Sunshine greeted me with a smile and many new faces around
the house one fine morning. My family and their extended family hustled to prepare
for their vacation.
Stuffed and bundled, I boarded the plane for a three hour
journey south. I could smell the ocean even before we landed. From the airport
we taxied straight to the port and boarded a really giant boat. As I learned
later that calling it a boat was an insult, to its size and exuberance, and the
preferred word for that city afloat was a cruise ship.
We sailed for the next four days into blissful rapture, as
we admired the horizon with its many shades of blues and greens and everything
in between. Conversations flowed as lyrically as the waves at the shores we
anchored. Our first shore leave was in paradise, an island aptly named for its
serenity and clarity. Each shore leave was equally distinct and exciting.
Over the four days I was lugged and left by the poolside
deck, stuffed with damp clothing, wet goggles, and in my safe pockets I kept
watch on their room key cards and watches and phones. On a land excursion, I
soaked in the sun, and from my vantage point on the beach, I admired the
vastness of the bluest ocean ever seen. The family battled boisterous waves,
waded in the pools closer to the sandy area, and swam in the delicious beauty
of the Atlantic.
Rejuvenated and exhilarated, we returned home to the beauty
of the Minnesota summer. Robin and swallow chicks emerged from their nests
ready to take the plunge to find their wings.
I sat forgotten, partially unpacked in a corner as I watched
the whole family run in and out playing with the dog, or gather in the kitchen
to cook, eat and make merry. In the midst of one of those merriment, while
everyone clustered around the living room table, I heard a tap, tap of the
dog’s steps as he strolled around the house. His nails and the wood floors
helped me guide his whereabouts as he inspected each room in search of
amusement or crumbs. I heard him go down the stairs to the basement and a short
while later run back up, unsatisfied. He probably found the guest bedroom door
shut, to keep him out, I’m sure. As I heard him run up the sleek wooden steps,
I heard him trip on one of them, and at that I laughed out loud. Big mistake.
Not only had I called attention to my vulnerable self, open and available in a
forgotten corner, I also let him know that I had noticed his embarrassment and
laughed at him.
Tap tap, his feet made their way to me and I braced for the
assault to start. He cautiously walked toward me, looked at my unshapely form,
and sniffed the remnants of sand and ocean on me. He pawed my middle pocket,
the one where granola bars and nuts usually made their home during the travels.
It was empty now, but I guess he could smell them nevertheless. He had no
thumbs, thankfully, so there was no way he was opening any of my zippers.
I saw his handsome body plop down next to me, his gorgeous
face with its big floppy ears and dense eyes, resting on the floor between his
front paws. We watched each other for a while as if keeping company. Then I
felt him inch closer to me, his nose on top of my black straps, the ones that
buckle up under the backpackers’ chest to keep me from sagging on their backs.
The dog, the beautiful blue dog, proceeded to lick the strap, and before I knew
it, the plastic buckle was between his teeth. He gently chewed it as if it were
a bone. He was a gentle sort so it was not anything vicious or any sort of
attack.
Nevertheless, I screamed, I got angry, I called for help,
but no one came my rescue. By the time my owner called out for the dog from the
living room, as if sensing he was up to mischief, my buckle was past repair. He
got back up on his paws and tap tapped his way out of the room, innocence
pasted like plaster on his face.
The damage to my limb, the assault on my person was not
discovered for almost two months until the next trip my family had to take.
