Another restless night. Another night spent overthinking. Another night wasted.
It’s been three weeks since Ranger left. Three weeks since I saw him walking alongside Old Man Jacobsen. Three weeks since he nuzzled my leg and I pat his soft, furry head. Three weeks since we played fetch.
I don’t know why this is bothering me so much. I don’t understand why Ranger not being here is making me so depressed. It’s not like he was my dog. He didn’t belong to me. He wasn’t mine. He was the dog I had always wanted but never had. He was the dog I played with after school. The one who I occasionally snuck dog treats to. But that was it. He was the same for many others in our town. It’s not like my relationship with Ranger was unique.
But, then why does everyone else look okay? Why does everyone else seem to not miss him as much as I do? Why are they all just going about their lives?
I have not slept properly since he’s been gone. As a matter of fact, my days haven’t been that great either. I’m always thinking about how last year, right around this time, I was allowed to walk him for the first time. How a few weeks ago, I threw his ball and he returned it to me in a record time of five seconds. And how I had a container of his favorite dog treats – bacon wrapped, chewy sticks – just sitting in my downstairs closet.
Why am I so weird? Sometimes I imagine that I see him. That his friendly face is within view on my morning walk to the bus stop. That Old Man Jacobsen and Ranger are coming out of their daily trip to Alba’s Corner Deli. And then I remember that his son, Henry, has him now. That Ranger is okay, perfectly living his life without me (I mean he’s a dog), and that I’m sitting here still….
Wait. What is that sound? A bark? Ranger’s bark? No that can’t be right. I must be either hearing one of the other dogs in the neighborhood or hearing things. I really hope it’s the first. Because I’m starting to think that I really am crazy.
Wait. I hear it again. And again. And again. And again. It’s getting louder. It sounds like it’s right outside my front door.
Someone, I think Dad, just flickered on the lights. That means he must be hearing what I am. So I’m not crazy…..well not completely anyway.
I climb out of bed and open my room door – there is Dad standing, looking out the window. As soon as I ask him what’s going on out there, he replies that “I wouldn’t believe it.”
I look out for myself. And see none other than Ranger, perched in front of Old Man Jacobsen’s steps.
