A dog teaches a boy fidelity, perseverance, and to turn around three times before lying down. – Josh Billings
He was bringing his puppy
to the vet’s
for the dog’s first checkup.
I was bringing my wife’s dog
to be put down,
although I didn’t yet know that.
His dog was just eight weeks old,
mine over 12 years old.
Was impressed with the differences
but cognizant of the similarities.
Like the boy and me,
the old man.
“Your dog is one of the greatest gifts in life,”
I told the boy.
“To have a good dog
is a blessing for both of you.”
“I know, sir,” he assured me.
“Is your dog sick?,” he asked.
“Terribly,” I responded.
“Terribly.”
In fact, the vet later used the word “grave,”
a term which quickly took on a double meaning.
And so we changed the topic.
Don’t know how we got there.
Probably because I was so sad.
Started talking about my own childhood.
“Times were hard,” I told him.
“There was no cable TV,
no video games,
no interstate highways,
no computers,
no cell phones,
no microwaves,
no pizza delivery,
no rock & roll.
Short Jews played pro basketball
and the only Hispanics in major league
baseball were four brothers named Alou.
There were no drugs
and we went to church
about four times a week.
We were forced to read
books and play sports
and hike in the woods.
It was tough alright.”
“Wow,”
was all the kid could say,
glancing at his mother
in amazement,
like I was telling a tall tale.
“But we always had a dog,”
I explained.
“There was always a dog
who never left our side.”
Put Dixie down this morning.
Nana held her
as the morphine took away the pain.
Not mine.
We were crying.
The little dog was smiling.
And snoring.
So strange to sit in my recliner
and watch ESPN’s Sportscenter
with an empty lap.
