Adios, little man

Picasso Godzilla Francisco Harrison-Biggs
5/23/2009 – 12/5/2023

On Dec 5, 2023, our little-man dog, Picasso gave us one last kiss farewell. He was the center of our universe for 15 years, since he was 6 weeks old. We watched him mature and wither, as most earth life does. We loved him hard, and we loved him harder in the final years, well aware that pretty soon, we wouldn’t be able to cuddle up with him and see him stare at us intently to will us to indulge him.

I often try to console others by telling them that the moment any event passes, all that is left of it is the memory. We live in a cloud of memories. While the pain of not making more in the future hurts, we should relish the ones we have. Wrap ourselves up in them knowing we were so lucky to have him while we did.

I also often tell the story of Data, the android in the Star Trek franchise, when Tasha Yar, the head of security dies. Data says, “As an android, I have no emotions. However, the recent realization that Lieutenant Yar had become important to me caused me to alter my programming. But I was not programmed to anticipate death, only to react to it. Her death, I cannot allow it to influence my performance, but I find myself thinking about her. It is a curious sensation. I wonder what purpose it serves. Constantly shifting my programming in this manner is an inefficient use of resources. It has also caused me to develop impressions on my neural net that would be considered… disturbing… were I human.”

Picasso has left some substantial impressions on our neural net. Reducing those impressions to mere memory would seem to trivialize the hollowness I feel at this moment, like spaces in my body have collapsed for lack of energy or oxygen. The unfilled impressions on our neural net have left inactive pathways around our hearts and minds. We feel that. Deeply.

Goodbye, Little Man. Your presence on this earth with your playfulness, richness of intelligence, and personality is a testament to divinity.

We bought him on the Los Muertos beach in front of La Carreta from a lady who made and sold coconut oil. We brought him home when he was 6 weeks old to our home in the 5 de Diciembre neighborhood, Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. 5 de Diciembre is the day he also died. In the picture above, he is looking toward what would be his last home.

The day before, he was super-playful and bestowing many kisses. Then, around 6pm, he had several heart attacks. Patrick took him to the vet, who said to give him 24–48 hours. But during the night, he suffered and became incontinent. The next day, at 1pm Tuesday, we were scheduled to have another vet appointment. During the intervening time, the rest of his body began to give out.

We stayed with him even after he had been put under and until his very last breath. I kept thinking: we’re killing our baby! But he was already dying and suffering through it tremendously. With desperate, fleeting thoughts of, “but what if he could recover??”, we knew he would not. The doctor said we could extend his life by a few months, but why? Why would we do that to him?

We purged the house immediately of all the physical triggers: food, bowls, blankets, toys, etc. But the patterns remain: habits and expectations. Watching where on the couch we sit; carrying in him in my lap in the car; carrying him as we walked down the street… so many patterns. Expectations that well up unfulfilled.

• Reflection