9780008390662

working on it
On the way home, we pass the shelter. It’s been patched up pretty well, looks
like. And they’re back in business.
I hear the usual yelps and howls and hisses and meows, and like always, I
feel lousy. I plop down on the sidewalk, and Julia stops walking.
“What’s going on, Bob?” she asks.
I listen, like I always do, for her bark. That bark.
Nope. Nothing.
I wish Rowdy were here to distract me. But he’s still learning how to walk on
a tug-of-war string.
He’s a pretty swell pup, even if he is a little feisty. I’m surprised how much I
like having him around the house.
It’s weird. I feel responsible for the little guy. Sorta like he’s become my
numero uno.
Julia bends down and strokes my head. I wag my tail a bit, slowly stand. I
think of poor old Droolius stuck in that backyard, day and night. I think of
Boss, roaming the streets. I think of my siblings, the dark night, the box, the
highway.
I’m trying hard to find the forgiveness that seems to come so naturally to
other dogs. Maybe that’s what Boss was getting at. Maybe it’s easier to
forgive others once you’ve learned how to forgive yourself.
I’m working on it. It’s like a bone. Sometimes you have to chew for a long
time before you make any progress.