My Eulogy for Oddo
My dog died at a specialized board and train facility called "Yo Adrian Dog Training" in Queens, NY. I placed him there before I left for a neuroscience conference. He was dead within 10 days, though their check ins with me were always very positive. The vet who received his body reported that his temperature was over 109.5 degrees Fahrenheit, despite him having been dead for some time. His official cause of death was severe dehydration and heat stroke. The trainers have since deleted their business page where I left a review. That is all I will say here of his death. The details are for a different kind of memorial.
When I first adopted Oddo, this Mac-miller-looking dealer on my block pulled over on a child's tricycle to ask me what kind of dog he was. I explained that he's a mountain dog mix, and that he was formerly a street dog in Taiwan. Mac turned quiet and puppy-eyed. "Then he found you," he said, before riding away on his tricycle.
It was me who found Oddo. He had little choice in the matter. He was unwanted in Taiwan and shipped off to the U.S. where dogs like him have a better chance of finding a home. The first time I met him he ignored me, but by month three, we were inseparable. He was a sassy rascal– smart, observant, anxious, and protective. Very protective. One day he caught me exchanging flirtatious looks with someone at the dog park. Oddo went right up to him and pissed on his leg. The thing is– It was my job to protect Oddo. So, we both had to learn better ways of communicating with each other, and adjust our lifestyles accordingly. It was not an easy task, but it was a rewarding one. Oddo had a lot to say, particularly about the amount of time I spend on the computer or on the couch when there is a Whole Wild World outside. If it wasn’t for Oddo, I would have spent COVID lockdown rotting in bed. He took me to the beach and the Redwoods instead. He showed me, tail wagging, that existence is a gift.
But the gift and the curse are tethered. When one is thrown at you the other quickly follows.
The song All Delighted People came on shortly before I received the call of Oddo’s collapse. It came on again after I picked up his things the next day. I had left him there with a toy I won for him at the Archery game in Coney Island– a plush round goat that he chewed the eyes off of. I wanted it back.
The trainer handed me Oddo’s toy, and told me he would refund our money. He never did. We passed an auto collision shop on our way down Cross Bay towards Woodhaven. A large sign boasted “Like it Never Happened” over their lot. It hurt to read.
I called my friend who used to be a priest. I told him what happened, and asked him to help me make sense of such senseless suffering. He said he doesn’t know. He said no one knows, not even the priests, that’s why he left, but he thinks This is a part of a greater project that we can never know or understand. He thinks our suffering is just one stage of The Greater Project.
I told Mike about this over an early dinner. “So we are God’s Deviant Art phase? God’s wearing an Invader Zim backpack right now, but in a few years he’s going to look back on us and cringe?” He made me laugh my first real laugh since it happened. Suddenly a lantern fly landed on our table. It was on its back and struggling. I used my chopsticks to flip it over. New York City mandates that lantern flies be killed on sight. I said aloud, “I will not participate in this project,” and let it be. It turned around and looked right at me for an uncomfortable amount of time. Mike tried to shoo it, but I asked him not to. I joked that maybe this is a spiritual experience, that maybe this is Oddo. The lantern fly flew to the empty table next to us. Our conversation on the nature of Earthly suffering continued. Suddenly a family approached the neighboring table, and before either of us could even look over, their young daughter, maybe the age of 5 or 6, yelled “I hate lantern flies!” as she ripped off her shoe and smashed it violently into the table. The waiter came and cleaned the remains.
It doesn’t matter what you choose. We live on this wild pendulum regardless.
It is difficult for me to accept the gifts that followed Oddo’s suffering. Many people have been deeply caring towards me. A stranger with ghostly intuition held a door for me and said, “It’s the least I can do.” Ellie, his dog walker, sat on my couch and writhed with me. My friends bought him a memorial tree in Greenwood cemetery. I saw my Dad cry for the first time. My mom’s aggressive Stage 4 cancer suddenly went dormant.
I went back to the Archery game at Coney Island with my niece and nephew. We botched it, but the lady gave us little plush puppies anyway and said, “Take good care of them.” Then she looked at me and said, “Remember what your tattoo says.” It says: Everything difficult is beautiful, and everything is difficult. I don’t know why she said that. I did not tell her what happened.
Later that night my niece and nephew opened up to me about their tremendous Fear of Death. My niece said she lies awake at night worried Grandpa (my Dad) will die. I know the feeling. It’s crippled me as early as I can remember, but in that moment, I felt something entirely new and different. I announced to them, these children I love, that I will go before them, and if there is ever a way I can tell them it is alright, I will. Sometimes I think maybe Oddo came into my life to teach me how to become a leader. I am still learning, but lately, I am less afraid.
People say the greatest pain any social being can endure is the death of something in its care. My Stage 1 DeviantArt brain thinks: If that is true, god must be in extraordinary pain. But we know, because we’ve been on this pendulum for quite some time now, that there is no extraordinary pain without extraordinary love, and though I know I have no choice in the matter, if I did, I would choose you, Oddo, again and always. Maybe one day you will welcome me home again. I don’t know. But I love you so much anyway.
When I first adopted Oddo, this Mac-miller-looking dealer on my block pulled over on a child's tricycle to ask me what kind of dog he was. I explained that he's a mountain dog mix, and that he was formerly a street dog in Taiwan. Mac turned quiet and puppy-eyed. "Then he found you," he said, before riding away on his tricycle.
It was me who found Oddo. He had little choice in the matter. He was unwanted in Taiwan and shipped off to the U.S. where dogs like him have a better chance of finding a home. The first time I met him he ignored me, but by month three, we were inseparable. He was a sassy rascal– smart, observant, anxious, and protective. Very protective. One day he caught me exchanging flirtatious looks with someone at the dog park. Oddo went right up to him and pissed on his leg. The thing is– It was my job to protect Oddo. So, we both had to learn better ways of communicating with each other, and adjust our lifestyles accordingly. It was not an easy task, but it was a rewarding one. Oddo had a lot to say, particularly about the amount of time I spend on the computer or on the couch when there is a Whole Wild World outside. If it wasn’t for Oddo, I would have spent COVID lockdown rotting in bed. He took me to the beach and the Redwoods instead. He showed me, tail wagging, that existence is a gift.
But the gift and the curse are tethered. When one is thrown at you the other quickly follows.
The song All Delighted People came on shortly before I received the call of Oddo’s collapse. It came on again after I picked up his things the next day. I had left him there with a toy I won for him at the Archery game in Coney Island– a plush round goat that he chewed the eyes off of. I wanted it back.
The trainer handed me Oddo’s toy, and told me he would refund our money. He never did. We passed an auto collision shop on our way down Cross Bay towards Woodhaven. A large sign boasted “Like it Never Happened” over their lot. It hurt to read.
I called my friend who used to be a priest. I told him what happened, and asked him to help me make sense of such senseless suffering. He said he doesn’t know. He said no one knows, not even the priests, that’s why he left, but he thinks This is a part of a greater project that we can never know or understand. He thinks our suffering is just one stage of The Greater Project.
I told Mike about this over an early dinner. “So we are God’s Deviant Art phase? God’s wearing an Invader Zim backpack right now, but in a few years he’s going to look back on us and cringe?” He made me laugh my first real laugh since it happened. Suddenly a lantern fly landed on our table. It was on its back and struggling. I used my chopsticks to flip it over. New York City mandates that lantern flies be killed on sight. I said aloud, “I will not participate in this project,” and let it be. It turned around and looked right at me for an uncomfortable amount of time. Mike tried to shoo it, but I asked him not to. I joked that maybe this is a spiritual experience, that maybe this is Oddo. The lantern fly flew to the empty table next to us. Our conversation on the nature of Earthly suffering continued. Suddenly a family approached the neighboring table, and before either of us could even look over, their young daughter, maybe the age of 5 or 6, yelled “I hate lantern flies!” as she ripped off her shoe and smashed it violently into the table. The waiter came and cleaned the remains.
It doesn’t matter what you choose. We live on this wild pendulum regardless.
It is difficult for me to accept the gifts that followed Oddo’s suffering. Many people have been deeply caring towards me. A stranger with ghostly intuition held a door for me and said, “It’s the least I can do.” Ellie, his dog walker, sat on my couch and writhed with me. My friends bought him a memorial tree in Greenwood cemetery. I saw my Dad cry for the first time. My mom’s aggressive Stage 4 cancer suddenly went dormant.
I went back to the Archery game at Coney Island with my niece and nephew. We botched it, but the lady gave us little plush puppies anyway and said, “Take good care of them.” Then she looked at me and said, “Remember what your tattoo says.” It says: Everything difficult is beautiful, and everything is difficult. I don’t know why she said that. I did not tell her what happened.
Later that night my niece and nephew opened up to me about their tremendous Fear of Death. My niece said she lies awake at night worried Grandpa (my Dad) will die. I know the feeling. It’s crippled me as early as I can remember, but in that moment, I felt something entirely new and different. I announced to them, these children I love, that I will go before them, and if there is ever a way I can tell them it is alright, I will. Sometimes I think maybe Oddo came into my life to teach me how to become a leader. I am still learning, but lately, I am less afraid.
People say the greatest pain any social being can endure is the death of something in its care. My Stage 1 DeviantArt brain thinks: If that is true, god must be in extraordinary pain. But we know, because we’ve been on this pendulum for quite some time now, that there is no extraordinary pain without extraordinary love, and though I know I have no choice in the matter, if I did, I would choose you, Oddo, again and always. Maybe one day you will welcome me home again. I don’t know. But I love you so much anyway.