My Dear Friend Lloyd

I wish I could speak to you. To tell you that I knew what you were saying. That I understood every word, every sigh, every story you told me while tying your shoes or rinsing a mug at the sink. I wish I could tell you that I, too, had lived a human life… before this one. That once, I roamed the world the way you do now, in a human body.

My life then was different. I had a family. A wife and two children. Two girls, Alfa and Mia. We lived simply in the countryside in Cork. I was a professor at the local college and spent my days talking about books that still feel like old friends. Whitman, Woolf, Austen. The same kinds of books you keep on your shelves. I loved that about you.

My wife, Erin, was a professor too. We met in primary school in Dublin, fell in love over tea and Thoreau, and married quietly in the countryside. We had a small dog for a short while, Percy. We loved Percy the way you loved me. I wonder who Percy is now, knowing what I know. I like to think he was a reader, too. He always curled up by the fire beneath our feet, and I imagine he used to sneak glances at the pages, the way I would later sneak glances at yours.

When I died, my last breath, I thought I would go to heaven, as so many of us are promised. And perhaps I did. But I woke up as him. A small white dog, in a pile of other white puppies. I couldn’t speak, but I remembered everything. It’s funny how the world can take your voice, but never your memories.

I often wondered what became of Erin. If she came back as a dog, too. Or maybe a bird...she always loved birds. On our walks, when the wind moved through the trees just right, I liked to think I could hear her singing. I’d look up at the sky, just in case she was there.

As a puppy, I learned that the world can be unkind. In my human life, kindness found me often. In this one, I seemed to be lost. I watched my brothers and sisters taken away, one by one, while something about me was passed over. I stayed with my mother for a few months, then was sent to a foster home once I was big enough. Because I was larger than the others...maybe a Dalmatian, judging by my spots...I was tied to a fence outside. That fence became my home for years. Sometimes I was brought inside when it snowed. Mostly, I stayed out there, watching seasons change.

I thought that would be my life forever. I comforted myself with old lines of Whitman and Fitzgerald, rolling them around in my head. I wondered if I had done something wrong once, long ago, or if this was simply the luck of the draw. Neighbors would sneak me treats through the fence, little bits of scraps slipped into my days. They’d pet my head as they passed. Maybe they told someone, because one day I was taken to an adoption event.

And that’s where I met you.

You had wildly curly brown hair, unlike anything I’d ever seen. Your smile was warm and open, the kind of smile that invites trust. I hoped you’d choose me, so I tried my very best to be good. When you came close, I pawed at your boot...something Percy used to do. You bent down and held my face in your hands, and for a moment I thought you might know. Might see that I was more than just a dog, that I was a soul who had lived before.

You took my leash, and away we went.

Your home felt familiar the instant we walked in. Though we were far from Cork, the walls lined with books felt like mine. The art, the light, the way the rooms held quiet...it all reminded me of Erin and the girls. I settled into our life together easily. I loved our walks. I loved the way you talked to me as if I might answer. I loved lying near your feet while you read.

I loved the small things most. The extra scraps you pretended not to notice yourself dropping from the counter. The way you’d say, “Don’t tell anyone,” as you slipped me a bite, even though we lived alone. The mornings when sunlight hit your face and your eyes opened slowly, your hand finding my head before you were fully awake. The way you sang, loudly and often off-key, while cooking. I never minded. I listened like it was a concert just for me.

The hardest days were when you cried. I nosed at your arms, tried to tuck my head beneath them, to catch your tears and keep them safe. I wish I could have done more. Those days came too often. The world was unkind to you, the way it had been unkind to me once. I recognized that ache.

I wish you could see yourself the way I saw you. The way people lit up when they met you on our walks. How you stopped to talk, really talk, and really listen. You were curious in a way I never quite mastered as a man. I wish you could see how people felt in your home. How welcomed, how glad they were to be there. That joy was yours. You made it.

Our time together was brief, but it was a bit like heaven, I imagine. You gave me patience, safety, softness. You gave me a good life, this one. And if I couldn’t tell you while I was there, know this now.

I knew you. I loved you. I was happy.

And wherever we go next, whatever shape I take, I will always find you again, my dear, dear friend.