I hear a rattle coming from the far side of the room.
Over in the corner, next to a shelf that holds the bulk of my movies, next to a corner table made of hickory, sits the container that holds Chunk’s treats.
The rattle grows louder. Chunk, his rear end facing me, is pulling a treat from the lidless container.
“Chunk! What are you doing?”
He turns and faces me, a long meat stick hangs from his mouth. The look on his face, his eyes especially, conveys his preference to avoid this discussion. As if the dog can sense my lethargy, and he wishes to not speak of his robbery, nor his choice of treat, with anyone much less me.
Chunk will turn 4 in June. I’ve had him since he was 8-weeks old. The two of us make quite the pair. A dog and his boy, now there’s a story worth telling.
This is Chunk 2.0, the original was stolen from me. After she went missing, I swore to never have another dog.
“My heart can’t take the beating,” I said as I rode to Napa with my dad. “I loved that dog, and like everything else, it left me too.”
Dad didn’t say anything, and I let the conversation drop. Afterwards, he took me home.
Several weeks later, he and mom brought me Chunk. He was the cutest dog I’d ever seen. As with most Rat Terriers, he was black and white, but his eyes looked like God went nuts with mascara.
“He looks like Eddie Monster,” my mom said.
I agreed and kept the little rascal in the house. It took no time at all for us to become quick friends, Chunk was the healing salve I needed for my heart.
Chunk is my riding buddy. Anytime I go anywhere, Chunk is the first in the vehicle. His favorite vehicle is my gnarly Dodge flatbed.
He sits on the console like he is King of Freeman Hill. His tiny head is held rigid and high, his eyes cast upon the vastness of his kingdom. In the Camry though, I don’t allow him to sit on the console, which he hates.
Chunk has finished his treat and has gone to sit on the couch. A soft snore comes from the couch. His tiny head is buried underneath my blanket, his tufted ears raised.
God forbid, he misses anything.
For example, it was after midnight when I cooked breakfast chops, only because I had laid them out earlier in the day, and because hunger struck me right before bed.
He was snoring then too, and he continued to snore until the smell of burning meat woke him. Then, it was ‘Welcome to Chunk’s High Energy Show.’ He leaped about and growled until I gave him a chop. Then, it was back to bed and more snoring.
I swear, if I had his energy, I’d probably end up in jail.
Thankfully, I am younger than my body feels. Even with my fading youth, I still have a few good years left before ‘old age’ sets in.
Well, Chunk is passed out on the couch, the new episode of Blade Runner: Black Lotus is over, and I have started a new story.
As much as I complain, I am extremely blessed. In the end, that’s all we can hope for. That we can experience good health, read good books, drink good coffee, and have a few laughs along the way, that’s the foundation of a good life (at least it’s what I consider a good one.)
You guys take it easy, I’m gonna try to finish this episode of Archer.
Be safe out there.