Clay - "The First Day"

The first day that I can remember...

My head shot off the pillow as fast as my muscles could take it. Bad move. My head hit the bunk above me. That low bunk had gotten me once again. I felt the throbbing pain as I wobbled into the living room, to calm myself with a toy car. Being only three, that little plastic model of a corvette calmed my nerves. I ran it in to the wall as fast as I could.
“Morning,” my mom called from the kitchen. A pancake flipped through the air and back into the pan as she spoke. Still woozy, my only reply was a disgruntled moan. She chuckled, “Hit your head again?”
I nodded
Right then there was a knock on the door. I sprinted for it, opened it, and saw my grandma and grandpa! This ordinary day got a little more exciting! In Grandpa’s hand was a little white ball of puff. No… it was a puppy! It was Shag, their West Highland White Terrier. He wasn’t a new puppy, maybe three or four years old. I knew at that moment that my day was changing.
Grandpa broke the greetings with “Hey! Well, we just figured we’d stop by and say that since you’re with our dog more than we are, we want you to have him.” I hadn’t been alive the last time we’d had a dog, so I was ecstatic.
“Well, thank you, grandpa!” My mom took the dog and his leash, saying no more then that. I don’t think she saw this coming.
My grandparents were often on trips, and every time they went away, we took care of their dog, Shag.
The rest of the day was spent with grandma and grandpa. And our new dog, of course. Grandma and grandpa told my mom all about the kind of food to get him and that his bad stomach meant no food from our table. “He needs this food, get the puppy size bites for another year and…” that went on while I played with Shag. He nibbled at me until I picked him up and ran him around in my arms.
“WEEE!” I exclaimed as I ran with him. His bark was still only the squeak of a puppy, but it was cute.
“Hey, settle down!” snapped my mom. I stopped and put him down gently.
“Mom, how come I have put him down?” I asked.
“Because it’s your bedtime,” she countered.
“Oh… right,” I went into my room, and Shag chased me in. It was “in bed by 8:30 or else” in my house, but time flies when you’re having fun. My mom wasn’t too thrilled about it, but Shag slept at the foot of my bed.
I woke the next morning and hit the bunk again, waking Shag with my yelp. Even though it started the same, today was going to be a lot different. I picked up Shag, who only weighed about 6 pounds, and carried him into the kitchen to put him by his new dog bowl. He sniffed the food and licked at it hungrily. It slid down his gullet after he chewed and he ran out the back door to our fenced in backyard. I was happy to see him enjoying himself. I was so overjoyed that I ran out into the backyard to sit on the swing. Every time I got near the ground he bit at my bare feet. It was warm out and the sun was shining on my back. It was great to be in that position at that time on that day. I loved it.
This feeling would persist for the next eight years. The friendship of no two people could compare to that of my dog and me. It was bold and complicated, strong and fearless. It did not care how others felt about it.
But when my dog died, and the sickness finally took its toll, it did not die with him! It waltzed around, clueless as to what to do. That friendship lives on to this day, the only memory remaining of my beloved pet.