So, it has been a while since I’ve written anything at all. It all sort of came to a halt after I offered my last little piece of text to Mr. Lam. And then George said, “…okay. voice 5. I think it’s a little bit too close to voice 1…. What do you think? This voice couldn’t be another one-sided (or maybe even a dialogue!) piece of a conversation, could it? Not phone. But maybe another setting?”

So here I am, searching my mind for something to give him. So I must first remind myself of what he had asked me for: “Could another voice be something that’s nostalgic and reminisicent? Of better days? In past tense? Maybe?”

George is sweet because he doesn’t just want to tell me what to write, although I do believe he wants something very specific and won’t be satisfied until he gets it. And I would like to give it to him. (Mostly because I like praise and I want him to give it to me.) So, without further ado…

The sign read “Puppies $5 a piece” and I was told to pick any one I wanted. I had two requirements: he must be a boy and he must be the best puppy in the world. After explaining this to the woman in the white dress, she told me that there was only one male puppy left. She pointed to the bushes that ran along the side of the house. Sure enough, cowering below the branches was a cute little boy who also, it turned out, was the best puppy in the world.

I named him Chip. He had a predominantly black coat of hair on top which was complimented by the white hair on his undersides. His face had little tan spots under his eye and his tail was a gorgeous, shaggy spiral of black with a white stripe down the middle.

That bushy tail was his trademark–his calling card.

Chip pranced like a deer. He played frisbee, tag, and slept in my tent whenever I decided to camp out in the backyard.

But just like me, Chip eventually grew restless on our farm. He began to take weeklong trips, but he would always came back. I would see his beautiful tail moving through the field, and then he’d pounce up into my arms and lick my face for hours.

Then one day he didn’t return. His food bowl left untouched.

Four years later Chip showed up, pouncing and licking. But he had no tail. Just a stub, flapping in excitement. I spent the night sleeping next to him on the grass, searching his face for a clue as to what happened. The only thing he could tell me was that the world was too big to stay in one place. And that it isn’t good to be too attached to anything. In the morning he left, never to return.

Oh, and in the spirit of full-disclosure, this piece was adapted from a previous post which can be read here.