Back to the Beach : First Day

San Diego, CA
14 years ago

"What is THAT?!"
I greet David at the door, holding my poof-o-joy.
I gently set the puppy down on the plush carpet. He wags a cottontail and looks waaaaaay up at David ... and rolls over.
"Hey, hey, buddy," David says, crouching down. The little pup covers his big, calloused hand on kisses and pats his arm with thumb-sized paws.
"I thought we weren't going to get a dog yet?" David asks, smiling. The puppy scampers away and looks back at David. Wags. Rolls over and back up. Play.

"Isn't he the cutest dog, ever?" I gush.

"God, he's small," he says, still smiling.

"Bob's friend says he's the runt of the litter - part Maltese, part Toy Poodle, and part something else. Maybe. I don't know. And I don't care!"

And now we are both sprawled out on the rug giggling like little kids as the puppy pats David on the nose with the tiniest dog paws I have ever seen.

***

Welcome to the Sunshine State

Delray Beach, Florida
Present Day

"We're moving to Florida!"

My sister, Jen, is on the phone, telling me this. I am sitting in the living room, next to Woody, who has just upchucked his breakfast for the third time. Congestive heart failure does weird things to the swallowing mechanism... at least that is what the vet here tells me.

"Oh, good." I stroke Woody's side. He is spent, but he always comes around again. We play together every night as we've always done and then we watch TV together or he sits next to me while I draw pictures. Lately the TV time and the drawing time have increased while the playtime gets shorter and shorter. He gets too tired and starts to cough.

"-just an hour north of Tampa. Are you listening?" She's still talking.
"Oh, yeah, an hour south of Tampa."
Tampa's on the west coast of Florida; we live in Delray Beach, on the Atlantic ocean side of the state -a move we jokingly made 'so that Woody can retire to a sunny climate.'Oh, yeah, and a little thing called Work.

"An hour NORTH of Tampa."

"Oh. Yeah," I say.

"And the house is great. Like my dream house with a pool and the kitchen is OK but eventually we'll redo it, so when are you coming to visit?"

"Um. I don't know. Why don't you move into the house first?" I ask, watching Woody's little chest rise and fall.

"About a month, give or take, we have a moving company and we should be there sometime next week and -"

"Hey, Jen? Can I-?" My eyes are suddenly filling with tears and I feel like I'm choking. Woody raises his head slightly and looks at me, concerned.

"What's the matter?!"

"It's...Woody...he's not...doing so well."

"Oh." There is a pause, and then she says, "And here I am going on and on about my stupid dream house."

My sister knows all about this. When our family dog, a tiny Yorkie named Tammi, was dying, Jen held her, rocking and crying, for three days.

"It's...not...stupid. I'm...happy for you!" I say, and start bawling.

"Hey. Have a good cry. Spend time with your boy. Call me later if you want."

"'kay. Bye," I croak.

Click.

***