I was weak. I was. It was a symptom of my carefree youth, my conflict avoiding upbringing, but most of all, let’s face it, you grew on me. Sure, you weren’t the calmest of invaders, I could have lived without the loud sex, boisterous houseguests, and post party trash, but you were my invaders. Over our 9 month peaceful coexistence, we settled into a quasi routine of caring for the yard. You got the sand piles, and kindly left me the rotten lemons to chew on. I witnessed the birth of your first-born. Mornings, I trained him in the artfully concealing his dejections; afternoons were spent boisterously romping amidst the olfactious underbrush. I wouldn’t go as far as saying we were friends, but our relationship had matured to a level of trust and compromise I thought we were equally comfortable with.
She had raised me to make the best of what life threw my way, and I grew pleasantly accustomed to what I came to refer to as my “whiskful boarders”. Sure, I rolled over and agreed to pretty much everything you demanded, but I stood up for what really mattered: morning rounds and a place in the sun.
I made every effort to accommodate your schedules. When I knew you had company, I made sure to bring an ally so as not to impose, sometimes suppressing my primal needs for hours, waiting for her to get a craving and light up already.
Last week, I realized the Yard was once again free of its comforting sounds of hunting, baths, and other such household bustle. While I contemplated celebrating my triumph, I felt a pang of nostalgia. I was going to miss you suckers. I felt cheated. I practically raised that young pup I playfully dubbed “Tiger”. I half expected to find a note, scribbled in haste, claiming a “family emergency” or other acceptable excuse for such a precipitated departure, but to no avail. I spent hours in my Yard, lying where you had once lain, comforting my loss with your scent.
After denial came anger…I meticulously disassembled your resting spot, leaf by leaf, branch by branch, carefully disseminating any residue of that oh so familiar scent. The magnolia is blooming again, and sometimes I catch myself dropping off a petal to pay my respects, only to remember that I am once again, a sole nose.
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