Dog Days

The sun shone through a window, smeared with dried residue from rainy summer days. The silence throughout the hot woodland house was deafening, and Paul rested ever so calmly in his bed. Being the age he is now, well, waking up was never really a problem. However, his arthritis forbade him from moving for at least fifteen minutes. He would cast this dead stare amongst the ceiling before he could allow himself to move. Anyone walking into this silent room would’ve thought him dead. Paul finally sat up, wincing with sight pain from the arthritis. He tried to wake his sleeping body by throwing his legs off to the side of the bed. His feet rested upon warm, silk-like fur. A smile played upon dry lips, cracked from the humidity and heat that made its way in from the summer lands outside. His woodsy home provided all kinds of comfort, but Rusty only caused more.1

That dog was his life. He’d had Rusty since he was young, the poor dog was as old as he was. He remembered when he first got Rusty. The little puppy was just about as big as he was. Rusty was a chocolate brown Labrador retriever. He was so small and useless when Paul had gotten him. The poor puppy had no idea of the wrongs and the rights of life. That was probably the exact reason Paul had fallen so hard for the little guy. The puppy was just like him. A rough, dirty little boy. When his parents had brought Rusty home, Paul had fallen in love. His grandparents’ dog had just had a litter, and they were giving the puppies away for free. Rusty so happened to be his parents choice. He was a majority of colors: dark brown, light brown, gold, beige, etc. Immediately Paul thought of rust. Now, as Paul looked down at Rusty’s for it was a mixture of grays and browns.2

No longer did it shine like rays of sunlight, it was dull and knotted. Around the fifties Paul had gotten his first girlfriend. She was a black woman and he was about 13, Rusty had been there for that too. The poor dog was at his prime, and there were no female dogs around. That was the year Paul had gotten Rusty a special pillow, just to satisfy his needs. He remembered having to hide young Shirley from his dog. At the time he thought it was disgusting, but now, as Rusty laid there, he couldn’t imagine such a thing. His grandparents forbade him from ever seeing Shirley again, of course when they moved, Rusty was there when Paul didn’t feel like getting out of bed as a teen. So depressed from loosing his first love, there were days when Paul thought “why bother?” Rusty was always there, right by his bedside as he is now. 3

Rusty was his best friend, even when Paul made new ones in high school. None of them really came home with him like Rusty did, none of them really listened like Rusty did, none of them ever wanted to play childish games like Rusty did, none of them…were like Rusty was. Even now, as and old man, Rusty is there for Paul. Rusty is there when the family doesn’t call or when the family doesn’t visit. He is there before the family visits as Paul sits at the chair on the rickety wooden porch, making bracelets from small beads and flowers found in the forest. Rust Is there as Paul adds the finishing touches onto the bracelet, painting it red, blue, or green, for those are the only colors he owned. From the sound of his granddaughter’s squeals and giggles, he did a good job, despite his blindness.4

Still he would feel Rusty at his feet. The poor dog struggled to make his way across the room. Rusty struggled to stand and follow Paul into the room at night. The sunlight still bathed the room with such warmth and delight. The brightness of it all. Paul could feel the warmth within his old, broken bones. A tear trickled down his wrinkled old face and it shone like a tear from the sun had chosen him to weep for Rusty. Though the tears fell, Paul smiled. He stared at the ceiling he could nit see and smiled. He rested Rusty’s head upon his lap and pet it. Thank you, God, for putting this old dog out of his misery, he thought as rays of warmth and life bathed through him. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the bed. That morning Paul and Rusty Newman closed their eyes and died.