A few days ago, I had a dream someone brought me a puppy, told me it was Shenma and I should play with it. I said it was not possible but I held it in my arms anyway. When it laid belly-down on my forearm, it was exactly like the first day I brought her home nine years ago. I started brewing this feeling that it was her indeed, that she somehow found her way back to me, once again. I then got to a point where I started believing firmly it was Shenma and I knew I was in a dream and I refused to wake up. Then I woke up.

That morning my phone reminded me it was day 35 since she died.

A week before that day, we took a walk on a snowy hill in Tahoe. I made a snowball and tossed it up in the air. She caught it and chowed it into pieces with great satisfaction. I said this was to make up for all the snowstorms you missed coming to Cali with me. A week later, an exploratory surgery ended up being a death sentence. I begged the surgeon to at least let her wake up so I could say a proper goodbye. There was no proper goodbye.

I asked the doctor to let me be the one sending her away because after nine years it should be me and no one else. When the milky-coloured liquid finally reached under her skin I felt a scream leaving my body without making a sound. I felt like cursing god but realised the downside of being a non-believer is that even blasphemy can’t bring any consoling. When the doctor pronounced her dead and left the room, I had to leave too, fearing her body would turn cold and stiff fast and I’d be alone in a room with her death. So I wrapped a blanket around her skinny body and told her, “I’ll get you home soon.”

Two weeks later, I came back home holding her urn in my arms feeling I could pretend, if I were to try hard, having kept those words.

That urn stays with me till now while I know not what to do with it. I thought about taking her to Alaska, where I found this hidden, calm pond in the wilderness of Denali to the north of the summit. One of the places I hoped to take her running. There she could wait for me with all the freedom in the world and one day we’ll run like crazy alongside each other just like the old days. Then I remembered the night I came back from the Army after 6 months away. In that alley, I called her name and she broke free yelping, crying, running to me, and jumping all over. It’s probably better for her I keep her for the rest of the time or maybe that’s just an excuse for I don’t want to leave her behind or would have felt too guilty for doing so again.

When I couldn’t sign the paper to let her go, the vet said her intestines were gradually getting blocked by tumors, which was why all the weight loss and throwing up. Had she lived on, she would have starved. Somehow till now the word “starve” just keeps sounding off in my head and I leave her food and water out in her bowls. Today when I came home, her water was almost gone. I stared at the bowls thinking if I keep staring for long enough the water would dry up and maybe the food would disappear, too, just like she was still living there and eating and drinking and nothing had changed. At night, I came to the place we used to take walks as if this way it would feel like just this old game she got to escape whenever and to wherever she felt like and I’d not stop until I catch her back. I had never lost but this once. On that lawn there were two dogs barking at each other. One of the owners seemed to remember me. She was gonna ask something. I felt I knew the question so I left.