The Puppy in My Chair

Oh, dear! There she is again!

Ah, well, now, I guess I can always sit on the sofa.

It was a quiet, sunny afternoon and being in a lazy mood, decided to grab my book and just sit for an hour or two and read. My chair was situated near the window that allowed the most sunshine of the late afternoon to find its way into the room.

My morning chores were completed, and I felt now was a good time as ever to make a cup of tea and enjoy my reading.

Actually, that’s where my dilemma lay. Which book? Currently I’m reading two since I couldn’t decide on which on. Nora Roberts or JD Robb? Yes, I know they are the same person, but the stories are completely different. I decided on Robb. I am totally hooked on the In Death series.

I sat on the sofa and covered my legs with a throw blanket usually kept draping over the back.

Before opening my book, I glanced at my dog and suddenly my mind had tripped back in time to the day my husband and I paid a visit to the local animal shelter. To be honest, we had no intention of bringing home a pet. We only wanted to pass away a few hours on a gloomy, cloudy, Friday morning.

Oh, my! That was almost ten years ago. So many things have happened since then. My husband and I celebrated our 75th and 80th birthdays. We also celebrated 55 years of marriage. We’d experienced our shares of health crises and family deaths. Then the man of my dreams left me to spend the rest of eternity with our long-ago departed parents.

It’s been a rough ten years, but I still had Buttercup. Yes, it’s a strange name for a dog but when we decided to adopt her, she was so tiny, and her fur so soft, she reminded me of that delicate flower.

I can still hear my husband’s laughter when he said, ‘Buttercup? You expect me to walk a dog called ‘Buttercup’?”

He may have laughed in the car on the ride home, but once we pulled in the driveway, he grabbed the leash and walked her up and down the street, calling, “Come on, Sweetheart. Just a few steps more, then it’s inside for a warm bowl of water and a treat.”

From that day on, Dale and Buttercup were inseparable. She was daddy’s girl and he reveled with the title.

We watched Buttercup grow from a tiny pup to a 25-pound, adorable mix of who knows what breeds. She’s a mutt and we wouldn’t have it any other way. But then, tragedy struck our home. Dale, my healthy, wonderful, husband was outside mowing the grass and suffered a massive, fatal heart attack. The EMS personnel tried to revive him, but it was no use. At the hospital, he was pronounced dead. I insisted on an autopsy. I needed to know what happened. The doctor said the heart attack was so quick, he never knew what happened. Dale was dead before his body slumped to the ground. At least I had the comfort of knowing that he didn’t suffer.

Life was now a different matter for Buttercup and me. We went through our periods of mourning, and proceeded with life as it was, but I noticed a huge change in my adorable mutt. She wasn’t as energetic as she’d one been. She refused to sit in Dale’s recliner but chose, instead to sit in my reading chair. While we went for our morning and evening walks, her gait had slowed. I knew for sure, mine had but then I was also getting older.

My sons would visit each week taking turns doing lawn work and any other repairs the house might need. My daughters-in-law helped around the house. Yes, I am truly blessed with a wonderful family but oh! How I still miss Dale. He was my rock.

My young grandchildren will attempt to play fetch with Buttercup but after a few short minutes, it’s clear that she’s out of her usual steam and ready for a nap. She lumbers in the parlor and tries to climb upon my reading chair, where she’ll snuggle in the throw blanket I always kept there, and sleep. Sometimes, I’d watch her feet scurrying frantically as though she were chasing a ball, or perhaps, she was dreaming of her runs with Dale.

I could see her legs were becoming increasingly painful and stiff. The veterinarian said she was now suffering from arthritis. Being just over ten years old, I supposed she’s now feeling all the aches and pains us old folks feel. My son had built a small set of stairs to help her on and off her favorite chair.

They say a dog’s life is equivalent to about 7.5 years of each human life. Since we adopted Buttercup when she was about two months old, that would put her age about 75 years old. In dog years, that’s very old. It’s no wonder, then that’s she has slowed down considerably.

That hurts my heart. Considering the ages of Buttercup and me, it makes me sick wondering who will go first to meet Dale and the family.

I stare at her sleeping in my favorite chair as my eyes mist over. I dare not approach her and wake her but at the same time, I am painfully eager to draw her in my lap and caress her soft fur. I think she must have intuited my stare. She opens her eyes and her tail thumps wildly against the cushion.

My bones creak as I stand to walk to Buttercup. I pick her up and hold her tight. “I love you, Sweetheart. I know that’s what Dale called you but I’m sure you know that both of us will be seeing him in the next few years. Don’t worry, Sweetheart, we’ll all be running over that Rainbow Bridge, and we’ll all be together again. I promise.”

But, for now, I call my sons and ask if they can come for dinner. We need to talk.

That Sunday, over dinner, we talk about what would happen to Buttercup should Dale come for me first. I know speaking of such matters upsets them, but I remind them of the necessity of this conversation.

“Mom,” my younger son, Steve, starts. “Pete and I already talked about this. He already has a dog, and my son is allergic to animals. We’ll call on you daily to check in. Should you start feeling incapable to care for Buttercup, he’ll take her, if that’s ok with you.”

I look at my older son. “Pete? Is that ok with you?”

“Mom, absolutely but I’m still hoping you’ll be around for at least the next twenty years. You’ll probably outlive that little sweetie.”

We talked more about anything and everything with my heart so much lighter knowing that Buttercup will be in good hands should anything drastic happen. I think Buttercup knew, too since she walked to the table and licked my leg.”

She, then walked over to Steve, put her paw on his knee as if to say, “Thank you”, then walked over to Pete, put her chin on his knee and licked his hand.

After my sons left, Buttercup and I walked into the parlor. I wanted one last cup of tea before I retired for the night.

I looked at my chair. “Huh”, I said aloud. “What do say, Sweetheart? How about sitting in my lap for a change?”

I picked up my dog, she snuggled in my lap and we both fell into a deep sleep.

I don’t know about Buttercup, but I dreamt of Dale. I clearly saw him standing before us smiling as he said, “There are my girls.”

Waking the next morning, I felt as though the weight of my world was lifted off my shoulders. Buttercup stretched and barked signaling it was time for her morning walk.

She also seemed a bit more energetic. Perhaps she also dreamt of Dale.

All I can say for sure is that the bond Buttercup and I had seemed so much stronger than ever. After our walk and breakfast, we wandered into the backyard and played fetch – something she had trouble doing for a few months.

That’s when I noticed a man standing at the gate. With the glare of the sun behind him, his features were shadowed.

I asked, “Can I help you?”

His answer shocked me into silence His very familiar voice said, “Ah, there are my girls!”