Dexter.
Oh Tenderfoot, do I have a story for you. Put your head back
on your pillow, rest your eyes, and I’ll tell you a story about the most magical of
loves.
I was upstairs and in bed, not yet asleep but well on my
way, when I heard a click-clack tapping coming from the kitchen just down the
stairs. I looked to Tim with eyebrows raised and shrugged, “Well who could
that be?” I asked. “It must be Dexter,” he answered. Of course it must be Dexter. Your click-clack tapping sounds much more like stomping. But that would be
remarkably unusual. Every night when you kids are home with us, Dexter sleeps in
your rooms. One night in yours, the next night in your brother’s. It’s part of
our ritual, our routine. For as long as Dexter has been a part of our family,
since he was just 10 weeks old, he has slept in your rooms. He stays there all
night, only getting up to spin in a circle and lay back down in a cooler part of
his nested mattress. He won’t leave your room until you do.
So back to the click-clack tapping, the shuffling drag of
paws across carpeted stairs, and then my bedroom door was pushed open. Dexter’s
beautiful golden face poked into the room, soulful brown eyes revealing that
this was where he needed to be. He came with intention, steadily and quietly
moving around the bed to sidle up next to me where he stood, nestling his long
nose into the crook of my arm. His tail wagged, but not fiercely. I hugged him
back, grateful for the surprise visit. Tim and I smiled and laughed; Dexter’s
easy to laugh with. He didn’t relent. It
was the most persistent of gentle hugs, and when I finally straightened my back
just a little, Dexter pulled away slowly and lumbered over to the other side of
the bed to give Tim an armpit hug, too. And then there was a break in our
giggling just long enough to hear a cry, distantly, downstairs distantly. I
said, “Ohhh, that’s our Tenderfoot crying.” And I realized that that was why
Dexter came upstairs, breaking his ritual, his routine, persisting in his
gentle hug, successfully getting our attention.
I hit the bedroom floor quickly and ran down the carpeted
stairs, thwapped my bare feet across the kitchen floor, and glided – I like to
think I glided – into your dark room. Your face was wet in tears. Your foot was
aching. It had been months since your growing feet had ached and made you cry.
It was the first time it had happened in this house where our bedrooms were
farther apart and my maternal super ears had not yet been properly broken in. You
had been hurting and crying and I couldn’t hear you. But laying there next to
you, loyal and loving, Dexter could. And when it was clear to him that I wasn’t
coming, he click-clack tapped across the kitchen floor and relayed the message
to me. And as I glided into your room, Dexter shuffle-dragged his paws across
your rug, just behind me, to sit here, right here, next to the both of us. And
I rubbed your foot to make the aching go away.
And while I rubbed your tender foot to make the aching go away, I
told you a story, a story that happened just now and leading up to here. A
story about you, and your mom, and your stepdad, and your brother, and our
family’s very best friend, Dexter. What a magical love we have between us. Don't you think it's magical?
You nodded your head in earnest. I kissed your forehead and stood to leave. And Dexter snored softly, just inches from your fingertips.
You nodded your head in earnest. I kissed your forehead and stood to leave. And Dexter snored softly, just inches from your fingertips.
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in the most loving of memories for the most magical best friend, Dexter. |
Comments
Those wings make me thing...hrm...flying dogs could be useful.