As bronze as Bronze is.

His hazel flaring eyes instigated sharp passion in mine, as he gazed into the starry skies. ‘No, it won’t rain’, I assured him; fondling his head ‘You can sleep out tonight.’ He ran around my leg and monkeyed up my waist. Bending low to his imminent licking, I diminutively wished it would rain after all. ‘Good night, Bronze.’ I said, switching off the lights. He was growing old and feeble every night. I instantly wished his presence alongside me. I glimpsed from the window, examining his serene sound sleep, and decided against disturbing him.

Ma gave him food and cleansed him every week. Pa made his kennel and took him for morning walks. I kicked him around, saddled my chores on him, played with his food when he was hungry, made him sick and bullied him; yet, he loved me best. I once found Bronze wearing my filthiest sweatshirt, lying on a hamper since I could not bring myself to wash it (I still haven't - It is now in a closet safely wrapped up).

It did not rain, nor did the slightest drizzle dew the flowers. The tranquil night was replaced by a scalding morning, burning the petals and leaves, drinking water from the mud. Bronze did not wake up to the rooster, not to the milk or newspaper calls, not to the blaring horns, not to the scotching heat brutishly burning his face, neither to pa’s morning walk, nor to ma’s breakfast.

 He abhorred tears, doing his best to lick them away; and he never met a human that he didn't get to like him, including people who didn't like Labradors or even dogs at all.  He would dance and prance about on his rickety back legs and bark frantically (he was a bit deaf by then) whenever I offered him a treat.

His chillness spread as I hugged him to my bosom. I fixed my eyes on the sky, nourished with tears and pain; an expression of helplessness and anger. I caressed him, kissed him, lifted him and kicked him, childishly yearning for a response. The rationality of my education faded; the hallucination of superstition, prayers and dreams clouded me, as I searched every part of his unresponsive body for life. The torrential flow of tears was never enough to testify my emotions.

There’s something about Bronze neither a brother, nor a mother; neither a soul-mate, not a friend possessed, something that made him rush to the gate to greet me every single time, amidst his dinner, something that made him help bring things for me, amidst his sickness, something divine, something genuine. He always jumped around as if I were the best thing since Biscuit. He never cared if I flunked Engineering Graphics, or had a Texas size zit on my nose.

I opened the curtains and looked towards the kennel. His name hung, inscribed on a plate as bronze as his name. His air was there, his hazel eyes stealing the stars from the sky, watching me back, breathing, and waiting to play ball with me tomorrow.

Love leaves a memory no one can steal. Death leaves a heart-ache no one can heal.

Bronze left a misery, I couldn’t deal.