Pipi left the other day. His mum Cristina came and picked him up, now that he is a healthy little puppie bursting with energies and her back is hurting her less.
He is now 3 months old and no longer the same poorly little thing lying helplessly in my arms only a short while ago but time seems to have lapsed and his sickness a distant memory. Life has been galloping fast fast forward.
I held him as much as I could the night he was leaving while him trying to bite my fingers, wrists, arms...He is so much bigger now. His limbs slender, body heavier, tail thinner and longer, paws fleshier. His ears are half way to the floor and his face... My God, I can no longer hold him still for a second! What has happened to that tender little thing who slept like an angel in my arms!
Still it's better this way. He looks like a proper dog now. A juvenile. He eats like a vacuum cleaner. He pees and shits wherever he pleases. He bites relentlessly on everything anything. He has no fear. He is a pain in the arse. He is a puppie bursting with life, a life he nearly nearly lost only a very short while ago.
He was the star of the evening. Everybody adored him, marveling at his cute puppiness, his liveliness, his innocence. Everybody tried to hold him in his/her arms for as long as they managed. Of course, he was completely unaware of what was going on. He kept on biting on everything anything, trying to pinch Jazmina's bones and chasing anything on the move. Then the adults took more photos with him, packed his stuff...toys, food, bedding and off he went, without knowing where on earth he was off to. However, he did stay still in my arms, nicely still, while I was taking him out of the house, no tossing turning, no biting like a maniac, just nice quite for a change. God knows what was going on in his little doggie mind.
After infinite kisses and hugs, he left in his mum and dad's car to his new house. Oh Pipi, all is going to be well for you! I know, I just know.
Os is heart-broken. He loves his dogs more than any humans and Pipi was no exception. Two months of single dad. Intensive care, sleepless nights, close to death devastation, relentless cleaning of pees, vomits, diarrheas and turds everywhere in the house all day for 2 months, tons of bounding, playing, sweet talks with this cutest little thing on earth, joy while watching him recovering, eating like a hurricane, growing like a miracle. But all of a sudden, he's gone like a dream! What remains is some newspapers on the floor, torn and stained. Pipi's toilette training. And a little note lovingly taped on the door. 'Please open the door very slowly! Puppie inside!' I took it off quietly. Suddenly I had an urge to cry.
And so I did the next day. A tearful day. Gloom.
Cristina rang to tell that Pipi arrived safely to his new house. He carried on to play straight away. Only that he cried a bit when they turned the lights out to sleep. But her husband stayed with him on the floor till he fell asleep.
The life of a dog! Sometimes I wish I was one of them. It doesn't seem to be too bad to have such little consciousness, unlike us humans, me in particular, who are utterly liable of being stirred up by memories like now, and that grey sentiment called melancholia. The memory of that impossible tenderness of a fury little life in my arms! The memory of being so overpowered by his utter powerlessness.
Pipi's departure reminds that of mine, very soon, from Buenos Aires.
