And Yet Again

I told Tommy that rug does not belong on the back lawn and to take it back into the garage. Now! He just looked at me, and I had seen looks like that before.

“Don’t give me that look,” I said. “Get that rug and take it back to the garage.” He turned and slunk away.

Tommy was, at that time, Richard’s new friend, Border Collie/Chesapeake Bay Retriever mix. A beautiful chocolate brown dog of some nine months who spent each day alone in my garage and back yard while he waited for Richard to come home and who had not yet outgrown his need to chew up things, regardless of how many chew toys and rawhide strips Richard provided. My rugs—yes, they’re old and in the garage, except for the one on the deck which had to be thrown away, but they are still mine and not his—pillow parts (Richard’s but still mine), whatever he could get at and apparently nothing poisonous or volatile because he survived. These were his chew things of choice.

Actually, I liked the dog and thought he was a good one. He had some beauty, barked only rarely, did not whine, knew what it meant when he was told to go to bed and did it, only dug a few, maybe twelve, holes in my back yard, and loved Richard. Richard, who was here and lonely for his wife. No. A dog cannot take the place of wife and family, but this dog was a friend and loyally so even after only two weeks. It felt like love, I’m pretty sure.