"You stay here.
I'll be back. I'll be back in a
little while!"
Oh, those hated words!
Those words you hate worse than any other words you know. There are other words you dislike. "No" will cause your face to fall;
"Down!" or "Off" must be avoided whenever possible. But "I'll be back" means that you
will be alone here. I wish I did not
have to say them, for when I do, when you hear those words, you know.
I have met people who assure me that dogs do not feel emotion. Well, maybe not; but dogs sure do have
expressions. Yours, when you hear those
dreaded words, breaks my heart.
For, if I could stay, what a day we would have! We would start with a walk, a good long one, visiting the cows, always fascinated by the black and white dog passing them. Sometimes they stroll to the edge of their pasture, reaching their big heads over the fence, mooing after you, their cries pushing you along. Perhaps a calf would pace you, running as close to the fence as she could get, as happened one day last summer. If calves could grin, that one did! On our walk, we would explore the woods and try to answer the unanswerable: how do those birds run in the sky?
While the morning stayed cool, we would find sheep to work. They are so close, really, just down the
road. But the time to work them is when
I am not home; for they are not OUR sheep, and we must bend to another's will
in this matter. And after you stared the
sheep into your bidding, gracefully moving them here and there, we would leave
the field for home, you happy and fulfilled.
At home, you would endure a bath, knowing that you would be
brushed into ecstasy afterward. Or, with
warm enough weather, you’d have another quick run to dry off. Then it would be rest time. I would give you a good soup bone, fresh from
the freezer, that you could munch on as you rested. And I would write stories of beautiful dogs,
trying to express the magic of the "eye", the soulfulness in the
heart of dogs born to work. If no one
read them, it wouldn't matter. Perhaps, someday, someone would stumble on them,
surprised that in the life of this ordinary woman there simmered a passion for
these other creatures--creatures who gave her more than she could repay. Later we would play ball, chase sticks, work
together in the house, picking up, cleaning.
Maybe we’d even practice our weave poles for agility.
If I could stay....
But, I cannot stay. I
cannot even help you understand why I must go.
And so, your forehead wrinkles, your head falls, and you go into the
backyard to lay under a tree, right by the fence, where my last sight will be
of you watching me leave.
During the day, I will wonder about you--what you are doing,
if you are aware of the passage of time.
When the afternoon sun lengthens the shadows, do you begin to anticipate
my arrival home? Do you stay outside,
watching the world go by? Do you bow
before Pluto, ten years your senior, when we are gone like you do when we are
here? Do you watch him redecorate the backyard's
topography? He had not dug for years
before you came; your arrival rejuvenated an old dog. As he cannot run or jump with you, he proves
his superiority in other areas--and he has proved he can dig with the best of
them.
Or perhaps you come in the house through your special door
and rest your head on a stray shoe belonging to a human you love. Do you dream your time with the sheep, your
travel on the walk that you must take alone and asleep?
At last I arrive home.
At times, my mother has been as glad to see me as you are when I arrive
home; but she's the only one. You wiggle and stretch to reach my face,
whimpering your joy.. As I kneel to your
level, your paws encircle my neck and you lick my face clean of makeup and dirt
from the day.
We do take our walk--just not as far or as fast as we would
have liked. Dad comes home and you play
at chasing water from a hose, catching a frisbee sailing overhead. But you do not get as much attention as you
would like because we are busy with life's details. As night takes over, we prepare to sleep, and
you settle down with us, used to the routine.
At bedtime you pick your place, perhaps on the bed. But maybe you make way for the cat and sleep
on the floor, where it's cooler. As long
as you're close to one of your humans, breathing in the person's scent, safe in
their presence, you sleep well.
And in the morning, when we arise, you wiggle hello and grin
hopefully. Dad takes you out for a brief
walk, bathroom break, morning greeting.
We dress, gather our belongings.
And then the dreaded moment comes.
"I'll be back...."
