The End of Simba's Reign

One of the roughest days of my Peace Corps service was the day that my dog, Poppy, died. Death of pets is rough anywhere, but it's worse here, where it's easy to get extremely attached, but there's little to no veterinary care available. I wouldn't wish that desperate, panicked feeling of helplessness on anyone.

And yet, yesterday, my roommate Laura had to go through exactly that.

Laura found Simba on the street when he was a tiny puppy, and raised him until he became big and fat. Laura and Simba went everywhere together, to the point where, if she wasn't accompanied by her usual canine companion, people in town would ask "Onde está Simba?" Simba was very energetic, and he loved people. Whenever we came back from a trip, as soon as he heard, saw, or smelled us, he would come bounding towards us, with flapping ears and a wagging tail. I didn't like Simba at first -- he was too noisy, too slobbery, too exuberant -- and yet, Simba grew on me. Who couldn't love him? Still, he was 100% Laura's dog, and she adored him unconditionally.

Through Simba's favorite activity, exploring, he picked up some kind of nasty disease that ravaged his body. Little by little, he shut down. He stopped eating, stopped drinking, and, yesterday afternoon, he stopped breathing. He died about two feet from where Poppy died a little over a year ago. We buried him next to her.

Here's to you, Simba. You were only with us for six months, but you were a good dog. Have fun romping around with Poppy in the canine afterlife.

Baby Simba, small enough to hold in a one hand.

Simba's first chapa ride

What a handsome young dog!

Playing with the boys

Rest well, Simba.