Rogue, my dear kind-hearted Rottweiler, Rogue, came to me this morning in the moments between sleep and wakefulness.
I saw her at the back door of our old house, and I followed her outside and through our spectacularly blooming spring garden. Spring was thick, and loud tulips jostled with carefree daffodils for attention. A green haze frosted the limbs of the tall Tulip Poplars above, and weeds needed pulling.
Rogue floated up the driveway, in huge leaps, her soft feet pressing on swooping currents of air rather than on the ground below. I saw her lovely black furry wings, unfurling and spreading like smoke across the sky.
Somehow, i followed her over familiar rolling countryside, to Granddaddy E’s house where she lay buried. There, she danced across the sky, her wings and spirit swirling through wispy clouds in the huge blue sky. Rich green grass grew thick under budding trees, and the river rushed by with brightness and purpose. Granddaddy E was well.
I cuddled into her soft fur, and she told me: “Love and be loved.”
The simplest and richest thing for a dog to say. What does she mean?
“Love…” She danced free, ghostly tendrils of black following her sweeping wings. Moshe came to mind, then the Mormon.
I could feel the sweetness of Rogue’s love, and a sensation of being pulled away from paradise.
“Love and be loved!”
I wish it had ended there, poignant and mysterious – a perfect visit from a beloved spirit guide. But then, a last whisper of words:
“And remember… Remember the numbers. Keep count. Remember.”
Dammit. Why? Why am i plagued by numbers? Why did they intrude on this lovely moment? Why is the universe fucking with my head? It serves no purpose. The numbers mean nothing.
I think i woke Jessica with my dramatic sigh. I hope this day will give me some satisfaction.