LONESOME FAREWELL

Cisco was dying. There was no mistake. She pointed to a dark mass in
his stomach, another at the throat. "This of course accounts for the
growling" she said. "He is trying to breathe past the obstruction". "It
is possible that some of the growth could be removed by surgery, but
there are serious risks. I am so sorry to bring such bad news, but at
least the images show us the extent of the problem." "Three or four
weeks at the most I would think. These things are always
unpredictable." A hesitant answer to my somewhat predictable question.
She continued. "We should start medication as soon as possible."

I left that clean bright surgery, bade farewell to the clean bright
receptionist and all happy animal photographs on the wall behind her. I
smiled for their benefit, thanking them all in an even well controlled
voice. They had seen such bravado many times before and were not
deceived. Cisco dog followed at my heel. Faint antiseptic smell faded
quickly as we walked in pale morning sunlight to the row of parked
cars.

Questions followed with no answers. No one to blame. Accept that random
events are simply that. Accept that cancerous tumors may grow
undetected. But all this emotion. After all we are just talking about
an ugly old bulldog. Ah: not that easy though. He had been with me as a
pup at eight weeks old. Just seen his seventh birthday. Far too young
to die so quickly. The internal dialogue continued, without
satisfactory conclusion or peace of mind.

California high desert is for the most part arid, unforgiving and
desolate. Late summer heat is unbearable with little shelter and no
water. Early May and the desert will breathe again. Springtime showers
persuade melting snow from surrounding mountains to call forth carpets
of delicate wildflowers. Lakes of muted color splash hillsides with
unexpected light.

Inevitably spring fades into summer. With it's passing, any lingering
pretense at hospitality is soon discarded.

We drove for twenty minutes or so eventually turning onto a deserted
mountain road. It was here that I parked the car and set out on foot.
We climbed winding rugged paths leading through hills and sparse
scrubland to an inaccessible rocky outcropping. Cisco was free to run,
although always remaining within earshot. He loved exploring in these
silent hills, a boundless playground familiar and comforting to him.
Two hours of hard but unhurried climbing saw us both standing on a
sloping plateau, waiting... with the heat and emptiness. At peace in
each other's company.

If you travel in these wastelands answers may be found. Tearful
childhood memories come whispering softly through the canyons. One may
sometimes find religion in that awful solitude among huge jagged rocks.
As a searing noonday sun cuts bottomless shadows into a hostile
landscape decisions have to be made quickly, with no time for regret.
High above faintly traced paths and shadowed hills we stood, dwarfed by
ancient sentinel rock.
I spoke gently to my friend. He turned tail wagging then fixed his gaze
at some point on a distant private horizon. A bright loving companion
intent on another playful scheme.

I stood in anguished resignation then with deliberate hand brought
sudden thunder to that quiet place. Noise crashed and rolled all around
us, a requiem that never should be heard. No second shot was needed. He
probably did not see me as he dropped. A few paces before turning to
speak to him. "Good boy Cisco," I said, and again, but softly, " good
old dog." Of course there was no one to hear that lonesome farewell,
whispered tearfully in those empty echoing hills?