Poppa by Jackie Villarreal Najera

I have a lot of memories of my Uncle Manuel. I remember that he had a dog name Poppa. He loved his dog more than he loved people. He took his dog everywhere he went.

 One day he moved in with a lady name Goya. She seemed like a nice person. She was plump, and her completion was very dark almost to the point of red. They lived in small house next to us. She was also a good cook and she would bring food sometimes to our house.

 She would visit with my grandmother every day. In those days, we had a gas heater that had a short open grill. One day while visiting us she got too near the heater and her dress got on fire. The ambulance came right away and she stayed in hospital for weeks. Eventually she died of bed sores.

I was really sad.

When Uncle heard that she had died he said “What I going to with her stuff?”

I felt even sadder that he didn’t care.

One day his dog was coming inside the house and grandma told my uncle to chain his dog. His dog had never been chained before and the dog hung himself on the fence. There no way to comfort my Uncle Manuel. I had never seemed him cry before. He cried for months.

 I never saw him cry for Goya. He did cry for his dog uncontrollably. My heart broke looking at my uncle. After Poppa died he seemed very depressed and one day he fell and broke his hip. He died shortly after.

 I often think that he died of a broken heart over his dog Poppa.

 

 

 

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