Yesterday, the sweetest and most beautiful dog passed away. While I knew he was not going to live forever, I did not put it past him. He had already defied most odds. You don’t get to be almost seventeen years of age if you are a Labrador.

He came to us, the size of a pocket dog, one summer afternoon in 2007. He let it be known from day one that he would be devising the rules of engagement – the first week saw me sleeping on the floor with him sleeping on my nightgown. Because he followed Pepsi (our earlier labrador that we adopted from the Pepsi guesthouse) into our home, he got the unimaginative name of another drink – Coffee. I felt his pejoration of this gross travesty for some time to follow. Because he was not the color of coffee, he was black, jet black, including his eyes and nails. He steadfastly refused any training; his trainer whom our help referred to as ‘the man who comes to teach Coffee English!) gave up after two weeks. Being a parent of free-spirited children, I overlooked his transgressions also; what else are you supposed to do?

As he became stronger, he let us know who was in charge, especially during the walks. The sight of another dog would set him off yapping happily – the walker, our petite daughter, flying behind him at the end of the leash. I have never been a lightweight and yet I often tied myself around tree trunks with his leash when I sensed (rather than saw) that flight was imminent. It was rather galling to be at the other end of a dog’s leash with a tree trunk for stability.

Big black dogs are scary; those straining to come near you are scarier. We chose not to enlighten anyone that this was a toothless lion. That he just wanted to hug people when he thought he could. It was neither his fault nor ours if people mistook his intention. When he would stand at the gate and bark, people gave our house a wide berth which suited the inhabitants rather well. And he could bark till you gave in to whatever he wanted. How did we know what he wanted? Oh, we learned to understand dog-speak. His communication was always unambiguous while I believe our messaging was often lacking; he was generous in letting us know when we were wrong. The last three days, even when he was in extreme pain, he refused to stop barking – there was so much he needed to tell us, so much love to convey. Coffee remained a happy puppy all his life. The words Rest in Peace have no meaning where he is concerned. There was never any peace when he was around. His signature was joyful prancing. His most redeeming quality was his zest for living, his joy in his being – he truly personified Pablo Neruda’s –

Joyful, joyful, joyful,
as only dogs know how to be happy
with only the autonomy
of their shameless spirit.

It is often in hindsight you realize the true value of what you have lost. No one but your dog can make you feel that the sun rises and sets with you. I don’t think the sun rose today.

He is missed. And will be. Forever. Until we meet.

Yes, I believe in a heaven for all dogdom
where my dog waits for my arrival
waving his fan-like tail in friendship.