At 3:36 this morning, I awoke from a pivotal dream, one that provided resolution to a meaningful chapter in my life. I think that this morning I finally said a proper good bye to Kiba – exactly 21 months to the day.

 

At the time that I adopted Kiba, I had been doing Karate for about four years. There is a very broad, low stance in Kokondo called Kiba Dachi. It reminded me of the stance of a bulldog. Kiba also means “fang” in Japanese, which was also extremely fitting, because of the characteristic underbite of Bulldogs. For three days, I anguished over a name for the puppy that would soon be mine, the one the breeder in Wyoming referred to as “Chunky”. “Kiba” was perfect. He was the biggest in his litter, and to me, the most beautiful. I was surprised that while others of his siblings had been adopted, he remained. Good for me, and I have always believed, good for him. Today’s dream provided me with a deeper conclusion and feeling on that. Kiba was an English Bulldog who weighed about 75 pounds, up from the 12 pounds when I first got him at seven weeks old. He was born in May and I got him on the 5th of July, 2008. He had big paws, a huge “rope” (fold of skin above the nose that is coveted in Bulldogs), and a big personality. He was also very well-proportioned. He received compliments often, and he loved the attention. He also knew when he was the topic of discussion and played to the audience.

 

Kiba lived with me in Denver for four years, but when I moved to NYC, I knew that he wouldn’t be as happy in the city. I had so-called “offers” for him, but to me, giving him to someone would be ludicrous; and for how much could one sell a friend? My commitment to Kiba was for life and so I arranged for him to travel to the Bahamas to be with my family. That way I would always know where and how he was, and I would see him often. On top of that, he would have another dog and more people with whom to play and spend time, and a yard in which to do it. Things went well for that year, until he suddenly got sick and died. The devastation was indescribable and I think it best to respect and defer to the definition of that word.

 

I gave Kiba most of what he wanted (it couldn’t be everything because he didn’t know when to stop); toys, the best and healthiest foods, play dates, a leather chaise, because I couldn’t keep him off ALL the furniture. I did the best I could, and I spent the time and money to do it. My standard of commitment is extremely high, and it was especially high for him. Yet, I still sometimes wondered what more I could have done or how I could have redone things to achieve a different outcome. The last time in was in the Bahamas with Kiba was January 2013. The water was not as warm as it would be in the summer, and I contemplated waiting to make our inaugural trip together to the beach at that time. Ultimately, the dream that I’d had ever since he was a puppy of seeing him on the beach, won out and I took him anyway. I snapped photos and videos to commemorate the time. We didn’t go in the water together – I was saving that for another time – but we had made it. After returning to New York from that trip, I never saw Kiba again. There would have been no other time.

 

In the early morning hours, I had a dream that was not entirely contiguous and it featured people I have never met. Most importantly though, it featured Kiba. There was an image of Kiba submerged in a pool that appeared to be indoors judging from the light. He was motionless and floating just above the bottom with his head down, lower than the rest of his body. He appeared to have drowned. That image was a single segment. In a subsequent segment, and the most symbolic and fleshed out portion of the dream, he was still fairly wet, but in my arms facing me. Our conversation began. I told him that I was worried that I would not have had a chance to say goodbye and that I was happy to be doing so now. It was as if he was smiling and he said to me that I was “the best ‘mummy’ he could ever hope for.” I corrected him, “You mean ‘daddy’, I’m a man so that means I am a ‘daddy’.” I’ll pause here for a moment.

 

I generally saw Kiba as an equal and would sometimes forget that he was a dog. His emotions and intelligence and breadth of his moods made him feel very human. I would normally be reminded of his subhuman status only when he did something disgusting, like sniffing another dog’s rear-end. “Yup! That’s disgusting. You’re a dog – I almost forgot.” In my dream, I had that feeling of being reminded that he was only five years old when he died when he called me a ‘mummy’. In dog years he was my age, in absolute years, he was five. He was also a dog. The concept of “dog years” captures the complexity of our relationship and the vacillation between perspectives. It is further captured by his response. He said, “I know that you are a ‘daddy’, but you feel like a ‘mummy’ to me..” I awoke. It was 3:36 a.m. The end of the segment.

I will not expound on the possibilities and the meaning of all this. While I awoke feeling heavy, though not exceedingly sad, it does feel like a turning point in my relationship with Kiba which was refreshing, for want of a better word. This was only a dream, but I feel at ease that in all of his observation and intelligence, he knew that he was loved by me, my family and the people who met him. He knew that we did our best, and whatever we could. I think of him every day, and I mention him often. In 2008, while researching and settling on his name, another meaning emerged. Though pronounced differently, “Kiba” in Hebrew means “protected one”.