Personal Essays

Our first days together were rocky. She was timid and nervous and I wasn’t much better. The dog idea had seemed brilliant at first, but confronted with the reality, I was less certain. (What was I doing with a dog? I didn’t need a dog. Thanks, Mom, now I had a dog.) But we watched some TV together on the couch. We went for some walks. I learned that she was every bit as smart as I’d initially believed she was and began to think that she was actually much smarter than I. She learned that I was something of a pushover when it came to handing out treats. We were figuring each other out, forming our bond. And as completely sappy as it sounds, as completely sappy as it is, reaching out to this dog, trusting her and teaching her to trust me, began to open me back up in places that I’d kept closed since Stacy died.

And then we started to play ball.

Sweet Pea’s favorite thing (other than barking at cats) is playing ball. We have played this game dozens upon dozens of times, and I’m still not sure I understand the way it works, but as far as I can tell, I am supposed to throw the ball, she is supposed to chase it, and then I am supposed to get it away from her and throw it again. She adds to and subtracts from the game at will, but one thing is certain: she will let me know if I’ve broken a rule.