Daisy Sometimes

Daisy.  She still came over as often as she could.  I was very grateful for her company because my own thoughts were starting to frustrate me.  She made me doggy-smile.

She always had a spring in her step, a shine in her coat, and an intelligent but playful gleam in her eyes. 

Sometimes we would wrestle like pups and after moments of twisting and growling and yipping, we would lay in the grass trying to catch our breath.  She would sometimes tell me stories of her day with her humans.

Sometimes I found myself not wanting to hear about them.  Her humans.  It felt surreal.  How could any dog have such a wonderful relationship with their humans?  Mine was wonderful but only for a little while.  And now look at me.  A bag of bones at the end of a five-foot long chain without a shade from the sun or a blanket in the winter.

I found myself changing the subject often.  But she would find a way to bring it back up.

She sometimes told me there was still hope for me and that one day I will experience the love she shares with her humans.

Touch

Days went by when I didn't see The Boy.  The Woman came out to fill my bowl with table scraps, which I happily devoured.  There was hardly any meat in it, but it was food and I wasn't picky.  I noticed, however, that she looked at me differently and I realized I hadn't really seen her in a while.  She looked as if she had shed some weight herself.  Maybe, I thought, the man was not feeding her either.

She stood by as I licked my bowl clean and when I looked up at her I saw something in her eyes that made me ponder.  There was a hint of sadness in them.  Then she did something that startled me.  She knelt before me and reached her hand out.

Instinctively, I submitted and bowed my head.  Then I rolled onto my back, showing her that I wouldn't challenge her.  Involuntarily, I let out a whimper and shook as her hand stroked my belly.  My tail wagged in nervousness and apprehension.  It had been a long time since any of my humans had touched me in a kind way.  Frightful, I dared to look at her.  Her lips formed into a slow, soft smile.

"Good boy," she said softly.  Excitement wanted to explode out of me.  The last time I heard those words was when I was a pup.  Her hair was the color of sunlight and it swirled around her face as she looked down at me.  I couldn't understand the sadness that hid behind her smile and I wondered if she was sad because of me.

Maybe The Boy told her about the bunny I ate.  Could that be it? 

She continued to stroke my fur and I felt myself relax enough to lay on my side and close my eyes.  I didn't want it to end.  I felt so much beneath her fingers that it was as if a piece of her soul was slipping through them and into me.  So much sadness in her.  And love.  I felt the love she held for her children and it made me wonder if my own mother felt that way about me. 

It made me want my mother. 

It also made me wonder what was going on in their home to make both The Woman and The Boy sad, if it wasn't me.  And why did no one play outside?

Later, long after The Woman had gone, I told Daisy about this occurrence.  She seemed very curious about it and hoped it meant The Woman was going to take me inside their home.  I didn't like that idea because I felt myself growing very hopeful and I didn't want to be disappointed if she was wrong.

Before Daisy left, I asked her if she could feel her humans' souls.

She said yes.

The Boy

I don't remember his name. He was the oldest of the human kids in my family and would sometimes take pity on me and bring me a bowl of food. I thought of him a lot after the incident with the rabbit. Of all the family members, I was fond of him the most. Not just because he fed me but because he seemed to hold a lot of love in his heart. 

When I was still a member of this pack, living in the home with them, I noticed he took care of everyone.  As a pup I saw him as alpha. I knew he was younger than the the man but he watched over the children more closely than the man. When the baby would cry, he'd tell the woman that he'd tend to it. The man, on the other hand, did not do much with the family. In fact, he caused more chaos and rattled the pack. 

There was a time when the man came home and I smelled something very wrong with him. There was something very aggressive about him and I laid under the dining table to steer clear of him. I watched as the woman tended to him very quickly, bringing him water and taking his shoes off. The boy played with the baby on the floor. The man sat on the couch and was speaking very loudly at them all. He had a growl in his throat and his words were very ... lazy, I suppose. I watched as he spoke angrily particularly to the boy. The baby began to fuss. I guessed it was getting upset. I certainly was. The man then did something that made me shake. 

He threw a couch pillow at the boy, who caught it but the movement caused the baby to cry a shrill scream. The woman hurried over and took the baby. The man laughed. The boy, however, stood and said something to the man.  And this made him very angry. It was a very sad and fearful day for me. But it didn't appear fearful for the boy. Although he was physically hurt this day, I sensed strength in him. I looked up to him. 

I thought of this incident and it was suddenly clear to me why he was very upset when he caught me eating the rabbit. He didn't see me as his Andy. He saw me as the man.