Childhood memories drift me back into the land of nod. Soon, I am looking through the bluish eyes of a five-year-old girl, whose ash blonde hair is so fine it swirls in the slightest draft. Glancing upward, there is an enormous old Victorian home in disrepair, at least three stories high. The paint is peeling and damn, it’s huge! Looking down, across the wide lace-trimmed collar of a plaid dress, books are cradled in my young arms and a rambunctious brown puppy is darting about my black shoes.
It is “Raunchy”, my beloved friend and first encounter with unconditional love. My buddy is there, waiting just for me with his quivering tail and flagging tongue. He never seems to tire of my company. I harshly scold the tiny mutt for attempting to follow me to the bus stop; but Raunchy’s devotion compels him to pursue my presence by tracking me under cover of weeds and bushes.
I walk down the dreaded gravel and dirt road up to the highway, where the noise and stench of a vast yellow bus will be taking me to spend another seemingly endless day in Hell. Making it up to the pavement, the brush of warm fur is felt against the back of my legs.
“Darn, dog! I told you to stay at home!” Raunchy cows at my yelling, but does not leave.
With his nose to the ground, Raunchy hikes over the street and into the sedge on the other side, engrossed in some mysterious smell. From the right, a distant rushing sound can be detected. It is a car. My dad has warned me about how wandering animals can be killed by them. I worry about this and know that my buddy is in danger.
“Stay, Raunchy! Stay!” My voice only makes his soft tan head turn and peer at me, just above the grass. Raunchy then bounds back to the shoulder of the road. The roaring noise of the vehicle’s engine is fast approaching.
I shout, “No!” The puppy then crouches with his tail pressed down. He decides to cautiously walk across the highway, head lowered and eyes shyly fixed on mine.
Panicked, I try to think hard: If he’ll run, he can beat that car across the street. Squatting down, I call, “Here, Raunchy! Here! Come on, boy! Please, come on! You can do it! You’re halfway here, boy!”
Then, the unbearable happens. There is the horrible squealing of tires on pavement. The front wheel of the vehicle, on my side, locks and crushes the puppy’s abdomen. Shrieking in agony, the dog skids under the car for a tortured distance. The yelping only stops after his tiny body collapses, like that of a rag doll, and the automobile comes to a rest. There is an empty silence.
It is “Raunchy”, my beloved friend and first encounter with unconditional love. My buddy is there, waiting just for me with his quivering tail and flagging tongue. He never seems to tire of my company. I harshly scold the tiny mutt for attempting to follow me to the bus stop; but Raunchy’s devotion compels him to pursue my presence by tracking me under cover of weeds and bushes.
I walk down the dreaded gravel and dirt road up to the highway, where the noise and stench of a vast yellow bus will be taking me to spend another seemingly endless day in Hell. Making it up to the pavement, the brush of warm fur is felt against the back of my legs.
“Darn, dog! I told you to stay at home!” Raunchy cows at my yelling, but does not leave.
With his nose to the ground, Raunchy hikes over the street and into the sedge on the other side, engrossed in some mysterious smell. From the right, a distant rushing sound can be detected. It is a car. My dad has warned me about how wandering animals can be killed by them. I worry about this and know that my buddy is in danger.
“Stay, Raunchy! Stay!” My voice only makes his soft tan head turn and peer at me, just above the grass. Raunchy then bounds back to the shoulder of the road. The roaring noise of the vehicle’s engine is fast approaching.
I shout, “No!” The puppy then crouches with his tail pressed down. He decides to cautiously walk across the highway, head lowered and eyes shyly fixed on mine.
Panicked, I try to think hard: If he’ll run, he can beat that car across the street. Squatting down, I call, “Here, Raunchy! Here! Come on, boy! Please, come on! You can do it! You’re halfway here, boy!”
Then, the unbearable happens. There is the horrible squealing of tires on pavement. The front wheel of the vehicle, on my side, locks and crushes the puppy’s abdomen. Shrieking in agony, the dog skids under the car for a tortured distance. The yelping only stops after his tiny body collapses, like that of a rag doll, and the automobile comes to a rest. There is an empty silence.
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