“No one appreciates the very special genius of your conversation as much as the dog does.”
Our dog had to be put down when I was in third grade. But to my unbridled glee, neighbors down the street bought a light brown dachshund. Her name was Hildy. Because they had a corner house, their lawn was extra large. Hildy quickly developed a fondness for lying in the sun on the spacious side lawn, snoozing contentedly until the bell went off at the school (if you recall, I said earlier how the bell broadcasted into the neighborhood).
Like any dog, she had to woof at me for awhile. Eventually, I would drop my books and sit in the grass with her. Before long, she would waddle over for a scratch, dispensing copious kisses in return.
Eventually, as I sat down, she would drop and show her belly for a brisk rub. Many days I would pause on my walk home to lay beside Hildy on the grass. I’d tell her about my day, things I never told my parents. Those big brown eyes were like a deep tissue massage to your tensions.
She never left her property. When winter came, she stayed inside, only venturing out on snowless days when it was warmer than forty degrees. And of course, she had the cutest little winter sweater you could imagine.
But even after she’d spent most of the season inside, when spring came, she remembered me. From two houses away, I’d see a little brown blur run to the side yard, then drop onto her back for her 3:30 belly rub appointment.
She was still alive when I graduated high school, a little grey in the muzzle but always joyful at the sight of me. I suppose she passed away while I was in college. We weren’t friends with the family, so this story has no closure, just memories of a dog’s unconditional love.
I just had to honor my little friend who made the sun shine a little brighter.