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Chapter One - Excerpt
I awoke at 500AM this morning, out
of a sound sleep, thinking of a Precious Little Creature I had known for over
ten years. In a stupor, I found myself searching for her; patting the sheets
beside me. But to no avail. She was not there. Never would be again.
But you see, it was my habit to
bring her to bed when I retired each night. I would put her old pillow at the
foot of my bed, and prop her up on it; her little front paws higher, for once,
than her back legs. She was getting old, and it seemed to help her breathing.
And then no sooner than I laid down, I would find myself reaching for her, and
drawing The Little Shih Tzu into the crook of my arm. Somehow, she comforted
me.
But for the life of me, I don’t
think she particularly enjoyed this interlude. The Furry Little Creature was
ready for sleep at this point; not companionship. But she put up with me, and
laid there; very still and very sleepy. And I scratched her in all the right
places, and whispered in her ear. And I think, maybe, with time, she grew to
like those twilight exchanges. But eventually, I’d roll over, and that was her
unspoken cue to return to her rectangular comfort, content to stretch herself
out on that soft pillow; her muted breaths filling up the room.
As I sit here eating strawberry
shortcake pudding, and typing out one word after the other on my not so trusty
PC, tears roll down my face, and a myriad of bitter-sweet memories overwhelm my
mind. And I puzzle how I’d rather forget, but how I’d rather remember.
My Little Friend has left me, but
not of her own accord. She never would. For we would often let her out, “when
nature called,” and forget we’d done so. After a while, Jean or I would hear
scratching at the door, and we’d instantly remember our forgetfulness. Straight
to the door we’d fly, and The Little Shih Tzu would strut herself into the
house; a bit defiant and put off by our neglect.
That 15 pound Bundle of Fur was
the light of our lives, and I think that nothing will ever fill the void she
had so richly filled. For you see, when the lavender and white azaleas bloomed,
and oak pollen filled the air, she surrendered herself to that force which will
ultimately visit animals and human kind, alike.
But if, somehow, all other
memories of This Precious Animal were stripped from my mind, and I was left
only with those of this week, I would be the poorer for it. And by the time you
finish My Little Heroine’s story, I think you might agree with me.
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By
William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from "My Little Buddy." Copyright pending, 2017.
If you wish to share, copy or save, please include this credit line, above.
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