My Two Writing Teachers colleagues and I are hosting the 16th Annual March Slice of Life Story Challenge, in which teachers from around the world participate by posting a story per day.
This year, the SOLSC gives me a chance to record memories of our little dog, Indie, who died in January. I want to write these down while they are still fresh, so that my family and I can read them later and remember not only Indie, but little slices of life across the years.
A short memory.
Indie was a great trail dog if I was moving fast. He loved to run alongside, run behind, chase, or otherwise follow. But I slowed down or stopped, he’d lose interest and run away. I mean, really run away.
Indie has disappeared into the forest while hiking, running, jogging, snowshoeing, cross country skiing, you name it. Once, my husband and a friend who was visiting for the weekend spent an entire day calling for him in a riverbed because they were afraid that it they returned home without him, I might fall to pieces.
There was also the problem of Indie with other dogs. He was nasty. I learned early on to pick him up and hold him tight whenever another dog owner was near. He was such a cute, small little dog that people would stop and innocently say, “Don’t worry about my dog! She loves other dogs! No really, l don’t mind. We understand, go ahead and give it a try, our dog is so patient.” For years I would awkwardly slide by, without saying much. Eventually I learned to reply, clearly, and with no uncertainty, “I’m sorry! He’s NOT friendly!”
Not to mention his love of battles with wild animals. That’s a whole other story.
All this is to say, although Indie had joined Brinton often, Indie only got to go mountain biking with me one time, about six or seven years ago. I was too afraid he’d either escape or fight another animal.
He loved it so much. He could run so fast, practically lifting off the ground. I loved the way his little ears flapped, and the way his little legs reached in front of him, galloping, really.
It was a hot day, and when we reached the first flat spot I stopped and gave him a cup of water. I could tell he was tired already, and my heart sunk. He was about eight or nine years old at the time, not young. But I don’t think I had ever seen Indie tired, ever. Certainly not in the midst of an adventure.
That was the first time I ever thought about Indie getting old. I remember thinking that I wish I had taken him on more mountain bike rides.
After his cup of water, we continued on, but I made sure to slow down just a little for him.
It was a turning point, having to think about slowing down, and getting old.