Zulu Time
By Zulu, as told to John Ash
If you’re unwilling to believe a dog has a story worth telling, this one isn’t for you.
When Dolores, John and Joe unfolded the ramp and guided me into the back of the SUV, I knew something had changed. Not just in my body, but in time itself. We were driving to Dr. Silver’s office instead of waiting for him to visit the house.
When I was a puppy, they named me Zulu, after Zulu time — the universal clock from which all hours are measured. For me, it marked the beginning of love. My arrival reset the rhythm of our home, and for nine-and-a-half years we shared our own private time.
I lived well. Dolores prepared every meal with care, layering kibble, meat, yogurt and slices of apple as though every dinner were a celebration.
John was my running companion through Sequoia Park, where we wandered beneath towering redwoods until both of us were happily exhausted.
Joe believed I was capable of more than being a pet. He found a trainer who taught me to track, search and detect hidden scents. I never understood why humans found these things remarkable. Following a scent was simply listening with my nose.
Then came the pain.
At first, it was only stiffness. John bought a ramp so I wouldn’t have to leap into the car. Soon my appetite faded. Even my favorite duck jerky couldn’t tempt me. My family knew something was terribly wrong.
Dr. Silver ordered an ultrasound. As his nurse moved the probe across my belly, I watched his expression grow heavy.
“Hemangiosarcoma,” he said quietly. Tumors filled my spleen. The cancer had already spread.
John asked if surgery could save me.
Dr. Silver shook his head. “It’s only a matter of time before he bleeds internally.”
We drove home wrapped in silence.
A few days later, John took me on one last walk through Sequoia Park. We followed our favorite trail beneath the redwoods, moving slowly now. I was tired, but I wanted him to remember me walking beside him, not lying helpless somewhere in pain.
The next morning, I refused breakfast. John knelt beside me, scratching behind my ears. I looked into his eyes and tried to tell him what words never could.
It’s time.
Later, Dr. Silver came to the house.
In the sunroom, John knelt beside me while Dolores and Joe rested their hands on my fur. Their voices were soft with gratitude. They thanked me for being part of their family. I wanted them to know the feeling had always been mutual.
Dr. Silver slipped a needle into my leg. Warmth spread gently through my body. My breathing slowed. The room dissolved into light.
Three loving hands remained on me until the very end.
The last thing I carried with me was the scent of my family.
Our Zulu time had ended, but love, I think, keeps its own clock, at Heaven’s Gate.
John Ash lives, grateful for Zulu’s memory, in Eureka.
