Lively, little, love machines. Dogs. I have two of them, a terrier, chihuahua mixture, Frosty is white and Toby is a reddish tan. They are a partial solution to boredom, and depression and offer the comfort of warmth and the desire that you love them back.
As a retired widower, I have a comfortable, two-story home (paid for), almost new car, a good retirement fund, and I can cook for myself (a skill that I was forced to learn, as well as how to use the washer and dryer). But, most importantly, my canine buddies.
My boys (dogs) are enthusiastic when I wake up, each morning. They’re glad to see me, especially when I open the pet door and they can poop and/or pee. Then they sit and stare at me with friendship but with greed, beady eyes. They know I’m getting their breakfast ready for them, even before I have my breakfast. This reminds me of my deceased wife’s routine for feeding and walking the boys. The daily sacrifices do not compare with the benefits.
During the week, but especially on weekend in take them on walks, but on Friday and Saturday they get to go to the dog park where they can run freely.
That’s the normal routine, but one Saturday morning the routine changed.
My boys woke me late (drinking with friends) and the boys were more than enthusiastic to get outdoors. That made me rush because I knew that my boys must have been holding back on Mother Nature for me. They were in such a hurry that they were each at my ankles. I should have set the alarm clock. Now I was feeling guilty. You try hard not to hurt the things you love.
It’s a matter of either: I love you because I need you, or I need you because I love you. In this house with a wife and dogs, it was the latter choice.
I reached the stairs and started to take the first step when one of the dogs bumped my ankle. I tripped and went down the stairs headfirst, hitting the wall, steps, or railing.
I was at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at the blurry ceiling. My head and nose hurt. A wet sponge was being dragged across my face … No, it was the boy’s tongue licking me. I stood up and checked the boys, they were unhurt, but I said, “Boys, are you hurt anywhere?
In unison, they answered, “No.”
Their voices sounded unusual. Must hurt my ears as well, and just now noticed the ringing in them.
Toby was sitting and looking up at me, his body looking like a furry triangle. “Are you OK, father?”
“Nothing serious, I hope, unless my nose is broken.” I bent at the waist, then twisted gently to see how I was. Sore ribs and a headache, plus stinging abrasions. Luckily, I hadn’t broken my hip like a couple of my older friends. Who would care for my boys?
“Your nose looks quite swollen,” Frosty stated, tears of concern in his watery eyes.
Surprisingly, I thought, “WTF! I’m talking to my dogs and, more startling, they are answering my and I understand them.” I stood still, looking down at them, their tongues hanging out and panting mildly. I could feel sweat running down my upper lip. Why do I feel so hot? Confusion grasped me like a straight-jacket, I couldn’t free myself for a few seconds as the sweat ran to my bottom lip and over its edge.
Frosty cried sympathetically. He said, “Your nose is bleeding.”
“Going down your chin,” Toby added.
I bent my head down and leaned forward. With both hands together, I made a cup to catch the dripping blood before it dripped on me or the floor. I washed my hands nauseated by the circling drops of blood swirling down the drain. I pinched my nose and looked up at the ceiling. I read that’s what you do to stop a bloody nose.
“God dammit,” I exclaimed as I gurgled my speech through the swallowed blood. I was swallowing blood with each gulp. It’s a damn sight more gruesome that a blood-rare steak. I remained looking upward and saw the bathroom light protector. “I’ll have to clean that. Never really noticed the thin film of dirt on the glass as well as dusty dirt settled to the bottom, joining the dead flies and moths.
I thought that I must look like a bloody mess as I turned to face the mirror. I looked at Toby and Frosty sitting in the doorway, then looked back into the mirror. Temporary paralysis clutched me as I stared into the mirror. “I’m a dog?” I said, sotto voce, and not believing my own voice as it barked the words.
“Come play, come play,” Frosty giggled.
“Yes, yes,” Toby chimed in, then, “Let’s run, let’s run.”
I understood them. I stared into the mirror, again. My paralysis stopped, so I felt my nose. I should say that my paw felt my nose. The bleeding stopped, but the residue of blood streaked my lips and upper chin areas. I brought my head closer to the mirror. Not an illusion. I saw a big reddish-brown dog, an Irish setter, standing on its hind legs with its paws holding onto the edge of the sink. There was a long snout and long hair. A movement behind me caught my attention. My tail is swishing. I should have guessed that.
The boys were jumping on my legs, screaming, “Hurry! Hurry!”
“Sit,” I ordered with a raised voice. They sat quietly.
How was I supposed to believe this? Illusion? Delusion? Insanity? “Oh, how I wish Sandy was here.”
My vision was impaired by tears; darkness came. No, a blackness appeared filled with millions of tiny starlights. Then I floated on a storm cloud, looking down at my house.
I woke up, outside, in the rain, lying in the boys' outdoor run area. I did not get up. I stared at the sky, rain splattering my face and soaking into my clothes.
“Clothes? Clothes,” I gasped. I sat up and sure enough, I was wearing clothes. My clothes. Men’s clothes. I stood up and ran inside to the bathroom mirror. I was human again.
I bent down, sat on the floor, and hugged the boys. We played, then I asked them, “Can you understand me?” They looked at me as if I were an idiot, then they looked at each other and walked away from me.
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