Never once did he sleep in that dog house. I wondered why we even bought it. Probably it was for show, like lugging home a ten pound bag of food from Petco over the shoulder without a cart or anything. A cart would have been easier, but in all actuality it was just to be seen carrying home Eukanuba across the parking lot. But maybe we bought that plastic piece of shit because of he loved being outside. I know, mostly all dogs love being outside, but he wouldn’t even go inside at first. When we brought him home from Desoto that night, he just plopped himself down inside the 12 inch hole inside the gardening hose. He was an awfully cute puppy; soft auburn fur, little white strip down his nose, and those eyes. He had the prettiest amber eyes. The first few months, my parents had trouble putting the camera down to say the least. But he was more than puppy dog eyes, he was behaved too. The first car ride home he didn’t yelp or whine, didn’t piss all over the Jimmy, he just sat their quietly as if contemplating the universe not even moving an inch. This little car ride was made into a legend at family gatherings by my mom along with the “how Kelley and him chose each other” story. My mom and dad, always so proud of him. When I tell Willie “I’ll be back” he just lies down, they would say, and then he’ll jump all over me when I come home.
He did jump a lot. A petite five year old like me at the time was an easy target; I’d just fall like a domino against his lean body. Whenever he contracted those legs, I learned to stay out of the way. Deer! Springing up like a gazelle, his back legs looked like they were in a race against each other as he’d zoom from pavement to grass. Ears perked up and eyes consumed with raw excitement, he’d run into the woods, fearless.
I used to play with him on the deck when we were younger. I remember ripping the squirrel out of his mouth and throwing it over the green roof of the doghouse; he’d catch it and run away, asking me to chase after him. After a few years later, I got tired. The game had just gotten too immature for me, too childish. A couple runs around the couch, he’d be hiding behind the ottoman waiting for me again, wagging his little brown nub, the little squirrel’s rangy head peeping through his mouth. I would just look at him, smiling as if it made it all better, and walked downstairs. No “I quit” or anything, just a stupid smile. I stepped on the second stair and looked back; he was still waiting for me, stretching out onto his back legs, eyes eager. Yet, I took another step and another, and gradually he faded out of view.
Now, I regret it. Now, I wish I would have taken a step up instead of down. Now, I wish I would’ve grabbed that squirrel by the head and pulled it out of your mouth just to throw it one more time. One more run around the couch. One more wet sandpapery kiss that you gave out so richly. I promise I won’t take any of it for granite this time.
There were so many more things I wanted us to do. I wanted us to be closer. You and I on my bed all night with the windows open so we could listen to the wind and you would rest your head on my lap as I’d put my fingers through your hair. I would comfort you when there was a storm. But you didn’t like the basement, and I was too tired.
You’re so weak now. I’m afraid to even touch your fragile body, so boney and hollow. Your cancer took us by shock. The doctor said it could have sprung up over night, and all I kept thinking about was your back legs springing up like a gazelle just a month ago chasing the mouse that lives under the basketball hoop. Just six months ago, I didn’t think it could be your last Christmas or your last Easter in April. Even three weeks ago, I didn’t even think it could be your last weekend at the lake.
Before you leave, I just want you to know I have learned so much from you the past 11 years. I’m so envious of your excitement for each day, even if your only plan is a five hour nap at 1. And I can’t help but admire your strength, especially when you can’t even stand on those back legs anymore. I know it kills you. Most of all, I’m in awe of your compassion. Protecting me even when I turned my back on you. Just forgiving and loving me again.
Wherever you go, know that I’ll be back and I love you.
He did jump a lot. A petite five year old like me at the time was an easy target; I’d just fall like a domino against his lean body. Whenever he contracted those legs, I learned to stay out of the way. Deer! Springing up like a gazelle, his back legs looked like they were in a race against each other as he’d zoom from pavement to grass. Ears perked up and eyes consumed with raw excitement, he’d run into the woods, fearless.
I used to play with him on the deck when we were younger. I remember ripping the squirrel out of his mouth and throwing it over the green roof of the doghouse; he’d catch it and run away, asking me to chase after him. After a few years later, I got tired. The game had just gotten too immature for me, too childish. A couple runs around the couch, he’d be hiding behind the ottoman waiting for me again, wagging his little brown nub, the little squirrel’s rangy head peeping through his mouth. I would just look at him, smiling as if it made it all better, and walked downstairs. No “I quit” or anything, just a stupid smile. I stepped on the second stair and looked back; he was still waiting for me, stretching out onto his back legs, eyes eager. Yet, I took another step and another, and gradually he faded out of view.
Now, I regret it. Now, I wish I would have taken a step up instead of down. Now, I wish I would’ve grabbed that squirrel by the head and pulled it out of your mouth just to throw it one more time. One more run around the couch. One more wet sandpapery kiss that you gave out so richly. I promise I won’t take any of it for granite this time.
There were so many more things I wanted us to do. I wanted us to be closer. You and I on my bed all night with the windows open so we could listen to the wind and you would rest your head on my lap as I’d put my fingers through your hair. I would comfort you when there was a storm. But you didn’t like the basement, and I was too tired.
You’re so weak now. I’m afraid to even touch your fragile body, so boney and hollow. Your cancer took us by shock. The doctor said it could have sprung up over night, and all I kept thinking about was your back legs springing up like a gazelle just a month ago chasing the mouse that lives under the basketball hoop. Just six months ago, I didn’t think it could be your last Christmas or your last Easter in April. Even three weeks ago, I didn’t even think it could be your last weekend at the lake.
Before you leave, I just want you to know I have learned so much from you the past 11 years. I’m so envious of your excitement for each day, even if your only plan is a five hour nap at 1. And I can’t help but admire your strength, especially when you can’t even stand on those back legs anymore. I know it kills you. Most of all, I’m in awe of your compassion. Protecting me even when I turned my back on you. Just forgiving and loving me again.
Wherever you go, know that I’ll be back and I love you.
2 comments:
It is the first time that I like this style of writing. There's something about the way you write... and that something is actually all that counts right? I'm an 'aspiring writer' myself, though I stick firmly to poetry and 'stream of consciousness'. However, I'll be coming back to read the stuff you write, well done... you intrigued me!:D
write a new one alreadyyyyyyy!!!
Post a Comment