Apollo Koch Statman, RIP

“the dog, not the god, perhaps”

Apollo Koch Statman, at 9 months, in Prospect Park, Brooklyn, NY.

Apollo, our beloved chocolate Labrador Retriever who I’ve written about in previous Poet in Mexico posts, passed away Sunday night, August 23. It was very very sudden. The previous Friday evening we had gone on our usual long country walk—3 miles or so. He’d been a little slow at the end, while the puppy, the black Labrador Xochipilli, was still bounding. The walks the past year had gotten like that. At eleven-and-a-half years Apollo deserved some respect.

Apollo with his great-great uncle Cannonball. When we got Apollo, in the summer of 2015, Jesse was looking over Apollo’s papers and noticed that Apollo and Cannonball had some family in common. A closer comparison showed us that Cannonball, from whom Jesse would take his stage name, was Apollo’s great-great uncle.

Even during that walk he was so much himself. At one point, some wild dogs had come up to him and Xochi, the way they often would. One got a little aggressive, in particular with Xochi. Apollo had wheeled on him, barked loudly. That one and the others slinked away. Apollo wagged his tail, proud of himself. He’d defended his “nephew’s” honor.

My mom loved Apollo. When she knew we would be coming to the US to visit her, she would always say she hoped we were driving. I finally asked her why and she said, So I can see my Apollo. She loved big dogs. Before she died, she made me promise that the dog we got to be Apollo’s later years pal, like Cannonball, would be family. I balked at this, thinking of how crazy that would be, to go to a breeder in Manorville, NY and bring the dog to Mexico. She made me promise though. A few years after she died we did start thinking about that Apollo pal. I reasoned that all Labradors were somehow family, no? So a breeder outside Mexico City seemed reasonable. And led to the arrival of Xochipilli.

That night Apollo threw up a lot and suddenly seemed to start shrinking. He wasn’t the big chocolate Lab always ready to play. All his steps were tentative and weak.

I thought maybe it was something he had eaten on the walk (he’s a Lab, after all and these are country roads). When Saturday he seemed to improve a little, I thought things were running their course. He was drinking water though not eating. Unusual for a Lab not to eat. Still, some bad food off the road, I kept thinking. He skipped the evening walk. Xochipilli kept looking back. Where’s Apollo?

Apollo loved his stuffed toys. In puppy days, they would be torn apart. As he grew older, he was happy for them to be pillows.

That night, Apollo spent a lot of time laying out in the grass, restless. I brought him up to bed and he seemed okay. Though still sort of poor.

Sunday Jesse came by and saw him and thought Apollo didn’t look well. Looked sad. That afternoon we went to a friend’s birthday party. When I got back, our caretaker, Gregorio, was there working. He asked me if Apollo was sick. He still was. Xochi and I went for a walk. Again, the puppy kept looking back. Where was Apollo?

Xochipilli, on the other hand, is still more interested in stuffed animal destruction.

I brought Apollo into the house that night, thinking I would bring him up to the bedroom again. I wrote some friends who at the party had suggested a new vet in our town they really liked. While I was writing to them, Apollo spent a little time with Xochipilli. Then he went out to the porch, then out to the grass. Fifteen minutes later, I went to get him. He was still in the grass and gone.

Grieving this best pal, even while feeling his great spirit filling the world.

With Xochipilli, getting kissed…

Here are two poems, the first from my book, Hechizo (Lavender Ink, 2022). The second this past week, in memory.

Two Apollo Poems

the tradition of light

at my feet the dog Apollo
there’s a dove in the
tree then the dove flown
to freedom it makes
fun of mine because
this dog will
not let me move it
took him too long to
find the exact position the
one that blocks me from
getting up now he’s fallen
asleep soft breaths
slight quivering of his paws
he stretches a little
turns himself sighs
all more comfort for him
southern Mexico daydreams
spring always spring
here no matter the month
he’s happy and I’m
trapped ni modos we say here
it’s kind of like tough luck
or nothing to do nothing
to be done I could
make my move or
wait him out he
won’t sleep forever there
are walks to be had
and bowls of food to eat
but that future isn’t now
I turn my head the sun-
light in my eyes ni modos
ni modos ni modos

poems as saints and poets
			(for A.K.S)

whatever grief and 
empty has emptied 
into night  

rainstorm wind
we call on a blindness  

that comes from  
a river silver moon-
lit and  

moonlight it’s
left us now  
an image of  

birds in  
snow and birdsong  
sound of the infinite or 

eternal far away 
haunted 

that barking dog
wants only to
be let to 

run let 
to say here I

am a hineni
needed a-
nother kind of

last call a
glass for me

turned over not
an overturn just 
turned lament a

day and nights
in mourning

Please comment! Please share! Restack! Respond!

Follow me on BlueSky: markstatman.bsky.social