Quills and All

"Some people seem to slip from adolescence into adulthood like seal skin through water." I thought, watching Kasey, my family's lab-pug mix paddle through the muddy Rio Grande, her little sealy face bobbing happily above the surface.

The cerulean sky above was rolling with fat white clouds, and even the cottonwood trees with their hunched ashy trunks seemed uplifted as their bright green leaves glinted in the sun. It had been a long time since I'd walked in the shallow of the river, and even longer since I'd done so with my Mom, Dad and sister. Before now there had been distance between us, but COVID put my busy life, full of distraction, in a choke-hold. Suddenly I wasn't working, my last semester of college had ended in an anticlimactic “Congratulations Graduate!” email, and my wave of couch surfing abruptly crashed onto the shore, or driveway, of my parent’s house, a place I had been avoiding for years.

In the past when I’d lived at home, I hadn't exactly been the easiest teenager. I felt a lot of aches in growing up, I often wondered if trees hurt when their sprouting bodies stretched into rigid bark, reaching for what they would become. To deal with my discomfort there was a lot of sneaking out and smoking and some questionable choices of men. My Dad did his best to set boundaries and rules even when it drove a wedge between us, even when I couldn't bear to hear his rational advice. He'd explain that he wanted to protect me from experiences I might not be ready for, but to me it felt like he was keeping me from excitement, and from finding love! I was so sure I was ready for the responsibly of giving someone my heart, and I couldn't wait for that freedom.

Since I’d been back home this time, I had to admit that I couldn't have been more grateful. I was exhausted from trying to be so independent. It was lovely to be cooking with them again, having campfires and playing cards in the evening. I felt guilty for all the pain I caused when I was younger, and as I walked with my family that afternoon, I just couldn’t understand how they could forgive me so easily for all my rebellion. This internal consideration was interrupted, when Kasey bolted up the bank barking incessantly. My Dad watched, his eyebrows knotting together in concern.

"Should we follow her?" I asked.

"Well," he said slowly, "she knows the way back." But he didn't take his eyes off the clump of bushes she'd run into. Her barking continued until the pitch abruptly changed, going up an octave and becoming frantic.

That was all my Dad needed to hear, he shot off! Stomping through the river calling her name, trying to find out what was wrong. We all scoured the riverbank until with an explosion of leaves Kasey jumped through the brush back into the river. We quickly climbed onto a sandbar and called her to us. She came slowly, hanging her head, and there in her sweet vanilla face, like an array of cruel birthday candles, were the porcupine spines.

We all cringed at the sight of our poor brown eyed girl, and then looked at each other with the grim realization, that one of us was going to have to pull those things out. We walked her back to the car, and as my Dad calmly but firmly held down the dog he loved to pull the spines out, something about who he was became clear to me.

He was tender in his apologizing to her, "I'm sorry, I know it hurts, I promise I'm not trying to hurt you." The arroyo parking lot became as tense as a surgeon's theater, everyone held their breath as he carried out the painstaking task. No sound cut through the air except her occasional protests of pain. She growled, deeply like she was angry, like she'd prefer if he just let the spines stay there forever.

Finally, when the last spike was pulled, he stood up and huffed- he was sweating, and out of breath. His face drooped in such distress you might have thought that with each spine he pulled from her it drove one through his heart. I saw then, who he is, the man who will pull out the spines. Someone who will do the tough things for a loved one, even if it pains him. The man to take the brunt of a dog bite, a few slammed doors, or sullen teenage silent treatment, if it meant he did his job as a Dad, not just a friend or a teacher, but a protector of the family who holds all his heart.

I hugged him, and he gave me a kiss on top of the head. "Come on," he said picking up the dog he loved, now wiggling happily in his arms, trying to lick his face, "let's get her some ice-cream."

Each child that comes into the world is their own person, but we all need a little help in the beginning. My Dad, who has worked running summer camps for his whole adult life, understands this entirely. He is a friend to many and a father to all that need him, and a complete animal lover- I mean, in his fourth-grade poem “What is Love?” the first line reads, “Love is a puppy.” So don’t worry Kasey is living the high life. I hope to carry with me the compassion he has for doing what's right for our youth into my own life especially when it means making tough decisions, and I am forever grateful to have a Dad that has never given up on me, who has loved me for everything I am, quills and all.