Last weekend, I lost a dear friend. After 12 years of fiercely loyal companionship, Abu is no longer with us. I’ve had to take several days to think of how best to eulogize my baby. It’s not that I feel my words now do her justice. She deserved more.
In the Gospel of Mark 7:24-30, the story is preserved of a Syrophoenician woman who approaches Jesus seeking healing for her daughter. Interrupted, Jesus replies, “First, let the children eat all they want, for it is not right to take the children’s bread and toss it to their dogs.” Not moved, the mother replies, “Yes, Lord, but even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs.” For such an answer, Jesus gave her what she asked. Abu grew up as a pastor’s dog. She must have listened as I prepared that sermon, for she was never afraid to lift her voice in her own defense, to remind me and Kim that she was at the least entitled to a few crumbs.
Abu lived. When she barked, she used every muscle in her body. In her younger days, her ability to jump was legendary. On her third birthday, she learned three new tricks, just to remind anyone who cared to know that she was not old, thank you very much! She was fearless. She tore the tails off tardy lizards. She shrieked at Grenadian cows. Even in her latest days, she scoffed at the rottweilers on the other side of the fence. She’d seen worse. Abu had donned a lifejacket and ridden Smith Lake on jet skis. She loved Krystal’s hamburgers, cheese bugles, and pretty much anything else the momma and the daddy were careless enough to drop. She vacationed with overseas Baptist missionaries. She knew what to do with an open car door.
When Kim and I first went to Grenada, she stayed with my mother and my stepdad Oogie for a few months. Oogie was older, took naps under blankets by a heater, and snacked. ‘Bu was only too happy to curl up on Oogie’s lap and help him finish his snacks. She had gained three pounds by the time we got back from Grenada. That wouldn’t be such a big deal, if she hadn’t weighed 5 pounds when we left! I can only hope Oogie is taking good care of her again. I miss them both.
Abu loved. She adored clean blankets, in which she snored like her daddy. She knew no greater joy than to sit in the sunshine until she slumped panting to her dish for a sip of water, only to go bake some more. Although she’d bark at a falling leaf, she was equally happy to curl up with whichever family member had the good sense to enjoy a midday nap. She loved to put nose prints on car windows and show utter contempt for Venetian blinds. She taught Butters what to bark at. She taught me how to live life until there’s none left. Abu watched me and Kim grow up together, kept our confidences inviolate, and never withheld her love.
Abu was defiant. She once ransacked my sister’s kitchen, devouring half a quiche, and walked about looking miserable for the next day. Another time, she emptied a dish of Easter jelly beans, and crapped “fruit cake” looking poo for a week. She gave the mailman hell. And she wouldn’t stop barking until somebody was willing to see what she was protecting us from.
Abu learned. She “attended” the University of Mobile, St. Georges University School of Medicine, Princeton Theological Seminary, and the Cumberland School of Law. She sat in on Bible studies, and walked across innumerable textbooks to remind the momma and the daddy to take the occasional much needed study break.
I was not ready to say goodbye. And I’m still not. She was old, her eyesight weakened, much of her spring was a memory, but there was nothing wrong her memory or her spirit. She deserved a more dignified exit. I deserved a chance to say goodbye. We got neither.
May she spend eternity yapping at the feet of the saints, shamelessly lounging beneath the banquet table of the feast of heaven, and may large amounts of crumbs fall from the table, some of which, inexplicably, bear a suspicious resemblance to Krystal’s and cheese bugles.
I love you, Abu.
July 26, 1993 – November 12, 2005
