Even the packs of roaming street dogs give Wipeout wide berth. She exudes an existential weariness, punctuated by unexplainable seizures. All we can do is keep her walking, she can’t bite herself at the same time.
In better days she would leap into the water with me. Now she gingerly approaches, constantly checking that I’m near. She wades up to her belly so the lake can lift her off her aching joints. It takes both of us to carry her back uphill, sick with dread. The gardeners ask us if we are ready, volunteering to prepare the earth. I’m not. I’m too selfish. I can’t let her go.
Follow this bonus-material blog and ride along on a one-year road trip that inspired the memoir The Drive: Searching for Lost Memories on the Pan American Highway. On sale now. Get yours through the buy-the-book links at the bottom of the landing page on my teresabrucebooks.com website or here or here. Like The Drive’s Facebook page and tweet back at me @writerteresa.