Enzo had been restless last night and hadn’t touched his vittles. Only hours earlier, he had been on a run with me where he had performed admirably with his legs and predictably with his nose.
But he woke before the sun this morning. I could hear his tail tapping against the wall of his crate. After I opened the latch, he ambled towards his food bowl and found the space empty, devoid of any sustenance, just a green post it note reminding me and others not to feed him after midnight. He licked at the towel that usually caught crumbs from his food and the strips of banana peel when my husband feels benevolent enough to feed him part of a banana.
He seemed lost, roamed aimlessly and listlessly through the house, displaying none of the tendencies for which he had earned the name Enzo, after Enzo Ferrari, of the famous race car family. When it came time to walk outside and watch Davis get on the bus, Enzo sat on the driveway, head heavily hanging down. After the boys got on the bus, he crept into my arms then I lifted him into the car where his crate awaited him. He crawled in, and went to sleep during the seven minute drive to the vet office. Enzo was getting neutered today.
The building was eerily quiet, an odor of sterility and cat litter permeated the office. Enzo had the first appointment of the day. Betsy immediately scooped Enzo in her arms while I signed the obligatory paperwork at the front desk. Finally, I checked the box “no” to having an EKG performed, a test that would detect any other abnormalities with Enzo’s heart. As a newborn, he had been diagnosed with slight heart murmur on his left side.
When I had first singled Enzo out from a picture of four males, age 4 weeks, he was already developing a beauty mark, a patch of reddish hair, against the backdrop of white fur, on his left cheek. I took that mark of imperfection as a sign. I did not want the perfect dog. I wanted one who was different. But it did come as a surprise when the breeder called to inform us at Enzo’s 6 week checkup, the vet had detected a murmur. The breeder offered us a different puppy as an option. But Enzo picked us. I wasn’t going to spurn his decision. Besides, as Enzo grew, he took up a larger place in our family and on the floor.
Three years ago, when I had blended my family of one son, with Mark’s family of three teenage girls, a dog had been high on the list in the girls’ demands for blending successfully. That and their own rooms. Their mother had died three years prior. Their old dog, Gipper, has passed away the previous Christmas. The girls were looking for something to tie their life back together.
Numerous arguments ensued between Mark and me over the topic of a new dog. If the girls knew now, they would be horrified to know that these fights threatened the beginnings of our marriage. The fights went something like this. I would be standing in the same room with the girls and Mark. One of them would mention getting a dog. And Mark would casually laugh it off. Later, when we were alone, I would ask, “Why can’t you tell them we are not getting a dog?”
My demand to simply tell the girls the truth was not unreasonable. But Mark had other ideas - that they just needed to say those things and to let the issue pass. The topic finally died but not without tears shed over what was a clear lack of respect for my voice in the marriage. At the time, I did not want a dog and was no more willing to take one on the midst of our jumbled year, than I would have said, “Let’s adopt,” because I had always wanted a brother for Davis.
Three years later, I lost the argument for good. But I prevailed in choosing the time and place. I picked the dog from the litter and bestowed the name Enzo upon him.
I dropped him off at the vet this morning with tears welled up in my eyes, as I recalled the past four months with Enzo. His sweet freckled face is the last I see before turning in at night. He has brought calm to the household. He is often the focus of our family’s entertainment. My niece Sophia, who lost her cat as a pet because her mother has an arm’s length full of traffic and legal charges against her, took to Enzo, wanting to walk him every day of her visit. The two were inseparable, appeared to be the same size and their pleading brown eyes went a long ways towards each of them having their way with me.
Enzo has given Cheryl, our oldest, a sophomore in college, more reason to come home and spend time with us. For the middle two girls, he has brought company and an excuse to unplug and sit outside or go for a walk. And for Davis, Enzo has brought a companionship that can mainly be attributed to their mutual attraction to sweat and dirt. They play together, climb over each other, and watch Sponge Bob and Scooby Doo. In some sense, Enzo has taken the place of the brother Davis never got. And Mark has welcomed him with the same gentleness he welcomed Davis.
But I have been the biggest beneficiary. Per my productive training with him, Enzo is my shadow. He accompanies me as I move about the house on laundry/cleaning days. He never tires of following me up and down steps, sometimes two at a time. He nudges his backside until it is up against my bare feet, a trait which I will love more in winter. I am learning so much from this creature. How to be faithful to those in your home. How to bask in the sun on the warm patio tiles. And how to be ebullient in the midst of anger and open to what life presents.
My office has felt empty without him today. My toes have been cold, and the sun has remained hidden behind the clouds, which is just as well, since my shadow is not here at my feet.
Monday, August 31, 2009
2009-08-31 Without My Shadow
Enzo had been restless last night and hadn’t touched his vittles. Only hours earlier, he had been on a run with me where he had performed admirably with his legs and predictably with his nose.
But he woke before the sun this morning. I could hear his tail tapping against the wall of his crate. After I opened the latch, he ambled towards his food bowl and found the space empty, devoid of any sustenance, just a green post it note reminding me and others not to feed him after midnight. He licked at the towel that usually caught crumbs from his food and the strips of banana peel when my husband feels benevolent enough to feed him part of a banana.
He seemed lost, roamed aimlessly and listlessly through the house, displaying none of the tendencies for which he had earned the name Enzo, after Enzo Ferrari, of the famous race car family. When it came time to walk outside and watch Davis get on the bus, Enzo sat on the driveway, head heavily hanging down. After the boys got on the bus, he crept into my arms then I lifted him into the car where his crate awaited him. He crawled in, and went to sleep during the seven minute drive to the vet office. Enzo was getting neutered today.
The building was eerily quiet, an odor of sterility and cat litter permeated the office. Enzo had the first appointment of the day. Betsy immediately scooped Enzo in her arms while I signed the obligatory paperwork at the front desk. Finally, I checked the box “no” to having an EKG performed, a test that would detect any other abnormalities with Enzo’s heart. As a newborn, he had been diagnosed with slight heart murmur on his left side.
When I had first singled Enzo out from a picture of four males, age 4 weeks, he was already developing a beauty mark, a patch of reddish hair, against the backdrop of white fur, on his left cheek. I took that mark of imperfection as a sign. I did not want the perfect dog. I wanted one who was different. But it did come as a surprise when the breeder called to inform us at Enzo’s 6 week checkup, the vet had detected a murmur. The breeder offered us a different puppy as an option. But Enzo picked us. I wasn’t going to spurn his decision. Besides, as Enzo grew, he took up a larger place in our family and on the floor.
Three years ago, when I had blended my family of one son, with Mark’s family of three teenage girls, a dog had been high on the list in the girls’ demands for blending successfully. That and their own rooms. Their mother had died three years prior. Their old dog, Gipper, has passed away the previous Christmas. The girls were looking for something to tie their life back together.
Numerous arguments ensued between Mark and me over the topic of a new dog. If the girls knew now, they would be horrified to know that these fights threatened the beginnings of our marriage. The fights went something like this. I would be standing in the same room with the girls and Mark. One of them would mention getting a dog. And Mark would casually laugh it off. Later, when we were alone, I would ask, “Why can’t you tell them we are not getting a dog?”
My demand to simply tell the girls the truth was not unreasonable. But Mark had other ideas - that they just needed to say those things and to let the issue pass. The topic finally died but not without tears shed over what was a clear lack of respect for my voice in the marriage. At the time, I did not want a dog and was no more willing to take one on the midst of our jumbled year, than I would have said, “Let’s adopt,” because I had always wanted a brother for Davis.
Three years later, I lost the argument for good. But I prevailed in choosing the time and place. I picked the dog from the litter and bestowed the name Enzo upon him.
I dropped him off at the vet this morning with tears welled up in my eyes, as I recalled the past four months with Enzo. His sweet freckled face is the last I see before turning in at night. He has brought calm to the household. He is often the focus of our family’s entertainment. My niece Sophia, who lost her cat as a pet because her mother has an arm’s length full of traffic and legal charges against her, took to Enzo, wanting to walk him every day of her visit. The two were inseparable, appeared to be the same size and their pleading brown eyes went a long ways towards each of them having their way with me.
Enzo has given Cheryl, our oldest, a sophomore in college, more reason to come home and spend time with us. For the middle two girls, he has brought company and an excuse to unplug and sit outside or go for a walk. And for Davis, Enzo has brought a companionship that can mainly be attributed to their mutual attraction to sweat and dirt. They play together, climb over each other, and watch Sponge Bob and Scooby Doo. In some sense, Enzo has taken the place of the brother Davis never got. And Mark has welcomed him with the same gentleness he welcomed Davis.
But I have been the biggest beneficiary. Per my productive training with him, Enzo is my shadow. He accompanies me as I move about the house on laundry/cleaning days. He never tires of following me up and down steps, sometimes two at a time. He nudges his backside until it is up against my bare feet, a trait which I will love more in winter. I am learning so much from this creature. How to be faithful to those in your home. How to bask in the sun on the warm patio tiles. And how to be ebullient in the midst of anger and open to what life presents.
My office has felt empty without him today. My toes have been cold, and the sun has remained hidden behind the clouds, which is just as well, since my shadow is not here at my feet.
Enzo had been restless last night and hadn’t touched his vittles. Only hours earlier, he had been on a run with me where he had performed admirably with his legs and predictably with his nose.
But he woke before the sun this morning. I could hear his tail tapping against the wall of his crate. After I opened the latch, he ambled towards his food bowl and found the space empty, devoid of any sustenance, just a green post it note reminding me and others not to feed him after midnight. He licked at the towel that usually caught crumbs from his food and the strips of banana peel when my husband feels benevolent enough to feed him part of a banana.
He seemed lost, roamed aimlessly and listlessly through the house, displaying none of the tendencies for which he had earned the name Enzo, after Enzo Ferrari, of the famous race car family. When it came time to walk outside and watch Davis get on the bus, Enzo sat on the driveway, head heavily hanging down. After the boys got on the bus, he crept into my arms then I lifted him into the car where his crate awaited him. He crawled in, and went to sleep during the seven minute drive to the vet office. Enzo was getting neutered today.
The building was eerily quiet, an odor of sterility and cat litter permeated the office. Enzo had the first appointment of the day. Betsy immediately scooped Enzo in her arms while I signed the obligatory paperwork at the front desk. Finally, I checked the box “no” to having an EKG performed, a test that would detect any other abnormalities with Enzo’s heart. As a newborn, he had been diagnosed with slight heart murmur on his left side.
When I had first singled Enzo out from a picture of four males, age 4 weeks, he was already developing a beauty mark, a patch of reddish hair, against the backdrop of white fur, on his left cheek. I took that mark of imperfection as a sign. I did not want the perfect dog. I wanted one who was different. But it did come as a surprise when the breeder called to inform us at Enzo’s 6 week checkup, the vet had detected a murmur. The breeder offered us a different puppy as an option. But Enzo picked us. I wasn’t going to spurn his decision. Besides, as Enzo grew, he took up a larger place in our family and on the floor.
Three years ago, when I had blended my family of one son, with Mark’s family of three teenage girls, a dog had been high on the list in the girls’ demands for blending successfully. That and their own rooms. Their mother had died three years prior. Their old dog, Gipper, has passed away the previous Christmas. The girls were looking for something to tie their life back together.
Numerous arguments ensued between Mark and me over the topic of a new dog. If the girls knew now, they would be horrified to know that these fights threatened the beginnings of our marriage. The fights went something like this. I would be standing in the same room with the girls and Mark. One of them would mention getting a dog. And Mark would casually laugh it off. Later, when we were alone, I would ask, “Why can’t you tell them we are not getting a dog?”
My demand to simply tell the girls the truth was not unreasonable. But Mark had other ideas - that they just needed to say those things and to let the issue pass. The topic finally died but not without tears shed over what was a clear lack of respect for my voice in the marriage. At the time, I did not want a dog and was no more willing to take one on the midst of our jumbled year, than I would have said, “Let’s adopt,” because I had always wanted a brother for Davis.
Three years later, I lost the argument for good. But I prevailed in choosing the time and place. I picked the dog from the litter and bestowed the name Enzo upon him.
I dropped him off at the vet this morning with tears welled up in my eyes, as I recalled the past four months with Enzo. His sweet freckled face is the last I see before turning in at night. He has brought calm to the household. He is often the focus of our family’s entertainment. My niece Sophia, who lost her cat as a pet because her mother has an arm’s length full of traffic and legal charges against her, took to Enzo, wanting to walk him every day of her visit. The two were inseparable, appeared to be the same size and their pleading brown eyes went a long ways towards each of them having their way with me.
Enzo has given Cheryl, our oldest, a sophomore in college, more reason to come home and spend time with us. For the middle two girls, he has brought company and an excuse to unplug and sit outside or go for a walk. And for Davis, Enzo has brought a companionship that can mainly be attributed to their mutual attraction to sweat and dirt. They play together, climb over each other, and watch Sponge Bob and Scooby Doo. In some sense, Enzo has taken the place of the brother Davis never got. And Mark has welcomed him with the same gentleness he welcomed Davis.
But I have been the biggest beneficiary. Per my productive training with him, Enzo is my shadow. He accompanies me as I move about the house on laundry/cleaning days. He never tires of following me up and down steps, sometimes two at a time. He nudges his backside until it is up against my bare feet, a trait which I will love more in winter. I am learning so much from this creature. How to be faithful to those in your home. How to bask in the sun on the warm patio tiles. And how to be ebullient in the midst of anger and open to what life presents.
My office has felt empty without him today. My toes have been cold, and the sun has remained hidden behind the clouds, which is just as well, since my shadow is not here at my feet.
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