Before Cutter and Tug there was Boca and Largo.
They were my buds and my first dogs as the adult, grown-up me.
Boca was a free-to-a-good-home-lab-mix that we found in a want ad and Largo was a full blown goofy yellow lab that stumbled and tumbled across the breeders yard and slammed into Miss Carol’s leg, panting and waiting for us to take him home.
I loved them with all my heart but somehow some kinda way something happened and before I knew it they got old right before my eyes. My buds grew up and blasted right past me, leaving me.
Towards the end, Miss Carol was traveling a lot and missed stuff.
I would yell and scream at Largo and Boca ’cause they were getting old and dying on me and Miss Carol told me I’d regret being the asshole me and she was right.
But I yelled and screamed at them anyway, frantic what I’d do without them and wanting and needing them not to get old and die on me, but they did.
And there are times, like tonight, that I still miss them and wish I’d been better.
Fuck.
And there are times, like tonight, that I’ll wake in the middle of the night with Tug leaning against me and gently snoring and Cutter curled up around my feet and I’ll think.
Fuck.
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