think she had been dead too long because her body was not very cold.
The men at the Picnic tienda where I fed her last Sunday across the street tell me that she's been going down for a month. I know that she starved to death, and that is the worst death of all.
Last Sunday I wanted to take her to the dog shelter here in San Anto, but they're closed on Sunday. I have two dogs in my tiny yard, and I was afraid to keep her with me. On Monday I had to deal with my 91 year-old father's pre-funeral wishes in Raymondville, four hours away, and I was afraid to delay his wishes. La Perra ate a little barbacoa on Sunday morning and I left food with the men, who promised to feed her. I looked for her on Monday night, Tuesday, Wednesday, all week. She must have been alive, just waiting to die. I should have pressed Juanillo the homeless man when he told me that La Perra slept with him to help me find her right now. I should have taken her to the Animal Defense League last Sunday, which is way north on Nacogdoches here, except they are very hard to reach, and the last time I needed their help with the dog I have at home now, they refused.
Still, this is my fault. I didn't think my girlfriends would help me. They just tease me and don't really want to know.
La Perra died because I was afraid of my landlord, of rejection from the ADL, giving up on my friends who don't want to see that a starving dog is the most vulnerable creature in a world of social injustice.
I"m so sorry, La Perra. I should have, I should have loved you more. Please forgive me.