Facts

Sad Fact: I pointed and said, “Go!” in an encouraging high pitched voice, like I was pointing to Disneyland and giving full permission, like there was a mountain of chicken breasts on the lawn and it was an all you can eat buffet for Bean and Bean alone, like pooping in the wet grass was the most exciting thing in the world. it was still dark our, like midnight dark, like the porch light was too bright for my eyes dark. Bean stood on the driveway shaking on the driveway, not moving towards the yard, his brother happily hopping through the wetness, sniffing for squirrels and peeing on interesting things.

”C’mon,” I said even more high pitched. “Go! Is ok! Is ok!”

It all devolves into baby talk at the end doesn’t it? In a voice you reserve for pets and tiny humans. I pointed again and Bean pancaked his little body to the ground, ears flat, chin down, the universal dog sign for “I don’t know if I’m scared or sad or both.” What if humans flattened like this when they don’t know what to do, pressed our bodies to the earth, shut down, i don’t know what to do, i don’t know what she wants, i need a break.

Sad Fact: At some point in his life someone pointed and said “Go!” and his small dog brain remembered and it wasn’t a good memory.

I walked over to him and picked him up like a poor lumpy sack of potatoes. Jeff says dogs are descended from wolves. Bean is descended from marshmallows.

I walked into the wet grass on unsteady legs. I don’t trust myself in the dark ever since I fell out of bed and down the stairs in Hawaii. Who puts a set of stairs next to the bed? With only one bathroom downstairs? I tumbled like an errant garbage bag down one flight to a small landing where there was a small alcove that was a closet. Strange houses with strange closets. I could hear Jeff in slow motion, “Oh nooooo….”

It took me awhile to realize I was in the closet alcove surrounded by clothes hanging above me like curtains. All limbs in tact, thank god. My face hurt but I was more relieved that nothing solid was broken and I didn’t need to pee anymore.

The next day I was sporting my very first black eye. I don’t remember what hit me or what I hit on the way down but I remember feeling bad the rest of our vacation, like I had to tell ever waiter, every concerned tourist who looked at me, “No, no I’m ok. It’s not what you think.”

I stopped trusting myself in the dark so I reach and follow walls, i grip handrails hard, I step slowly and make sure one foot is firm before lifting the other. I lowered my center of gravity a bit by bending my knees, carrying my baby bean into the muddy yard, fully realizing that if someone turned on the lights or if the sun magically instantly rose, I’d look insane.

I side shuffled like a lumbering gigantic crab with a 20 lb dog in my arms, his shiny black eyes and white fur, who looks like an arctic baby seal when his tiny ears are down. I leaned over and placed him gingerly in a patch of lawn where the grass was the shortest, least likely to touch his belly, my poor creature, he walks funny in the fall because he lates when wet grass touches him. “Are you sure you’re a dog?” we ask him. Charlie rips through the yard muddy and poop-free, paying us no mind as he chases a bird.

Bean took two steps to do his business, tail straight up, face turned towards me, eyes focused. “Don’t leave me,” they say. “Don’t leave me.” Like there are monsters out there. It’s the season for it. Like Bean knows it’s Halloween and we’re living in spookier times.