i've always joked that my first born child was a labrador.
but it's no joke.
i loved that dog as much as any new baby.
at the time, i worked full time,
and left him
as a pup.
i remember
both what was playing on the radio
that we had left on
to keep him company,
and what i was wearing,
home from work that first day,
when i came back to the house,
and went out to the screened porch,
which he had ripped to shreds
in desperation
of being left.
and i can remember the step
i sat down on
holding that pup,
and bending my head
to his head
and sobbing,
loudly and fiercely,
into his black coat.
i'm sorry.
i'll never leave you again.
but i did.
each night i would come home
and hold on to him
as if that would help.
as if no one would ever
make me leave him again.
but i did.
when he died, ten years later,
i brought my second child,
three years old,
with me.
we drove up to pound ridge,
and we lay on the floor
while they gave him a shot.
we lay there a while,
as he got quieter,
and heavier,
and then they quietly
said it was time
for us to leave.
my three-year-old and i held hands
(me in the front, and her in her carseat)
all the way home.
and i said,
it will be ok,
i'll never leave you.
and i never have.
::
there's a new puppy across the street.
i sat in the park tonight, and she sat on my lap for what felt like forever.
if they need any help with her,
i'll be here.
xo,
tt
