Sunday, July 31, 2011
Our number one goal when Diana’s mom passed away was to get Diana to Illinois as soon as humanly possible. My boss, one of the few of the breed with an actual functioning heart, immediately gave me time off from work to be with Elijah and Luca while we prepared for our own trip.
I dropped Eli off at “Dinosaur Camp,” where they teach you how to take a beating from jocks in high school.
Then Luca and I drove around Denver trying to locate Grover’s doggy boarding place, which was both more luxurious and more expensive than the hotel we booked in Illinois. At one point, I realized I was on the exact wrong side of the city than “City Bark.” I slammed my fist on the steering wheel, expressing several emotions of the day, and shouted, “DAMN IT!”
From just behind me I heard a little gleeful voice chirp, “Damn it damn it damn it damn it…”
Later that evening, I slipped into our bed, exhausted from surviving the stuff Diana does every day of the week. Elijah was sleeping in there. His bonus for Diana being out of town.
I watched him breathe, hair splayed at impossible angles and was overcome with love for him. I smoothed his hair away from his forehead and he moaned, pathetically.
Trying to comfort him, I put my hand on his chest to let him know he was safe. He thrashed his hands out, defensively.
He was having a nightmare. I moved my hand to his, and gently squeezed. You’re okay. You’re okay. He cried out in terror.
Then a little voice in my head said, “It’s you that’s causing his nightmare, you idiot.”
Oh, yeah. My fingers in his hair must have felt like a giant spider laying eggs on his head. My hand must have felt like a goblin sitting on his chest. And my hand in his must have felt like, um, the soft hands of a man who has never worked a day in his life. Aaargh!