MY DOG KOKA

Narrated by Leonard Gross, New York

   Koka came into my life when I was in my early twenties. Those days, I was feeling lonely and reeling under the uncertainty of my unsteady love affair. Koka's coming marked the beginning of a promising period in my life. Soon, I found my love. Thus, Koka was our precocious child!

   Koka was a Chesapeake Bay retriever. She was beautifully coated chocolate-brown. The sunlight reflected from her fur created wavy patterns. Koka was exceptional.

She was so receptive that she hardly took any time to get in tune with the people around her. She was sensitive to every small bit of facial expression, voice tones and gestures. Exploring the refrigerator was her favorite activity. She sprang up every time I opened the refrigerator. When I raised my voice, she would slink and study my face in an anxious manner for further reaction.

   Koka was an outstanding athlete. She captivated everyone on the beach, in the park, chasing balls and playing with children. Her ears were so sensitive that she responded instantly to every small whistle sounded in the harsh city din. When shown palm in her face after serving food in her dish, she would wait. Her love was unconditional, her faith implicit. We lived in an isolated place and my wife felt secure at home with Koka around when I was away. How pliantly she responded when babies tugged at her. Our children, who were shy at school, found an ever-intimate and ever-present friend in Koka to murmur to and snuggle with. At times, we parents were strangers for them to confide in, but Koka was there to share the secrets with. Do humans reciprocate feelings? I don't know but animals do reciprocate. These feelings of warmth, acceptance, and courtship one found in Koka were matchless.

   Koka went with us wherever we went. We changed our residence and so did Koka. We bought a farm and Koka exercised vigil along its boundaries. She chased after my truck as I drove over the fields to gather apples. She walked the beaches, hills, jungles, swimming pools and thousands of other places with us.

   Koka remained lively and active for almost 15 years. As her hind legs started getting stiff, I had to lift her into the wagon. Movements became difficult, yet she insisted on coming to the same room at night where we slept. Once upstairs, she felt constantly thirsty. She whined during sleep. Eventually, I shifted downstairs to sleep on the coach. Koka had no strength to raise her weakening body. I used to lift her and she used to hobble. Shortly afterwards, she would sink again and whine ceaselessly in uncomfortable pain. I was deprived of a full night's sleep for a long time. There were days when Koka's world, although small, was full of love, every inch of it. During this nightmare, it was full of pangs, every inch of it.

   My wife made an appointment with the vet. Our children were apprehensive. We didn't tell them it was her last visit to the vet. I placed her on the back seat and drove off. Koka used to be afraid of vet's clinic, and hence, this time I wanted to keep her away from that room and that particular smell. I requested the vet if he would come close to the car to examine her. After much dawdling, he agreed. There was no treatment for her condition and with a heavy heart I consented the vet to put her to sleep, eternal sleep. It was a moment of welcome earning for the vet, that of an agony to me and of eternal peace to Koka.

   I couldn't bear to see the vet injecting Sodium Pentothal into Koka's vein. I was dumb with sorrow. My Koka had gone beyond clouds and stars. As I drove her home, I wept helplessly. In fact, I wept after many years. I cried over the memory of those lively and festive moments Koka had spent with us. No one would bring them back for me.

   I dug a grave beneath a beech tree. How soft and light Koka felt as I carried her to it, her head dipped between her paws. I gently laid her on her side with her paws curled over her nose. I covered the pit with earth and came back.

   Now, weeks later, whenever I happen to see her food dish, my stomach wriggles, my heart writhes in pain and my eyes get moistened.

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