Duallee (a.spelled.a. ‘Doollee’) expired Friday June 14. Though not exceptionally old, he looked old. Betty acquired him 11 or so years ago, after we had given “The Big Lebowski” to our son. She missed the shelter dog — or not-quite-dog-yet but puppy-about-to-enter-doghood, and adopted another one. ‘Bowski and the Dool were mates.

Cause of cessation of life-carrying-potential would have been an exploded cyst in the spleen. So the vet had to ‘put him down.’ He had been slowing down for quite some time.

Sometimes we called him ‘lump.’

And sometimes I considered our dogs, frequently including the catzen other anny-mules, as the Nagual. I’d call it/them ‘Naggy.’

Naggy, the collective of the seemingly separate components, seemed to embody the unknowable force. The glue between the things, whatever “the things” are. Icebergs, as it were, protrusions into our reality from and of the unseen mysterious force and essence behind the scenes.

We picked a spot not far from overlooking into the Gunnison River, south of home, just across the county line (Delta).

Dool is pixured above in recent memory and experience … but these three other dogs terminated their respective earthly existences before he did.
The Dool’s final location of repose is not exactly near Emmy’s (Swamp-dog, the Dalmation) but with binoculars one spot could view the other. Emmy’s spot is also near the edge of a bluff overlooking the Gunnison River.

The other two dogs belonged to our kids, Ben and Rachel and whatever remains there are, are probably in Oregon. (The stealth cat, to the left, is still alive).

“The mound” takes shape. Conceptually, we envision a pyramid, eventually …

Puddle dawg.

Finishing? touches. We’ll go back periodically and make a bigger pyramid.

Three days after Dool’s last in this existence, the “Pillow-cat” disappeared. We’d let him out whenever he wanted and didn’t worry because invariably he’d be knocking at the door (really!) to be let back in. Sunday night he went out and wasn’t anywhere to be found the following morning. Nor the morning after that. I’m afraid to conclude: coyote breakfast. Just five cats remaining? We have room for more …

Our dog-hauling truck … about to drive home. Hope we don’t have to make this kind of sojourn very often …

“The Pillow” (Vanilli) and his “Siamese-twin” brother, Milli. (No, I don’t think they’re Siamese).

Ready to leave, do Sleven and Rocksea grasp the impact as do Betty and I? In the distance, a forest fire burns across the state line in Utah.

Yeah, somewhat frequently we have, and continue to, peer from the edge into the Gunnison River. Dool ‘n Betty just a few months ago. The Dominguez Wilderness Area is just across the canyon.

Dool with ‘the gang’ — just hangin’. (In today’s parlance, I’m afraid that it’s “chillin’ “.)

Vanilli, “the Pillow” could affect a dignified aspect — tho’ not often, the goofy guy. Usually he reminded me of the chubby graceless kid in elementary school, whose main function in life at that time was to be picked on.

OM, AAAhge (‘homage’). ¿ As in consideration of the underlying and overenveloping unity between and amongst all things ? probably not. But, still.

We are at a very low dog count in our family. Though Betty frequently says “no more” how can we continue through life with just two?

A lotta happy tranquil memories — bright and, literally, high points in the plain of tedium we often exist in, and on. Ever onward —