Rocky died on October 18. He was ten years old. He was a happy and friendly dog. He had two brown patches around his eyes like a mask. The brown fur continued along his back to his tail like a superhero’s cloak. Rocky’s superpower was kindness. He loved small fluffy animals, be they chicks, bunnies or kittens, and they loved him. Two days before he died, I saw four kittens curled up next to him keeping him company.
I buried him in the garden, his face turned towards our front door. Later that day my daughter and I listened to a Japanese song that played at the start of a Japanese drama series called Midnight Diner. We couldn’t understand the words so we read a translation of the lyrics:
That white breath of yours
Now drifts with the wind
Within the clouds in the sky
Little by little it dissipates
“That’s Rocky,” I said.
My daughter started to cry. I had tears in my eyes too. We sat side by side listening to the rest of the song in silence. In the evening we watched the final episode of Midnight Diner, and said goodbye to Rocky.
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