With a gentle touch, Karen runs her hand over my back, sluicing the rainwater off my fur. “Buddy, please come home with me.” She sighs and blows her nose. “It’s getting late and it’s too cold. I need to go.”
I move my eyes to meet hers, but my chin remains on the cold flat stone etched with letters. Rain doesn’t bother me. Cold weather doesn’t bother me. My golden fur is thick and protects me from the elements. Even snow can’t penetrate it. I can roll in it for hours, using my nose to make a tunnel in fresh fallen snow. It makes me sneeze, but it’s so worth it.
I notice Karen’s pleading look. She has to realize I can’t leave. I’m waiting for Toby. As long as it takes. I beg her to see this with my eyes. Toby always understands me; we’ve never needed words.
Karen shivers as she dabs at her cheeks, but kneels down in her dress on the wet grass. She steadies the umbrella over both of us as she places a tender hand on my head, using her thumb to pet the corner of my ear. “I know you don’t understand, but he’s gone. Our boy isn’t coming home.”
Karen has always had a gentle voice, but it breaks as she murmurs to me. I detect her scent—lavender. She always smells of it. Soft and calm. I lick her hand and she rewards me with a caress of my graying muzzle. Tears drop from her eyes and land on my paw.
Karen says we have to say goodbye to Toby today, but it doesn’t make sense to me. I nose closer to the worn leather baseball mitt resting atop the stone, the familiar smells of leather, oil, and dirt mingle with my favorite scent—Toby.
How many times have I rested my chin in the palm of that glove and looked at Toby’s face? I shut my eyes and let the scent take me back to the field on our way home. Toby and I cross the skinny ribbon of water that runs alongside of it and have the whole green pasture to ourselves. Mounds of dirt dot the sturdy grass, but I don’t let the enticing scent distract me. My sole focus is my boy and our game.
I wonder how Toby came up with such a clever way for us to spend time together, but I’ll be forever grateful for it. It’s more than a simple game. It’s our connection. I hear the thwack of the ball in his hand as he prepares to throw it, and in his eyes when they meet mine, I can see we’re alone in the world, just the two of us. There’s a glimmer when he’s about to release the ball, but I keep my eye on the white sphere and I know it’s coming. As soon as he lets it fly, I rush to snag it before it hits the ground.
I detect all of Toby’s scents on the ball. Pencil lead, paper, the burrito he had for lunch, the sweat on his palms, the citrus aroma of his hair gel, all of them combined together smell like my boy. I make a beeline for him. My eyes focus only on him and his smile urges me forward. There’s no time to think when you’re staring into your best friend’s eyes, waiting for the next ball.
Karen’s sobs interrupt my memories. Her sorrow surrounds her like a mist of dark fog. I watch her weep as she moves her hands from me and traces the letters carved in the stone. It makes me want to go home with her and comfort her, but I can’t. I whine in sympathy, but don’t shift from my position. Toby needs me more. I’ve always waited for him, ever since we met. I’ll wait for him now.
I remember listening to the men in their pristine uniforms and shiny buttons who had arrived at the house. They told Karen how sorry they were that Toby’s body still hadn’t been recovered; they had lost hope and in turn so did she. If they couldn’t find his body, how could they return his remains? I watched her crumple to the floor, her sobs uncontrollable, heart-wrenching, and my licks did little to console her.
At first, she was like me, she refused to believe. Since the day the men came, she hasn’t been able to work. Instead, I comfort her as she sits on the bench in the backyard overlooking her beloved flowers. She strokes my back for hours on end as she struggles to accept the news. She sips cup after cup of tea, and I make sure I’m close to her, so she knows she isn’t alone. Unlike me, it’s too painful for her to hope, so I’ll bear the burden. I’ll be the one to wait for Toby. All of her days, recently, have been filled with tears, but today has been her saddest day.
The man who prayed and stood by the stone drove away hours ago. He held Karen’s hand and stayed with her long after the men in uniforms had come and gone. My ears still hurt from the sad tones that came from the music one of them had played.
The flag Karen holds crackles as she clutches it against her chest and gets to her feet. Startled by the noise, I raise myself into a sitting position, but make no attempt to stand. She shakes her head and gives me a look I don’t see often. Her frustration with me is clear. She thrusts the handle of the umbrella into the wet grass and positions it over me.
It has been a long day. I’m weary with the weight of all of my twelve years bearing down on my tired bones. My eyes grow heavy as I stare at the stone in the midst of the grassy expanse. A breeze tickles my nose and I sniff the air again, but Toby isn’t here.
Karen walks away, through the wet grass, and I shut my eyes.
The crunch of her footsteps on the asphalt pathway wake me, and I have no idea how long she’s been gone. She’s concealed under a bright yellow raincoat, trudging across the grass, carrying an armful of stuff from her car: a bowl of food and one for water.
“You need to eat, Buddy. Please.” Tears dot her cheeks. “I can’t lose you too.” She puts a piece of my favorite pumpkin cookie treat next to my mouth and I remember the first one Toby ever bought me. I recognize the thick bone-shaped confection, drizzled with yogurt glaze. They’re crunchy on the outside, softer on the inside and have a spicy flavor that always makes me drool. My nose draws in the comforting scent of cinnamon, nutty flour and egg; the mellow aroma of pumpkin softens the savory peanut butter scent. My nose twitches, my body’s urge to leap for a bite is overwhelming and I can’t help the drool forming in my mouth. Natural instincts are hard to control; our instincts are so deep, we cannot resist them.
Since Toby’s been gone, Karen’s taken to baking me treats. I love licking the bowl after she’s scooped out all the batter. Pre-washing—that’s my job. Each night after dinner I take up my appointed position in front of the dishwasher. Karen gives some of the plates a cursory rinse, but I handle the rest. I run my tongue over all the silverware and get any stray food from between the tines of the forks. My favorite nights are the ones when she uses the outdoor grill. She never rinses the platter and I relish the juice and bits of meat that are always leftover.
She looks so sad, I take the treat from the ground and that, at least, makes her smile, just for a moment.
She tugs on my collar. “Can you get up, Buddy?”
I’m too tired to comply. She walks back to her car and returns with one of my old beds. The rain has stopped and she removes her hood while she puts down a ratty towel on the grass and positions my bed. “Get on the bed, Buddy. Come on, be a good boy.”
I recognize the worry she’s feeling. She reeks of sorrow and despair and I don’t want to cause her anymore grief than she has already endured. I struggle to raise myself. She bends and helps me, placing her soft hands—the hands that always smell like flowers—under me and heaves to help me stand. I shake and release a cascade of water to splatter over her.
She squeals, but grins. “Good boy, Buddy. I understand you want to stay here. I just want you protected. Toby would want you safe. He would never forgive me if something happened to you.”
I follow her gesture and ease back down on the bed. She uses another towel to dry my fur and I let her continue, even though I know my thick coat will endure the water. I know it makes her feel better, so I indulge her. The massage she’s giving me is soothing; it warms my muscles and relaxes them. The pressure of her hands on my back feels wonderful and I sense her touch lighten when she gets to my hips. My eyes are getting heavy as she continues to dry my belly, so I let them close and pretend it’s Toby drying me off after a bath. He’d let me wallow on the grass to dry my fur and then use a towel to finish off. I’d let him almost complete the task and then lunge and grab the towel in my teeth. He’d tug on it and we’d go back and forth. There’s nothing like the satisfying sound of a towel splitting between my teeth—the fibers as they strain, desperate to keep together, and the sudden break sending us both across the lawn. Plus, it was an easy way to identify which towels were mine.
She makes another pass over me and presses too hard on my hip, sending a jolt of pain through me. I flinch and lift my head. It only hurts if I stay in one place too long and I haven’t moved much today. I should walk more, but I can’t. “I’m sorry, Buddy.” She rests her cheek against my back and pets my ears. The pain subsides.
She moves Toby’s glove so it’s near my head. “There you go. Now you’ll be off of the wet grass tonight. The rain is over so you won’t get wet.” She covers me with a blanket I recognize from the back of her car.
“One night, Buddy. I’ll be back in the morning and we’ll go home, okay? I have to go to work this week and I don’t want to worry about you.”
I don’t commit. I’ll come home when Toby does. Karen leans over and kisses the top of my head before she makes her way to her car.
The old bed makes a far more comfortable spot than the ground. Since Toby left last year, it has been getting harder for me to stand. I have a difficult time finding a comfortable position and have to move often. Karen added soft rugs to the hardwood floors where I like to rest, making it easier for me to gain a foothold.
When Toby was home we exercised and played each day, so maybe I didn’t notice my hip much. Now, Karen takes me for walks near our house, but my heart isn’t in it. It’s not the same as when Toby and I play together. My favorite person, my purpose, is missing.
It’s quiet here, except for the soft rustle of the trees in the breeze and the scuttle of squirrels in search of food. I watch them dart close to my food bowl and then scamper away in distress. The squirrels are wary, but have nothing to fear. I’m in no shape to chase them.
I pretend I’m asleep and let them get closer. There are two of them, less than a foot away from me, rummaging through my bowl, gathering bites of my kibble. With a swift motion, I raise my head and watch them scurry away, cheeks full. A dog has to have a little fun. Even an old dog.
The view from the grassy hill I’m on is idyllic. The valley below is dotted with the farms and orchards Toby and I walked by each day. With a slight turn of my head I take in the shimmering water of the lake in the center of town. I love walking along the path by the lake with Toby. When he comes back, he’ll take me there again.
I know Toby wouldn’t leave me. He told me he’d be back and he keeps his promises.
I lift my head again and gaze across the grass, admiring the huge trees. It’s quiet and peaceful. I’ve never been here during the time I’ve lived with Toby and Karen.
The breeze carries the scent of apples. Along with the crunch of a few leaves falling from the trees, this delicious sweet aroma announces the arrival of fall in Riverside. It’s my favorite time of year and the perfect weather for a golden retriever with a heavy coat like mine. Toby and I liked to watch apples fall from the trees along our walk to and from school. He would always scoop one of them up as it rested on the ground, shimmering red amongst the grass and bite chunks off for me on our way home from practice or games.
Toby and I missed baseball season again this year. I reposition his glove with my snout and place my head on the rubbed and scarred leather. As I sniff his scent, imbedded in the laces and webbing, I let my mind wander to Toby’s games. I never knew much about the sport until I met Toby and spent so much time watching him practice and play, listening as the coach gave directions. I learned it’s much more than just a game.
Baseball teaches humans to be more like dogs; to live in the moment. I learned that quickly, but Toby took a little longer to understand. “It ain’t over till it’s over,” Coach used to say.
I know it’s not over for Toby. Baseball teaches you not to give up and I’m not giving up on Toby. I’m hoping for one more inning.
I reposition myself and exhale a long breath. I have to admit, this old bed isn’t bad. I would always try to stay on the rug beside Toby’s bed, but from the first night he let me snuggle under the covers with him.
Toby’s my everything.
Mom’s heavy sigh when I put the gearshift in park makes me turn my head. “Really? I’m not that bad of a driver, am I?” I resist the urge to roll my eyes.
She chuckles and shakes her head. “No, you did a fine job, especially for someone who’s not been driving for very long. I’m just tired.” She heaves her purse from the floor and retrieves the keys to our new house, looking still, for a moment, as she surveys the front. I stare at the rather plain-looking tan exterior trimmed in white. It’s smaller than our old house, single-story, instead of the two-story house we left, with nothing but vacant land and a few rolling hills behind it. The house is on a large plot of land, at least a quarter of an acre. A new wooden fence surrounds the property, with a gate to the backyard. The front yard is planted with grass, but it’s dormant and brown, with just a couple of evergreen bushes decorating the bare flowerbeds. The house next door has a realtor sign in front of it and I can see that the lot on the other side of us is empty.
I can’t imagine cramming all of our stuff from our old house into this space. In the car, Mom chattered on about the house being brand new and how nice it would be not to have to worry about maintenance, but I know she sees more than this: peace and quiet, serenity. The first house she’s ever owned on her own.
“I’ll unlock the doors. Could you move the van and back it up to the garage door to make it easier to unload?” she says, brushing a hand against my shoulder.
My jaw tenses but I stop myself asking Mom why she couldn’t have told me that before I parked. I’m tired and I know she is too from staying up late and packing last night. I’m not in the mood to listen to anymore lectures about turning over a new leaf or keeping on the right path. Sometimes I think she forgets I’m not one of her students. I reposition the old silver vehicle she has driven for years and I get out to start unloading boxes as she steps inside the garage.
“The movers have all the furniture placed. At least the heavy stuff is done,” she says, poking her head from under the garage door as it rises, and I survey the stacks of boxes left by the movers that cover almost the whole floor of the space barely big enough for a single car. Our old house had an oversized garage that housed two cars and still had room left over for storage.
“Do you want all these moved into the house?” I ask.
“No, let’s work on the stuff we brought in the van first.” She gives me directions based on the labels attached to each box and leads the way into the house. “You can pick from the two bedrooms. I thought you’d probably want the bigger one. It will get less morning sun,” she says. It may be her house but of course she doesn’t come first. Mom has always been like this, leading the way, unselfishly sacrificing her needs for mine: serving my food before her own, making sure the tears in my jeans are sewn before she moves on to her dresses with her battered wooden sewing box.
When we left Seattle this morning it was overcast and drizzling. It’s chilly here, but the sun is shining and I feel the warmth on my back as I collect the boxes and bring them inside. Mom said we would get less rain in this part of the state, along with more snow in the winter and heat in the summer, explaining it as if it mattered much to me. I had no choice in moving here. I follow her inside to check out the house.
It’s super clean and smells new, with that slight chemical odor that accompanies new carpet and new cars. I step through the tiled utility room off the garage and notice the cheap, imitation wood flooring. It’s an open design with a large space in the middle of the house that serves as the living, kitchen, and small dining area. Mom leads me on a tour and shows me the spare bedroom choices, on either side of a bathroom. The bedrooms aren’t carpeted, but I take the bigger one, like she suggested. There’s no point in arguing with her today.
Mom’s master bedroom is a little larger than mine, but nothing special and her bathroom is a definite downgrade from her old one with double sinks and a walk-in shower. I wander back to the main area, taking in our old battered furniture that has been put in place and look out of the sliding glass doors to the patio and yard in the back of the house. There’s nothing behind us, just a view of the hills and some open space. Nothing like the city, where there were houses in every direction, people watching us from all sides, thousands of neighbors to avoid getting to know.
I start unpacking my stuff while Mom works in the kitchen, opening the flimsy-looking blinds to let more light into the room, giving me a view into the backyard. I unload dusty books I’ve never read and framed photos of me as a little kid with Mom and Dad. We’re all smiling in the photos, but that was a long time ago. There are no recent photos of our happy family in the house, no other trips to the zoo or drives down to the ocean. I’m not sure you can include someone in your family if they’re never around.
For a while now, Mom’s life has only consisted of me and her work. She grades papers, struggles to make sure things are done around the house. I’ve never seen her go out with friends or do anything fun, but her demeanor is beginning to change, her body relaxing, as though getting out of the city has already made a difference to her, and I hope it lasts. We’re always moving, alwa. . .
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