The House That Built Me
John dug the hole yesterday. He had to do something to stay busy; he couldn’t see her, not now.
He stood back, leaned up against a 1970s Ford Camper Special parked in the front yard.
“Has anyone checked on Pa?”
Linda asked.
“I’ll go,” I said.
John and I stood close like we’d done twice a day, every day, for the last couple years.
“She had a great day. We went for a walk, she peed on everything, she pooped in someone’s yard, slept in the sunshine, ate salmon for dinner, then went to bed,” I told him.
“I noticed she was a little off Tuesday before I brought her home, but I didn’t think much of it, she’s been tired lately,” John told me.
For the past couple years when JC’s out of town, which is often, his dad, John, picks up our dog, Goldie, in the mornings and drops her back off before dinner time.
I walk barefoot onto the front porch to greet them.
“There she is … “ I start.
“Miss America … ” John finishes.
“How was she today?” I ask.
“Sassy, as usual. She took a big shit at Canfield’s,” he says, which is Goldie’s favorite yard to poop in.
I roll my eyes, he shakes his head.
“Okay, dear, I’ll see you in the morning,” John says and gets into his little blue van and zooms off.
Nine-thirty the next morning the blue-doggy-school-bus stops in front of our house.
I watch him get out and walk around to open the sliding side door for Goldie before I open my front door. If I open it before he faces the house, I will startle him. Goldie and I wait for him to turn around before we walk out.
“Cookies today,” I say, handing him a Tupperware filled with my offerings. This earns me a hug, and a “Thank you, thank you!”
The last time when I handed him a batch of his absolute favorite — brown butter cowboy cookies — I got a kiss on the cheek.
He helps Goldie onto the bench seat in his van and slides the door closed.
“Ok, dear. See ya in a while,” he says as I wave them off and pad back up the stairs to the house.
Had I known this was the last time we’d do that … I would have held him longer during our hug, told him another silly story, found an extra piece of gossip to share. I wouldn’t have hurried back into the house in my pajamas so quickly. I would have gotten into that van and gone for a ride. I would have sat next to Goldie on the bench seat, and scratched her behind her ears.
“Something’s wrong, JC,” I texted him in the middle of the night, his time.
He called his mom and asked her to come over.
“We’re in the backyard,” I told him to tell her.
JC’s mom had never really warmed to me much. Not like his dad, who had become a surrogate father to me in the last couple years, regardless of my relationship status with his son.
Linda, drove over at midnight, no questions asked, to find Goldie and I laying in the wet grass. Goldie got up and went to her, slowly.
“I thought I’d lost her. She was trying to leave us,” I told JC’s mom, tears streaming down my face.
Goldie had never been sick a day in her twelve-year life. All of a sudden she stumbled down the hall, out the backdoor, and collapsed in the yard. I collapsed next to her.
When I saw her eyes start to glaze over I yelled “Goldie! Stay with me,” she listened.
We decided I’d watch her for the night, then take her to the vet the next morning. After Linda left, Goldie jumped into bed with me like nothing happened.
She woke up the next morning, perfectly fine.
We went for a walk, she peed on everything, she pooped in someone’s yard, slept in the sunshine, ate salmon for dinner, then went to bed.
I went in to check on her, Goldie wasn’t sleeping how she normally sleeps. I held her face in my hands and asked if she was ok, she wasn’t.
I called, Linda, she drove straight over.
My son helped us put Goldie in the back of my car to take her to the emergency vet.
“You’ll ride in the back with her,” Linda said, my son nodded.
As soon as I put my car in reverse my son yelled “Stop, stop, stop,”
I jumped out, opened the back hatch.
Her paw in his hand, Goldie was no longer breathing.
Her eyes fixed, empty. My son’s eyes wide, fixed on her.
I watched the life drain out of Goldie’s body while I watch the childhood innocence drain from my son’s.
We weren’t prepared.
JC didn’t answer his phone. John was already asleep.
We followed Linda over to a neighbor’s house, a vet. She knocked on his door in hopes he could save Goldie, though we all already knew what we didn’t want to know.
The vet came out, borrowed my phone flashlight to check her eyes, and pronounced her dead. He went right back inside.
We all held each other in his driveway and cried.
She was gone but she was still mine. I held her. I kissed her goodbye.
JC called, I had to tell him the news … the love of his life was gone.
Linda woke up John to tell him the news … the love of his life was gone.
The next day we stood outside the house, the house that John built for his family with his own two hands in the 70s, and witnessed my teenage son lower his childhood dog into a grave outside JC’s childhood bedroom window.
I leaned against the old ford in the yard. John and I watched our girl get covered with dirt.
“I’ll make you cookies this week,”
“Thank you, dear.”
Good dog, Goldie. Good dog. ❤️
Bawling. This is love. This is what we sign up for. Oh Candy. ❤️🩹