I’m barbequing baby back ribs tonight.  I really don’t have any secret recipes.  I simply throw on Stubb’s Spice Rub and baste in Stubb’s BBQ sauce.  Cook until done and serve.  The aroma floats about the neighborhood like a great spirit in the sky.  I hear a lawnmower.  My sweet girl is at my feet.  Her muzzle is grey.  The hair on her body is falling out.  I see her pink skin.  She moves slowly as the arthritis gnaws at her joints.  She’s dying.

At nearly 14, she’s been in our lives for 12 years.  I first saw her at Seal Beach Animal Control Center, where I was volunteering, way back in 2001.  I remember calling my wife asking if I could bring home 2 Labrador Retrievers and at which she flatly said, “No.”  I chose the female chocolate anyway because she looked like a Jimmy Dean sausage.  My wife’s anger at me for not adhering to her wishes melted away after 30 minutes together with our new pet.  They were soon hugging each other on the floor.

She wiggle wormed her way into our hearts.  We had mourned for 4 years after our 1st dog, Mabel, was put down.  She was a yellow lab who swam like Michael Phelps and had the heart of a lion.  She was a runt, like Hazel, and one of 14 pups in her litter.  We chose her because she fought off her siblings like a gladiator and came right up to me looking for freedom.  We put her down at 10 only because she had inoperable Spondylosis.  This time, as I lay on the concrete floor with Hazel and her yellow brother, Boomer, I knew this girl was different.  Her name was “Lucky” then and indeed her number had just come up.

Over the years, we came up with countless albeit corny terms of endearment:  Poochie Monster; Socker Hound Thief; Sir Dog A Lot; Hazelita; Hazel Girl; Sweet Thing; Hazel Nut; the Singing dog.  At the time, they all seemed to fit and I’ve probably forgotten a few others.

I remember, after moving from Long Beach to Portland, we were in a corporate sponsored one room apartment.  Hazel loved chasing after ducks and after a long walk she dove into a nearby pond swimming after a particularly tasty looking Mallard. Soon she was gone from sight.  I called and called.  She didn’t respond.  I walked back with tears in my eyes trying to think of the words I was going to use to explain to my wife I’d lost the dog.  At the top of the stairs, soaking wet, shivering, there she was.  Hazel.  The look on her face matched mine as I imagined she was going to have to explain to “Mommy Dog” how she had lost me.

I don’t know how many days and nights we have left with our sweet Brown Girl.  She’s my rock, my soul, my partner in crime.  BBQ spare ribs always makes me think of the time we gave Hazel rib bones the first time.  She devoured them like candy and looked as if she just hit the lottery.  The next morning, I was ready to BBQ her as she left little pudding drops of shit all over the house.  Thanks be to God for hardwood floors.

I wish we could communicate with our canine friends.  I want her to know I’ve dedicated this week’s post to her.  I want her to know there is a “Rainbow Bridge” up in Heaven.  That she’ll meet our Mabel Girl soon and they can compare notes on what kind of owners we were.  How we loved them both with all our hearts.  We’ll meet again in the afterlife together one day girl.  I just want you to hang on a little longer.  Stay.  Please.