I'd like to take a moment and say something
about a dog. Because I did actually meet and know a really good one. So
please don't think that I dislike ALL dogs. Because I don't. I just
think cats are more of a challenge. And I really do like a good
challenge. Anyway, we used to have this wonderful little mutt (her name was
Tina) when I was growing up in Chicago. Tina was a genius. I'm being
serious here. That dog was ten times more intelligent than the rest of
the people I lived with in our house. I used to look at her sometimes,
and I swear she could tell exactly what I was thinking. If I was about
to say: Wanna go for a walk? Her long floppy ears would prick up a bit,
and she would tilt her fuzzy little head all of a sudden. And then when I finally said the words she already knew
I was going to say - she would dash to the front hall, grab her leash off
the table, and in a flash - she was motioning for me to slip it on her
collar so we could get the hell out of there, and go on one of our great
adventures together outside.
She loved to spend hours in the snow, and so did I. We both liked winter
better than summer. And when we went to the park on a late winter
afternoon: it seemed like we were the only living souls there, and all
that white wide open space belonged to us alone. Later, after we
finally decided to go back home - if I was feeling especially sad or
depressed about something and hiding all day in bed under the covers -
Tina would suddenly appear out of nowhere, and start making these really
pitiful little whining noises at me. I'm pretty sure she was letting me
know that she was on my side, and I didn't have to suffer alone
anymore. And then after I patted the bed a couple of times, she would
let out a little yip of joy, and hop in with me. Then she'd lick my face
twice (never more than that), and we'd settle down to take a little nap
together. And a lot of the sadness really did seem to go away for
awhile.
Another amazing thing about Tina: She was wild about Shakespeare (mostly
the tragedies). I'm not making this up. She loved it when I read long
passages of Hamlet or Romeo And Juliet to her out loud. She would just
look at me with those big brown intelligent eyes of hers, and give me
her absolute attention as Shakespeare's poetry rolled off of my tongue.
So you see why I say she was a genius now? And there will never be
another dog like her. At least I haven't met one yet. Because one day in
late December, after she somehow escaped from our fenced in front yard
and failed to come right back home - I spent close to six hours out in
the freezing Chicago snow, desperately calling out her name as I
searched for her in our favorite park. But she was gone forever. Just
like that.
And after my hands and feet were so numb that I couldn't feel them
anymore, I made my uncertain way back home, and somehow just knew that
I'd never see her intelligent big brown eyes again. And her leash on the
table in the hall made me so very sad, that I threw it in the trash the
very next day. But her memory was not as easy to let go of. Because no
other dog I have ever met has managed to replace her in my heart. And no
dog ever could. So maybe that's why I decided to just be happy with
cats? Because I got tired of always looking for another Tina, when there
is not another dog like her in all the wide world. So it was time to
let go. No more long walks in the snow.
Essay © 2016 by Dylan Mitchell
