Irrelevant Importance Life, art, politics, technology and the meaninglessness that matters to me.

Linus

December 10, 2005

That is a date that will always have a special, terrible significance to me. And here it is again, three years later. December 10 is the day that always will be the day I signed Linus' life over to Chicago Animal Control after two months trying to save him. He died then, either that night or on the 11th. I don't know and I never will, just like everything else about that incident. He bit the dog walker. Why? I don't know. No one does, except maybe her. I know that I tried so hard to stop the inevitable, and it wasn't enough.

Incident...makes it sound like some sort of misunderstanding. A scuffle between friends that was later made up over whiskey and tears and reminiscence.

I still remember the horrible small things. The coppery smell of blood in the apartment the day it happened. I remember sitting with him that night, in tears, saying "don't you know what this means? they're going to try to kill you now," and praying to any god who I thought would listen that I was wrong. I remember how happy he was to be going on a car ride that night he was taken in to city Animal Control, and once we got there, the frightened way he kept looking back as they lead him away when he was surrendered for "quarantine".

And most of all when it was all lost, I remember that drive down to animal control, alone and feeling it more alone than I ever have or will. The lingering thoughts that somehow, the inevitable could be avoided, that I could save him. Even to the point of absurd fantasies of movie hero theatrics, slaughtering cops and those who had lied to me about what his fate would be in a righteous violent fury, shattered glass and bullet casings in slow motion, saving the one thing I had in my life who at that time loved me and trusted me completely, that I had failed to save. He loved me, and he trusted me, and I failed him.

There was no gunfire though, no swirling trench coat as the bad guys fell before me. There was the dry scratch of ballpoint on a release paper and a brief moment to say goodbye. But even that didn't matter, not anymore because he didn't recognize me, and if he did it didn't matter. After two months locked non-stop in a cage, he was dead inside, had given up all hope. If he recognized me, it was with nothing but pain, because I am the one that turned him over to Them. Who subjected him to the living Hell that was about to end finally, mercifully. Then it was a drive home through the snowstorm to drown in a flood of tears, alcohol and regret. And god I hate how self-pitying this all sounds, wallowing in my own sadness, because fuck it at least I am still alive. He didn't get that luxury.

It's been so long now, and I still dwell. I don't know why. I don't know what the point is other than remembrance. But I loved him, and at a time that I felt very alone, he loved me unconditionally. No matter what, he was always so happy to see me, and I knew that I mattered to him. And he mattered so much to me, and I miss him still. So fucking much. Beating myself up for it does no good, and I can't bring him back or change how things played out. But I would give just about anything and everything I have to do just that.

I miss you still, Linus. I loved you and do love you, and I hope that you are somewhere that it doesn't hurt anymore. And I am so sorry, still. I will always be sorry, and I will always love you.