i ever had. I discovered that I had a lot of time to fill (and that women on the street were smiling at me a lot less).
I also realized how dependent I had been on Charlotte to manage the details of our day-to-day life. Though I managed to stave off total domestic chaos, little touches of civility that I had come to take for granted, such as laundered placemats and cloth napkins, proved to be a bridge too far. I found myself confronting long neglected questions about identity and purpose, not a good thing for those with a gift for. Photo: courtesy of Adam Green. That summer, Charlotte decided that quincy should come back east and visit with me for a while. She saved my life during my first six months here, she told. Maybe she can help you, too.
Descriptive essay on my pet m Blog
Love, love, love, says Percy. And run as fast as you can along the shining beach, or the rubble, or the dust. Then, go to sleep. Give up your body heat, your beating heart. Quincy had become the focus of Charlottes and my life together, partly because we both adored her so and partly because it allowed us to avoid talking about what was going on really between. Our fights were becoming more frequent and wounding, and I started spending more time alone in the city, while Charlotte and quincy remained on Long Island. In the end, our mutual adoration of quincy wasnt enough, and Charlotte and I reached the wrenching conclusion that we could no longer go on as a couple.
Photo: courtesy of resume Adam Green, by summer, as her first birthday approached, quincy had come into her own. A lean and leggy thirty pounds, she was small but brave of heart, glamorous but rough and tumble, a domestic companion and a creature of wildness. One july afternoon, when she appeared with a wagging tail and a crimson muzzle, having dispatched a nest of baby rabbits, i was appalled but also proud that she could so easily find her place in the natural order of things. That natural order, of course, includes the reality of the canine lifespan, and I found myself thinking, how many summers does a little dog have? I kept a watchful eye on her wherever we went so that I didn't miss a moment. . In one of my favorite pictures of quincy, she is frozen several feet above the shoreline, a tennis ball, caught mid-air, in her mouth, her tail and ears standing straight up like exclamation points, her image reflected in the wet sand. Charlotte and I had the picture printed on holiday cards, accompanied by mary Olivers poem about her own dog, i ask percy how i should live my life.
hours researching dog food on the internet, settling on a brand that consisted of raw, grass-fed meat and organic vegetables, a bloody mess that I delighted in watching quincy devour. I even wrote a song about her, whose lyrics I will spare you. As a writer who works at home, i had spent most of my adult life allowing my days to unspool as a series of jazz improvisations. During my unhappy young adulthood, lous routine was dictated by my vagaries, to both our detriments. Now, i was submitting to quincys rhythms, and she gave my days a structure and order that went beyond meeting her needs. Every morning after her walk, i began meditating for half an hour and sitting down at my desk to work by 9:00. I also started going to CrossFit five times a week and adopted a paleo diet, which turned out to be much like quincys, though I preferred my meals cooked and free of offal. Getting a dog may not be a panacea for all human problems, but to take care of quincy, i had to take care of myself, and that was a lot.
I think her name is quincy! Photo: courtesy of Adam Green, when Charlotte arrived at our rented cottage on Eastern Long Island, carrying quincy wrapped in a blanket, i felt a rush of love. As I watched her pad clumsily around the living room—sniffing the skirt of a couch here, mouthing a coffee table leg there—it seemed to me that this could be a new beginning. I vowed to myself that this time i would take good care of my dog. It would be my way of putting things right for abandoning lou all those years ago. For a while, quincy seemed to be a dog designed more for looks than loyalty. (One night, as quincy was snouting a tennis ball under a table rather than snuggling on the couch with us, Charlotte started crying and said, i think there's something wrong with her.) But over time, as she saw that we understood and would meet her. We soon settled into a routine: Awakened by quincys melodic whine—we called it warbling—we would take her to the dog run when we were in the city, where we watched her go from a timid puppy cowering by our sides to a fearless scrapper,. Quincy attracted attention wherever biography we went—women started smiling at me on the street when I was with her—and passersby routinely stopped to ask what kind of dog she was.
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Two things that have been a part of who i am for as long as I can remember are a love of dogs and a tendency to depression, the first of which can sometimes help to take the sting out of the second. But around the time i turned 30, i went through a period of depression so profound that I could barely function. Spiraling toward oblivion, i made the painful decision to check myself into a psychiatric hospital and to give away my dog, lou. Though i eventually climbed my way back to health, i remained shaken by the encounter with my own fragility and ashamed about that I had fallen to the point where i was unable to take care of not just myself but a dog who depended. After that, the idea of ever getting another dog seemed out of the question. But in the fall of 2012, my significant other, Charlotte, with whom Id lived for fifteen years, said that she wanted a dog. A few years earlier, we had talked about having a child and, for various reasons, it hadnt worked out. Now, our relationship was going through a difficult time, and in the way some couples look to a baby to save a faltering marriage, charlotte and i each hoped that adopting a dog would draw us closer. And as soon as she texted me a picture from the north Shore Animal league of a tiny 12-week-old terrier mix—fluffy and white with brown and black markings, a black gum drop of a nose, and giant brown eyes—i instantly texted back: Bring that dog.