The black polar bear

Every now and then I take time to visit my backyard, get up close to the white plastic water drains on the side of our house and run my fingers above the pencil marks.

Even after all these years, even after all the tropical rain that has fallen they are still there: a small line and a date.

My family was always a dog family, it wasn’t until 2010 though that I got to have my own dog. The way she came into our lives was unusual and unexpected. My dad had supposedly won a raffle which he had bought from the woman who sold us our previous puppy (two months before, I need to add) and she was the prize for which my dad travelled back to Brasil to pick up and bring home. My brother, sister and I never saw the winning ticket and never believed the story to be completely honest, but we loved having a new dog, the 3rd to join our pack at the moment.

At the time I was 14 and enjoyed imitating a British accent-or at least I believed I did-and I would joke around with my mom every now and then saying “mum, take me to see the ‘poulah’ bears”. She never understood me but I thought it was funny. Thats how our new 3 month old black labrador got the name Poulah.

She had these beautiful and piercing deep but clear brown eyes, shinning black fur and the tendency to lay on her back and ask for a belly-rub every time someone came close to her. However one month passed, then two and she didn’t seem to be getting taller, that’s when we got into the habit of measuring her on the water pipe to track her growth.

There’s one memory of her that is marked “Favorite” in my thoughts. Living in Guayaquil, Ecuador’s biggest coast city, the beach is only an hour and a half away. My dad works in the beach weekdays and lives out there during these days. On my high school vacations I would go out with him for a week or two and we would take our pack of labradors to enjoy the sun and the sea-if you have ever had the opportunity to see them in the sea then you have been in front of pure happiness-.

It was my dad’s lunch break and he came to check on me at the house; now our house is in a neighbourhood which has a direct underground tunnel with access to the ocean, so we decided to give our pack what they loved about the beach. A visit to the sandy beds and the opportunity to run free and swim in the ocean.

As I have told you, we had three dogs at the moment: Tom which was 4 years old and Adele who was a month older than Poulah; who at six months was not only the youngest but also the smallest. Our usual routine and game to play at the beach was the “old but gold” (specially for labs) fetch, we would pick wooden sticks and throw them into the ocean or the hills of sand and see the three of them chase it.

The thing I hold closest to my heart was seeing Poulah, who seemed to be the happiest and for some reason was the fastest. She would always be the first to reach the stick, she would out-run and out-swim Tom and Adele even though she was the smallest.

I remember seeing her run up and down the beach, the way she would accelerate with clumsiness, how she would jump of the ground and go forward every time her legs met as she ran, how she would run into the ocean just because she loved it not because she was chasing something. Her black, black hair would shine in the middle of the white sand, she was unstoppable.

The only regret I have is not having my phone, polaroid or a camera at hand to take a picture. But, in the end, there is definitely something poetic abut not having the distraction of a lens.

She was the first love of my life.

Two months later she was poisoned and didn’t make it to the beach for one last dip in the water. However the eight months she got where full of life, adventure and all the love my family -Tom and Adele included- could give.

When I think of her I am filled with her happiness running up and down the sand and bathing in the salty water, and with her tenderness when she would lay on he back asking for belly-rubs.