A Blanket Over Her, but "Better"

"Monica, Monica... Tasha's dying. You might want to come say goodbye," my mom's voice cut through the still air at six o'clock this morning.

I stumbled out of bed half asleep. It was a short walk to the kitchen. And my wake-up call's reality did not hit until I saw my dog laying on the floor. My dad hovered over her with his hand upon her ribs.
"She had a seizure a minute ago. She's fighting to breathe and there's some fluid in her lungs," he gently monitored her breathing with his hand.

I sat at her head and pet her now-grayed head. She waged her tail when she saw me.

"That's good," dad commended her. It brought the thought of a smile to my mind, but my lips refused to move.

Jessica followed my mom through the hall and I felt her presence nearby. I never took my eyes from what used to be my puppy, but I knew Jessica was there. Odd how twenty years of knowing someone makes you distinctly aware of them when they enter the room. Jessica didn't say a word, but I knew what she was thinking. She too was trying to grasp the reality of this situation after coming from a peaceful sleep cut short.

Dad got his shoes on and grabbed Tasha's leash. She didn't move.

Mom sat down on the floor and obsessed over the fact that Tasha didn't adjust her legs when mom moved them. I wanted to tell her to be quiet, to stop annoying her... to just leave her alone... but no words came and my eyes remained on my puppy.

Dad connected the leash to Tasha's collar and carried her outside.
"I know she has to pee, she always does first thing in the morning." He explained, carrying out the routine he had done for 11 years.

Jessica went back to her room and shut the door. We didn't hear a peep from her and I assumed she went back to sleep because her light was off when I walked to my room. Upon standing in the doorway of my room I did the only logical thing that I could grasp at that moment... I crawled back into bed with hopes of falling asleep until my 7:15 alarm awoke me.

Reality awoke me at 7:15, I reset my alarm for 7:30.

"Monica, do you realize it's 7:30?" My mom questioned at 7:25.
"Yes," came my apathetic response.
"Ok." And she left my room.

My alarm announced 7:30 and I began my routine. Cereal didn't taste quite as good as I watched my mom sitting beside me at the table. She kept looking at the floor in between bites of her cereal. My dog lay curled up in her favorite sleeping-bag-blanket with a bowl of water by her head.

Stop looking at her, I though. She'll be just fine! And You're only making it worse that it really is. You're such a drama Queen. Monica.... I stopped my thoughts. Stop. Leave her alone. She's hurting too.

As I walked to the bathroom a thought crossed my mind. I wonder if Kelly would have been so mean to my dog if she would have known that this was going to happen. (A few days ago Kelly had spent the night at my house and though she thoroughly had no intention of being cruel, she was a bit complacent with Tasha's sniffing welcomes, and occasional licking welcomes.) Suddenly my heart grew cold and I wanted to hate Kelly so badly. But how can I? It's not Kelly's fault. I reminded myself. Monica... you can't take your hurt out on her. You love her too much. She's Kelly.

I changed into my work uniform , completing my everyday routine with contacts and a pony-tail hidden under my Grinder's hat. I didn't think. There was nothing to say. I refused to look at her. Just go to work. Just go. I thought.

I grabbed my backpack and headed for the door.
I stopped at her bed.
"Bye Puppy."
She wagged her tail.
The smile came.

"Monica," my mom's voice came as my hand lay on the doorhandle. "If you come home and she's gone... don't move her or anything. Let Daddy do that. Just put a blanket over her, ok?"

I was frozen.

"Ok."

I didn't check my watch today on the way in to work. I didn't care what time it was. I'd be there when I'd be there.

I managed to distract myself at work for 9 hours quite well. I busied myself with dishes, cleaning, salad prep, sandwiches and anything else that could help me keep from standing still.

The drive home was long. Part of me wanted to race home, but then part of me wanted never to return again. I pulled into the driveway and saw my dad's truck. My dad's not supposed to be home. No one's supposed to be home. I thought. Mom was coming home at 2 to check on Tasha and then... my thoughts stopped. I didn't want to come to the conclusion that lay at the end of that statement.

I got out of the car and walked inside slowly. I didn't know if I was ready for this. I opened the kitchen door and saw what I feared... her bed was empty and the house was silent. I thought nothing. I said nothing. And then... Tasha came walking out from the living room. She wasn't possessed her usually joy, but she was wagging her tail. I never felt so happy to invited her routine rubbing of dog-hair on my pantleg.

"She's not back to her usual self, " Dad's voice came from the living room, "but she's better."



"Better" never sounded so sweet.