The Little Light

Last night, I heard a terrible shrill coming from outside our window. It was one of our neighbors screaming. I didn’t know it then but a Rottweiler was in our courtyard and was attacking her dog, a small Pomeranian that had no chance.

I ran downstairs and in a tornado of events ended up at the nearest veterinarian to be told what I knew already. Poor Lucesita didn’t make it. I’m sure she died in my arms on the car ride over. It was a moment where life and it’s fragile state shows itself in glaringly clear terms.

She was so small, only a few months old. A puppy still. She was playful and friendly in that hoppity, puppy way. My daughter was very fond of her and would often brag that Lucesita really liked her. I couldn’t help but think how ironic her name, meaning Little Light, was considering how short her light lasted.

And I couldn’t help but make the comparison of how easily it could have been us; one of our dogs, one of our kids. Not in this exact situation but in any situation. I’m stunned sometimes by how paralyzing life can be, how scared I am that we never know what it holds for us. In the same courtyard that our kids and our dogs play, that we spend so much of our time in, who could have seen this coming?

I’ve played it back in my mind and all of the things that had to happen to lead up to that moment and how if any one thing had been different… I know it’s pointless. I know it. I’m just having a hard time understanding – processing, rather – how fast it all happens and how much sadness can come from such a quick moment.

I got home last night and washed my hands of the blood. If only thoughts were as easy to clean.