I finished loading the last of the suitcases into the station wagon and cleaned all of the windows. I just wanted to be certain there would be a clear view of the miles of cornfields, the herds of cows out to pasture, and especially the mountain ranges. I didn\u2019t want anyone to miss a thing during our three-hour journey.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My wife was putting the finishing touches on her world-class potato salad, made from a recipe passed down from her mother, and her mother before that. While she carefully packed bowls of the precious concoction into a Styrofoam cooler, I entertained our granddaughter, Bria, who would be going along with us to her first family reunion.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Bria and I were engaged in our usual game of hide and seek. I would close my eyes, count to one hundred, then, with very little trouble, I\u2019d find Bria peeking out from around one slim tree or another.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThere you are,\u201d I\u2019d say with a smile, pointing in her direction. Her response was always the same.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou\u2019re cheating. You\u2019re cheating!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I had just finished counting and began my exaggerated search to find her. This time I crept around the back of the house and came up behind Bria, who was hiding like a bunny in a patch of tall grass.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThere you are.\u201d I laughed. Bria didn\u2019t bother to turn around. She just stood there staring down at the ground.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThat\u2019s where Boston ate food,\u201d she said solemnly, pointing a tiny finger at the base of a row of bushes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The words caught me off guard. Boston was a sweet little black terrier that we owned for twelve years. I couldn\u2019t have loved my own flesh and blood any more than I loved that dog. The little Scotty used to perch atop the back of the living room sofa, gazing out of the front window. As soon as my car appeared, so did Boston, bouncing off a sofa cushion as if it were a diving board. He would wind up at the front door, dancing in circles as he balanced on his hind legs to welcome me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
First thing each morning, like a furry alarm clock, Boston would wrestle the covers off our bed and begin yelping until he was sure we were up. In the evening, when my wife dozed off on the couch, all I had to do was to whisper Boston\u2019s name. In an instant, the dog\u2019s fuzzy little beard would be resting in my lap. The night was our time. Who knows how many secrets and dreams I shared with him? This was more than a man and his dog. We were best friends.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
When Boston died, almost two years earlier, a week before Bria\u2019s second birthday, I was devastated \u2013 inconsolable. The pain that tightened around my heart left a great emptiness inside of me. It was a void that my tiny granddaughter eventually helped to fill. And though there was not a day that passed without me thinking of the little dog, I was sure that over time, Bria had completely forgotten about him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I recalled her as a toddler peering around corners of the house asking the same question over and over again. \u201cWhere Boston?\u201d she would repeat until she uncovered his wagging tail and bristly ears. As the little guy skipped around her and tried to lick her face, she would answer with a giggle, her tiny fingers patting him on the head. But a day came when her regular search didn\u2019t uncover him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhere Boston?\u201d she asked, as usual. Despite the hurt that I felt that day, I slipped on my best grandfatherly mask and explained the dog\u2019s sudden absence by telling Bria that Boston had to go away \u2013 he had been called to heaven. She looked at me with confusion, not exactly understanding what it all meant. But from that day on, whenever the subject of Boston came up, Bria would get an angelic look on her face, bat her eyes innocently, and whisper, \u201cBoston heaven.\u201d Then she\u2019d nod with certainty. In time, all discussion of the little black dog seemed to fade into the past. Now, almost two years later, a memory of Boston had returned to her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cBria, you remember Boston?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She thoughtfully nodded yes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAnd where is Boston?\u201d I asked, expecting the usual answer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cBoston died,\u201d she answered softly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAnd he\u2019s in heaven now,\u201d I quickly interjected, desperate to temper her sadness with a sweet thought. \u201cHe\u2019s a little doggy angel,\u201d I explained, still wondering when this little granddaughter of mine had become aware of death. As I wrapped my arms around Bria and hugged her, I could not ignore the signs of the child\u2019s precious innocence beginning to slip away.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The reunion was as it had always been. It tied me to the carefree days of my childhood. I was back in my mother\u2019s hometown again, surrounded by relatives, but this time there was Bria sharing it all. The \u201cBelle of the Ball,\u201d she spent time charming everyone with the simple grace and impish grin of a four-year-old. After two fun-filled days of food and family, the three of us made our return trip.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Back home, I was unpacking the car when I heard hysterical wailing from the bedroom upstairs. It became so pitiful that I dropped everything and dashed into the house. As I raced up the stairway, I met my wife coming down, our granddaughter in her arms.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou won\u2019t believe what she\u2019s crying about,\u201d my wife whispered as she flew past me. \u201cShe\u2019s crying because Boston died.\u201d I couldn\u2019t believe what I was hearing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I knew I still wasn\u2019t over my dog\u2019s death. There were days when I could see his hairy little black face, nose to nose with me. There were mornings when I pictured Boston staring up at me from the spot where his basket used to sit in the kitchen. There were nights when I would wake up and, in the darkness, I was sure I could feel the little dog resting under the covers near my feet. But these were feelings I kept to myself, never realizing that Bria had her own memories of the little black dog.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I picked my weeping granddaughter up in my arms and held her tight, trying my best to offer comfort.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cDon\u2019t cry, Bria,\u201d I urged. \u201cIt\u2019s okay. Boston\u2019s in heaven. Boston has wings and the cutest little halo.\u201d I tried to explain as I felt the shudder of every sob. \u201cDon\u2019t you want Boston to be an angel in heaven?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cNoooo,\u201d she cried as she fought to catch her breath. \u201cI just want him to be a dog again.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We clung together as tears ran down both of our faces. How could I ever explain to my little granddaughter that, all I wanted was for Boston to be a dog again too?<\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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