Jena

I am saddened by a death that happened recently. A friend close to me. My first friend in Sukhumi in fact. The friendship that somehow helped me to connect with something familiar, something joyful, something simple as I was learning my new rhythm of life. Jena was the cocker spaniel next door. Every day coming and going, Jena was waiting with a smile, she had a big grin on her face, and that tail. I’ve seen lots of waggin’ in my days, but none ever so happy as Jena’s. Her tail was short and fast. “HI, I AM SO GLAD TO SEE YOU” her tail said every time I walked to the house. Although the tail didn’t need words. Jena knew I would rub her belly, she knew I would give her time and attention. She could count on me. I could count on her for a smile and a wag. Each of us were comforted by the other. Jena’s family includes 3 little people under the age of 5, a “mother and father”, a mother-in-law, and various other folks that are related but who knows how.
I could talk to Jena and she understood. The family on the other hand doesn’t understand my Russian nearly as well as Jena understood. I practiced my lessons with Jena. She would smile, but not laugh, at my bad pronunciation. She was very patient and was ready again and again for my fledgling efforts to pronounce multiple consonants in a row: zdr, pyt, zhahl, tahch…….. These, of course, are the English translations of the Russian letters, the Russians have their own alphabet, and they have consonants we don’t have, and in my humble opinion, shouldn’t have. Jena really liked it when I spoke English. She was coming along quite nicely with her English lessons.

I went to the beach for the first time. I swam in the brisk, or some might say ICY COLD Black Sea that day. It was exhilarating. It was a beautiful afternoon. The sand was warm and the water was cold. I came home and Jena was lying too still. Her little tail acknowledged my presence, but barely. “Hey Jena, kak vas?” how are you (in Russian), I said. Tail wiggled ever so slightly. She always stood to greet me. That day she didn’t come or stand. She laid still, breaths even and shallow. No signs of trauma. I sat with her late into the evening. Other family members came and sat. No one spoke. It was a quiet, peaceful evening. After everyone had gone to bed, I came out again and sat with her long after dark. I cried. I placed a fresh rose given to me by a patient, at her side. Her breaths even more shallow.
The next morning she was breathing her last. I gave my tearful farewells to Jena and her tail. I think maybe they were conjoined, her tail and her, living two separate but synergistic, sympathetic lives. I will miss them both. They were my best Abkhaz friends. Jena and her tail knew me. They accepted my ways, and welcomed me. I know Jena will go meet her family in doggie-heaven, and all will be well. I went home at lunch that day, her absence was painful, her little body was gone.
God bless little Jena and all little dogs that find wonderful ways to enter our hearts.
While visiting one of our patients two days later, I saw a new litter of puppies. Stumbling, shining, yearning little pups wondering where their mom’s tits were. I thought about bringing one back to give to Jena’s family, but I didn’t. I figure that is a family decision, not a friend of a friend’s decision.
As it turns out, today there was a cute little bunny hopping around at Jena‘s place. The little girls, Marisha, and her sister, whose name I have yet to master, were happy, playing with the new family pet. We will all miss Jena, maybe me more than the little girls. I think and write and ponder, they play. That’s the way it should be.

Life and death and new life.