Thanks for letting me keep all my fingers this time. You sure love these honeycrisp apples, don’t you? Although, there’s not much food you don’t love. Except orange peels. I wish I knew why you barked at me – or at them – when I toss one to you. Kinda funny actually.
Oh, what, you don’t think that’s funny? Okay, fine. But it’s still kind of funny.
There are a lot of things I wish I knew. But then again, sometimes not knowing is just as well, too.
It sure stinks you can’t see these fall colors right now. That maple over there is darn near as blaze orange as my hat. I think you’d appreciate our time out here more if you could see the colors and how beautiful it is. Then again, I can see the colors, but you can smell the smells, so I suppose that’s a good trade-off. What I wouldn’t give to be able to smell what you smell right now in this fall forest, just for a few minutes. Your “grandpa” likes to say that while a person might be able to smell a “hamburger,” you can smell “beef, fat, bread, yeast, tomato, ketchup, mustard, lettuce, pickle, onion, and whatever it was we cooked on the grill the last three times.” If that’s the case, I can only imagine what these woods smell like.
And I don’t know if you could enjoy it any more than you already do. I wish we would’ve got something for you to fetch – I mean, that’s why I carry the gun after all – but it’s not why I’m out here. I’m out here for me, sure, but I’m out here for you. I don’t know how you still manage to jump and spin in circles, all four feet off the ground, at ten-and-a-half years old and on two bum back legs. Keeping your weight trim has helped, for sure, as much as you would love to disappear inside a food bag. So, see? There’s a method to my madness of not feeding you everything you want, all the time – keeps you able to go hunting like this.
But your smile. Yes, you do, you smile. Some people say dogs don’t have emotions, but no one ever saw Ginny get her orange collar on. You smile. Your little barks and yips, I swear you’re laughing. You are happy. It’s just like the kids at Christmas.
The kids. My, where did the time go? I still remember the looks on their faces when they came around the corner of the house and saw your mom and me standing there in the backyard with you. Absolute joy. Bliss. Instant love at first sight. The most innocently pure emotion I think I have ever seen on their faces. That sure changed when you started whining all night and peeing in the house! I can’t believe they will all be out of the house soon. Well, soon-ish. But sooner than I’ll realize, I’m sure.
Time is so fast these days. So fast.
What did you hear? My, my, so serious with those perked ears. I’m not exactly sure how you get them to stick out ninety-degrees from your head like that, you goofy girl. And besides, whatever it is, what are you going to do about it? Oh, so tough. So serious.
Yeah, that’s what I thought. C’mere, that’s it, lean in here for some back-scratches.
Have you warmed up from the creek yet? You had a pretty good wallow this time, but not as good as in that mud puddle at Grandma and Grandpa’s farm. Doing your best warthog impression. We had a “chocolate” Lab there for a few minutes! I can’t imagine that it cooled you off, but, whatever. You certainly seemed to enjoy it.
Your “grandpa” likes to say that while a person might be able to smell a “hamburger,” you can smell “beef, fat, bread, yeast, tomato, ketchup, mustard, lettuce, pickle, onion, and whatever it was we cooked on the grill the last three times.” I can only imagine what these woods smell like.
You’re gonna be sore tonight, though. I saw you stumble over that one deadfall. We’ll get you a pill when we get home, it’ll help. Dr. Jeff said you could have one after hunting when you looked a little stiff and sore. I’ll be taking my own, too, that’s for sure.
Do you remember these trips? I wish I knew. But if you did remember them, I think that might almost make these trips in these last years tougher, remembering what we used to do and how we used to do it – and, more importantly, how often. So I guess I hope you don’t remember all of the other trips we took. Maybe it makes each individual time we do get to go out more special because that moment has all of your focus and attention. Because it’s now. Right here. And you’re not carrying the memories of all those other times to sort of cloud things.
That happens to me, ya know. When I come out here. I remember the time we moved all those birds and the boys each got one. I remember bringing Mom out here right after we got married. And then, with the kids – sitting in this same spot in fact with that same maple tree the same bright orange – having lunch and shooting BB guns at pop cans and you hopping around from person to person begging either for lunch or to get up and get hunting again. Gosh you were, what, five?
I carry all those. I’ll do that for you. I’ll carry those memories so you don’t have to. They do fill those days that aren’t filled with much else, but it makes them harder, too. And I’ll carry you in them when that day comes when you’re not here.
Not yet. But…time. So fast.
Do you know you almost put a hole in my gloves when you nipped my hand to walk faster into the woods? Ah, that’s alright. I’d give up a hundred pairs of gloves to have a hundred more years to do this.
So many things I wish I knew, but I wish I knew why your time here is short. There are all sorts of cute and sappy sayings about dogs and how short their lives are and all that, but in the end, it still stinks. No matter how many ways people try to put it into perspective, it still stinks.
But it’s just temporary, too, I get that. I wonder what it’s like, Heaven, or the Bridge. Will there be trees like that maple over there and will you be able to see it how it really is? Will I, for that matter? Do I really see it right now?
But your smile. Yes, you do, you smile. Some people say dogs don’t have emotions but no one ever saw Ginny get her orange collar on. You smile. Your little barks and yips, I swear you’re laughing. You are happy.
We’re gonna take such long walks together if, that is, I’m lucky enough to meet you there. I have no question you’ll be there. Me? I’m trying. In the end, it’s not my call, but I’m trying. You? Not a problem. I know old Allie and Josie – not so old anymore – will snag you, and I’ll want to see them, too. Wow, I miss them. They hunted out here, too, ya know. I carry their memories out here, too, same as I still carry their orange collars in the hunting bag.
I wonder what we’ll see. Where we’ll be able to go. Will the sun ever set, or only if we want it to? Will we be in among the stars themselves? Or will it be pretty much like this, just without the sore knees and bum rear legs and graying muzzles and days when a memory carries a little more sadness than joy? I hope it’s like this but without those things. I hope it’s with the people who we loved. I hope it’s with the dogs we loved. I hope it’s these places we loved.
And if I do get blessed to join you there, you’ll have to show me where the birds are.
Or we can just sit like this, on this rock, and share an apple.
And time won’t be so fast anymore.
