A Requiem for Zeus

Bad news is never easy to hear, though admittedly harder to deliver. Earlier this week, I called my mom to ask about the lasagna I ended up making for my party. I was cruising down North Broadway at the time, listening to this odd little sound my car has been making for a week now, when she said those five bracing words that none of us ever want to hear come through the phone: I have some bad news.

Zeus died on Monday. He wasn't even my dog, but I used to tell people he was. Wolf, that's what my Goddaughter used to call him. It's going to rip out my heart the next time she's over and asks where the wolf is. Doin' it right now just thinking about it.

He wasn't even my dog.

He lived next door to what is now my place. My parents' house. He showed up right after I went off to school and I met him on Fall break of my freshman year.

He was scared of me. The big teddy bear. He was scared of everybody back then. He was about two years old and had come from an abusive situation. He never barked. He never wimpered. He would just look at you with these amazing eyes -- as if he was waiting to see if you were nice or someone he should run away from. Eventually, over the years as I would return on breaks, he came to trust me and would come bounding up to me when I'd step out of the car.

See, our neighbor wasn't one for caging animals and Zeus had a sort of free reign on this end of the block for much of his life. Sure, people who didn't know him would complain, even call Animal Control now and then, but most days you'd find him trotting about or just sitting on our front lawn, like a guardian. He was a big dog and most people steered clear of him -- but he was as harmless as a breeze.

There was a time when unless Zeus met you inside my house, he didn't trust you. It was pretty cool, and actually quite the moment, when he'd meet someone outside and remember them fondly. It took a while, but he finally learned to trust humans again. That would be my mom's doing -- she loved that dog. And he loved her. My parents moved farther into the suburbs about six months ago and my mom still came over every week. Funny enough, I think she was here to see Zeus, not me. And oh, how his tail would wag and his eyes light up when he heard her voice.

Before they moved, Zeus was welcome in my parents' home for years. He would sit by my dad's chair and watch the news with them. My mom walked him all the time. His meals rivaled some of mine, to be honest. You would have thought he was theirs. One winter our neighbor (his true owner) sent my folks a Christmas card addressed to them and Zeus.

Time finally caught up with him on Monday. And it's still kinda rough to even write about it. Like I said, he wasn't mine. I knew Zeus more like a friend than a pet. Maybe because he was always here with us, visiting -- always waiting for us to get home -- always a glutton for a good scratch behind the ear -- and always this wonderful creature who wanted nothing more than to be in our company.

I am forever grateful I was in his.

Goodbye, buddy.

ZEUS
1995-2006