Early this morning, the old man scooped me up from my quiet slumber, and put me in the car. At first, I thought we were off on one of our exciting adventures, but I was wrong. He handed me over to Debbie and said goodbye for now. Then I watched, with a panicked attitude I might add, as the old man backed down the drive and headed on an adventure all by himself. Sad day.
And itâ€™s not that I donâ€™t like hanging out with Debbie and Izzy, but any dog will tell you that being separated from their companion, especially when it comes as a surprise as it did, that horrible feeling of abandonment overwhelms your every bone.
Izzy, being the great friend he is, tried to cheer me up. He brought me a rope to play with, and even dropped a chew bone next to me. But I just sit here, right in front of the door, waiting for the old man to come back. An occasional sigh escapes me as I slowly deflate myself of happiness.
Every now and then, the sound of tires rubbing the gravel in the road fills me with hope, but the old man never walks through the door. Each time, I collapse back into my spot and wait for the next signs of hope to sound so I can go through the motions again.
At this point, Iâ€™m not even sure what time it is. My belly is gurgling to tell me that itâ€™s far past eating time. Debbie has called me a few times inviting me to eat, but I just donâ€™t feel like it. I know, itâ€™s very unlike me.
Eventually, Izzy joins me at the door. He plops down and stares at me with his different eyes – One dark, the other light enough to see the dot in the middle. He lets out a sigh, then rolls over and starts pawing at me.
â€œI donâ€™t want to play,â€ I growl.
â€œItâ€™s okay, I do,â€ the pup barks as he changes from a relaxed laying position to that of a bounding deer. He hops around me, encouraging me to play. I ignore him. Or try to, which only works until he paws me over and starts licking my face.
â€œStop!â€ I yelp, a little irritated, but slightly energized by the activity. Of course, Izzy was never good at listening, so things just get a little rowdier. I jump to my paws and give chase to my assailant. We charge around the house, which is still very unfamiliar to me. Room after room, Izzy stays far ahead of me, each obstacle already known by my friend, but only found by me when itâ€™s too late. He leaps over a box, which is too high for me to accomplish, but the bed is where he underestimates my size. Izzy takes a dive and squeezes his body under the edge. Me, I just keep going.
Iâ€™ve got the rascal now. His ears are easy prey, and I latch onto one and let out my muffled cries of victory. That isnâ€™t the end, as any honorable adversary in the game of ears knows, the game is never won.
Izzy squirms away and escapes the trap. I pursue, and weâ€™re off on another round around the couch and into the kitchen. We slide in, yapping as our paws search for traction on the slippery floor. Debbie, whom by the way is baking something rather delicious, throws her hands up, hollering for us to evacuate the premises or else.
We do, and out the doggy door we go for a cool down. We emerge from the house, laughing about the mischief we so often find ourselves in. Then I realize that the old man is still gone, and that feeling of sadness begins to return.
â€œHeâ€™ll be back. They always come back for us.â€ Izzy interrupts my disparaging thoughts. He licks my face with his words of encouragement. â€œAfter all, who could resist a pair of goofy ears like yours!â€
I tackled him. And by the way, I won the game.
Jason DuronÂ is a short story writer and author of several fiction stories.Â Curious and lovable as dogs can be, the Adventures of Rocky give you a chance to see daily life from a â€œdogâ€™s eye viewâ€ and share in their thoughts.Â Please enjoy, and we hope that youâ€™ll feel free to comment and give us insight into your dogâ€™s very own “rocky” adventures.