I can’t talk to my owner Ashley. She’s my best friend. She has pretty long blonde hair, pale skin, and brown eyes. But I can’t talk to her — all I can do is wag my tail and give her my puppy eyes when I want something.
Like right now. I walk up to her and paw at her bed, begging that she let me up to cuddle with her. She gets me up on the bed, but no cuddles. No anything. Today isn’t like a normal day. Ashley is sad — I can feel it.
It’s Sam, I think to myself.
Ashley just finished college at UC Berkeley (where we live) and she has a boyfriend Sam… had a boyfriend named Sam. He finished at UC Berkeley with Ashley, but instead of being home more often like Ashley is, he left home. He wanted to get his doctorate at a new college and he had to move away.
I always loved their relationship. He came over all the time. They were happy. I loved it.
I knew he was gone last Saturday. I was cuddling with Ashley as she started weeping into me. I hadn’t seen Sam in a week. I put it together. That day it felt like a piece of Ashley died.
“I love him so much,” Ashley said with tears streaming down her smooth face.
It’s been days and she’s all cried out but still sad. All I want is to help her, but I can’t even talk to her. But I know she needs me.
She gets up off the bed and puts on her shoes. She’s going for a walk, I think. Sure enough, I hear her walk into the hallway and the front door open and close.
I needed to help her. I suddenly think of a way for her to feel better: better rhymes with letter, and she should write Sam a letter telling him how she feels. Even though hes two thousand miles away, letters could keep their love strong.
I still can’t talk to Ashley though. I look all over our apartment, trying to find whatever I can that might get her to think of the same idea. I finally find a notebook. I put it in between my sharp teeth gently so I won’t rip anything. I put it on her bed.
I still have to find something to write with. I jump on her chair, then leap to the bed. There’s a desk right next to her bed and I sniff around. Then I see it: the wooden stick that she uses to scribble on paper. By the stick were colorful pens. I grab both with my jaw and place them both next to the paper.
I wait excitedly for Ashley to get home. When she does, she goes to her bed and gets a surprised look on her face. I bark and look at the picture of Sam on her desk. I see it: she knows what she should do.
She writes the letter for hours, trying to think of the perfect things to say. I take a nap but wake up when I hear her say, “It’s finally done, Phoebe — the perfect letter!”
Ashley has the biggest smile I’ve seen on her face in weeks. I did it.
Satisfied, I fall back asleep. I dream. In my dream, it’s a few years from now and my fur is gray in places. Ashley is here, and so is Sam. We have a big house in the mountains with a very big yard. Ashley wears a ring on one of her fingers every day. I keep hearing them talk about something called a Wedding. They say I’m going to be in it. I don’t really know what that means. All I know is that Ashley and Sam are happy again, and so am I.
