A Brown Dog

April 14, 2010

On a recent visit with my sister, her little dog, Roxy, sat on the arm of the chair where I was sitting. A little brown thing with big brown eyes. I haven’t had a dog, nor any other sort of furry pet, since I was a teenager. I’ve convinced myself that I’m better off without the hair and the worry. But Roxy kept following me around like a memory. She reminded me of our small childhood dog, Cassy.  The same brown coat. The the same disposition. Cassy disappeared one day. I dreamt about her for years afterwards, and I always felt guilty and negligent that she was gone. In my dreams she came back home. I could see her in the distance, walking toward me. And so, somehow, that day with Roxy, it seemed like Cassy was sitting there with me, and it felt like she had never left.

A nice thing… memory and recognition. Our past heals if we allow the remedy to sit next to us and look us in the eyes.

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