tiffany

is a dog. beagle-type. very old, probably in her late teens, and she'll be gone soon.

she was my sister's dog.

but she moved on...

bigger and better things, i suppose.

and tiffany was left to the parents.

she's grown old and lumpy.

distant. aloof.

used to greet me with the all too familiar beagle howl.

"owwwwwwwwwwwww"

just point her head to the sky and let loose.

tail wagging @ hyper-speed.

when i came home from Iraq, besides my old man, tiffany was the first to greet me.

- she paused. it took her eyes a moment to register what she was seeing.

but as soon as she got the scent, she spoke.

that's right, she spoke.

she did not howl nor bark, but moaned something i've never heard before.

a lament.

a wail.

maybe she sensed what i'd been through.

maybe she smelled the sleepless nights atop a HUMVEE in the fertile crescent, the fear, the foriegn soil under my laces, the boy changed into a man...

but most likely, it was the beef jerky in my cargo pocket.

- hey, she's a dog, whaddya expect, huh?

tiff.

and now she's old, perhaps senile.

walks around my house aimlessly.

sniffing.

farting.

whimpering in the corner - eyes fixed towards a blank wall.

howling in the wee hours of the night.

i feed her.

- she gulps it down without chewing.

i rub her.

- she lays there catatonically.

sometimes i go out to her. sit with tiff under the sun.

- she looks up @ me, vacantly.

i rub her head. her ears. look into those cloudy eyes; a heavy film of cataract obfuscating pupils.

- more often than not, she looks right through me.

yet every once in a while, i see a hint of recognition.

a wag of the tail. a smile.

and it happened today.

outside, near the chicken coop.

tiffany lounging in the dirt, and i sat beside her.

she looked up.

and i think...i think, she knew it was me; chris.

her gray paw, the delicate little fingers interlaced with white hair, she placed on my folded arm.

touching my tattoos.

all those years ago.

"true love," and roses and a skull faced octopuss (what can i say, i was a different kid then)

and she smiled, tiffany.

rubbed her head. her ears. right under that lumpy chin.

and we sat there for quite some time, watching the chickens.

later i found her in the middle of the yard, staring off into nothingness.

a lost lil' pooch stuck on "pause."

so i went out and ran my hand along her back.

along her dinged up spine and parched coat.

took a few moments to realize i was there.

and she looked up for a long BEAT...

PISSED OFF CHRISTOFF

Tiff...hey tiff...

and then back at nothingness.

brought her inside a bit later. right atop her gnarled blanket. and she sat, resting her old bones. face buried, eyes closed.

good old tiff.

a dog.

a beagle.

and she'll be gone soon.