Harbor
Next to Happ road, a green swatch of grass separates a red roofed townhouse from the street. Amongst the evergreens and oaks cradling the eaves, are little pieces of my abandoned childhood. Small words and initials adorn the soft branches, a miniature mountain of Lake Michigan rocks broods in the fence corner, training wheels and a junior gardening set stay locked in the tool shed.
My years began there when the Soviet Union collapsed and remained my own until adolescence. Only one child’s head lay on a pillow in that house, only one pair of mittens hung from a coat. The house and yard were my imagination’s kingdom, hosting everything from a princess to a mutant ninja turtles fight. Autumn 2004, this hidden realm of safety came crashing down, conquered by time and fate.
Long ago I was first enraptured with the furry four leg that crossed our threshold, stealing my attention from Harry Potter books and American Girl dolls. After many years of begging, I finally had received someone to share my happiness and love, a dog.
This small creature was christened Clover. He would always be looking upward into a person’s face, studying and watching expectantly. A knowing and adamant gleam always shone in his black marble shaped eyes. A short wide mouth scooped upward in a human like smile, housing a overly big pink tongue. His stocky legs were round and curved outward like a baby’s limbs, never allowing him to sit up for very long. His chest through to his belly was sturdy, with the roundness of a barrel. Overly loved and overfed, he retained a supple softness in his body, and felt like an obese teddy bear. A fine but thick coat of snow white hair covered him, all soft and frizzy.
Whenever the doorbell rang or the microwave dinged, he was there barking and hopping. A comical roughness encased his voice, and sometimes you swore he was talking. The warm glint in his eyes and constant wagging often attracted the arms and hands of my family or complete strangers. He always was on someone’s lap or being cuddled, though I did most of it.
We were always doing something together. On holidays or at random play, he lovingly endured bonnets, sweaters and socks with a goofy grin. Every afternoon I walked home from school, Clover came charging down the block, then raced me home. I always won.
He shared my bed every single night, comfortably enfolded within my hands and blankets. In the dark I could always feel him resting atop my belly, a sheltering weight against the night. When we were completely still, his heartbeat intertwined with mine, into a beating melody.
He often proved himself a walking bundle of love and joy, especially in time of need. One night I found myself completely miserable and crying my heart out, shut inside my room away from everything. I heard the door swing open, so I sat up to yell at my parents, instead I found Clover there. By this time he’d figured out my broken lock allowed the door to swing open. He lifted his head towards me, an inquisitive happy look on his face. I was stunned, but rolled over and continued to wallow in my misery. Five minutes later, I felt something fuzzy pushing against my foot. Clover had decided to use it as a scratching post, and was moving his back against it. His nails clacked rhythmically against the wood floor, and his hind legs moved up and down in a little dance. I stopped crying and started laughing at him. Whenever I was upset, he’d come over, seeking to soothe my pain. He encompassed me with a cocoon of promise and heart, a solace and delight for me in the world.
Then last August, I began noticing his strange behavior. He did not eat very much or do any duty on his walks. Usually he was a food processing machine. No one else took the initiative to check it out, I carried him over to the veterinarian’s office myself. He was diagnosed with an impacted stool, and scheduled for surgery. When he returned home, he was morose and very moody, refusing medicine and spending a lot of time sleeping. The bulge began forming on his side, and I knew he was slipping away. After weeks of struggle, the veterinarian looked at him and gave up. He’d have to be euthanized.
No, they couldn’t do that to me. I needed him. But he’d lost a quarter of his weight within one month and the bills were piling up. He was in severe pain. I gave in. He was such a good boy on the examining table. He wagged his tail and gazed up adoringly as always. I kissed him goodbye and scratched his favorite places. Minutes later he was sagging into my arms, his soul departing forever. I felt him leave, my insides shredding apart when life tore him from me. I wished his brother would’ve died instead; I would have gladly made the trade. I wanted to be with him always. I imagined the flags at half staff for the September eleventh anniversary were really for him, but no one could truly mourn him as I did, or know my pain.
At home, a large piece was missing. It was noticeable in the first few steps in the front door. That little bundle of happiness couldn’t scamper across the floor or share my love. There was nothing for me in our house anymore, what good did living there do? I no longer had a refuge in such a hollow mausoleum. I had no innocence left either.
I was dumped off of a cliff into another dimension, another reality. Clover had absorbed and expanded the final years of my childhood. When he left, it went with him. My insides and outlook were dfferent and strange. I was grown up. Since I cannot seek him or my harbor, I seek myself and the outside world.
