Tropical Depression: The Boy
I walk the dog. Early, late.
House, hedge, hedge, driveway, hedge, house.
It makes him happy.
My dog is good in a perfect way. I love him. I know him.
I believe he will die a natural death, the first of any pet I have ever owned.
He is getting old for a big dog (11) and it scares me to think that he will become
weak and sick and that I will have to make a choice or that one day I will come home to no one waiting at the gate. And then I will be totally alone.
So, in this way, my fear is selfish.
Because he has seen everything in his 11 years and he knows me, too.
And I will lose that reflection of my experience.
And my best friend ever in the whole world.
Selfish mom.
