Rescued (Part 4)

 6/7/2012 Rescued (Part 4)

When I leave the kitchen the dog follows silently. I go into the den to watch some of my favorite cheesy television shows and the dog curls up along side my chair and again falls easily to sleep.  It appears that the dog has much fewer worries than I.  I guess if you’re a dog, the good life consists of food, water and a warm place to sleep.  I, on the other hand, have all the essentials to live but feel like I’m barely surviving. 

When I notice that I’m nodding off during one of my most favorite cooking shows, I decide it’s time to sleep or pretend to sleep as is the case most nights.  I walk through the kitchen and open up the back door and the dog seems to understand and he quickly runs through the door and returns to me within seconds.

My dilemma about sleeping, at least for tonight, is what to do with the dog.  He’s been very good so far; but, what will he do once I fall asleep.  Will he run amuck in the house and destroy anything and everything in his path?  Somehow I doubt it; but, I close the bedroom door behind us so that any destruction or mess can at least be contained.

As I lay down for sleep, no sleep comes.  This is common and beginning to be normal for me.  My nights are haunted by the loneliness I feel.  It is hard to be married to someone your entire adult life and then after 50 years find yourself alone.  Not only are you alone; but, you are also old and dying – definitely not a good combination.  I turn the music up on the radio and will myself to relax and surprisingly I do. 

When I wake up in the morning the first thing I notice is that the dog has moved sometime during the night from the floor to the bed.  With a quick glance I can see and feel his warm body snuggled up against mine.  I put my head back down on my pillow and begin to quietly cry.  I cry because it’s actually quite nice to have somebody curl up against you.  I cry because it’s good to be needed.  And finally I cry because for the first time in many nights, I slept and slept well.

The dog and I both pad downstairs and he is let out to again do his business.  I leave the door open a crack and get on with making coffee and toast.  The dog returns quickly and as I shut the door I open my second and last can of dog food and place it before him.  As if it were filet, the dog devours the food and licks the bowl clean. 

 

I do the dishes, shower and dress and wonder what I’m supposed to do with the dog now.  I have no collar, leash or any more food.  I get out the phone book and look up the number for the Humane Society; but, don’t actually punch in the numbers on my phone.  While the phone book remains open the dog looks at me through his sad, dark eyes.  When I close the book, the tail begins wagging continuously.  How does he know that I have no intention of calling anybody?