cricket raze cricket is a black lab. i don't know how old she is, but she's getting up there. you can see it in the grey around her muzzle, and in her eyes. they've seen a lot. they're tired and clouded over. i don't think she can run anymore. she might have a bad hip. she might just be worn out. she doesn't even really walk. she shuffles around and explores. sniffing things. wondering if that was there before. admiring each blade of grass. i watch her look at everything so she won't forget. i watch her tell herself: this is a squirrel. this is a stick. this is my family. these are my friends. this is the ground beneath my feet. here are the rings on a tree. these are all the years of my life. then she smiles, and she's a puppy again. i pet her and her tail starts going. she leans into me. she lets me feel all the strength she still has. she headbutts my leg. her human is a bald middle-aged man with glasses and a droll face. he's always squinting. seems like he's looking down even when he's looking right at you. "you're gonna spoil that dog rotten," he says. "how can you not like cricket?" i say. she turns to him, and i know she wants to say, "yeah. how can you not like me?" "true," he says. "true." 211030 ... raze today i found out she's thirteen years old. it's just cool enough right now for her to enjoy a bit of this groggy spring that's busy shaking the sleep from its limbs before summer elbows its way into the picture earlier than any of us would like to see its sweaty face. "you're a dirty dog," her human says. "stinking up whoever you can." when she's loving on me, i don't smell anything but kindness. "thanks for the hugs, cricket," i say. "she says the same to you," her human says. i wish he wouldn't speak for her. her lolling tongue and the brown circles that sit in the bony cups above her cheeks tell me everything i need to know. 220512 ... raze i think i see her. i think that's cricket lying down beside her human while he sits on a bench. i'm right. it is her. "she saw you guys from halfway across the park," he says. i call her name. she picks herself up and limps over to me. somehow my dad and cricket's human get on the subject of the way things used to be. "when my grandmother would ask me to do something around the house," my dad says, "i would always ask her why. it wasn't until i got older that i understood. it doesn't matter why. if it needs doing, you do it." "it's funny you would say that," cricket's human says. "because that's the exact reason i'm hiding out here today. i've got a toilet in the basement i'm supposed to fix, but i told myself it's too beautiful outside. today isn't the day. and i've been using that excuse for at least a month now." cricket watches me walk two trees over to feed red_tail. she waits for me to come back. i listen to the hushed crackling sounds nestled in the arms of her laboured breathing and scratch her head. she gets her body as close to the ground as she can. to feel what's good and cool there. she makes her way down in stages. "you're a good girl," i whisper. she flops onto her back and gives me her belly to rub. "that is one happy dog," her human says. "good," i say. 220624 ... raze "she used to be the fastest dog in the whole park," her human says. "that hasn't been true for a long time now. it was a good decade, though, wasn't it crick? she was pretty sick a while back. but she got through it. now she just hobbles around and explores. i call her old lady mellow mood. she has a way of floating into the room. i'll put on some seventies jam music, and she'll sit down and groove with me." 221201 ... raze her human has a name. it's stephen. "she's been struggling lately," he says. "she's just old. i had to bring her to the animal hospital a while back. she doesn't like it there at all. getting her to tolerate it is a two-person job. i'm not ready to break in a new pet. i'm not ready to say goodbye to my friend, you know?" 230811 ... raze i asked how she was doing. "she looks good now," stephen said. "but you see how her tail hangs down? that's from all the arthritis she's carrying in her back and hips. she's like my ninety-year-old mother. she sleeps eighteen hours a day, but when i take her out on a day trip, she seems to enjoy herself." 231204 ... raze she must be almost sixteen now. her body is finding new ways to let her down. stripping her of the dignity she deserves to hold onto. she hasn't given up yet. 240306 what's it to you? who go blather from