By The Fire

"He is going to roast himself one of these days", my dad said for the hundredth time that winter.

I always joked about eating him, how he was cute enough to just gobble up. Especially those thighs! Maybe this was his way of getting in on the joke. Or maybe dogs just really are that devoted to making us happy.

When we got Billy he was a bit of a mystery. A total shelter mutt, found abandoned in a dumpster with his brothers, small and scared and shivering. No animal deserves that. We arrived to the adoption center looking for a new friend after our beloved Lady passed away gently in her old age. I was 7, and I was distraught. My parents will tell you the story of how I cried and cried at my fourth grade graduation, because I was so happy and yet so devastated that Lady wasn't there to share it. That's when they realised it was time. I was apprehensive but excited, sitting in the middle row of the minivan, pulling into the parking lot of the local shelter. Of course I wanted a new friend, but how would I ever love anyone as much as I loved Lady?

When I met Billy, it was instant. He was so small he could fit in the palm of my hand, but with the biggest, dumbest ears you've ever seen. The shelter employees kindly explained his situation to my mother and I, perhaps omitting some of the nastier details for my benefit. They told us they had no idea what mix of breeds he was. He could stay that size forever, or grow to be taller than I was. And i was a tall 7 year old. From the size of his paws, they explained, it would probably be somewhere in between. Perhaps he would grow into his massive, pointy ears, but I sort of hoped he wouldn't. I myself was an awkward, weird shaped human (as are all kids) adjusting to the reality of my physical form as I grew. It would be nice to have a friend to share in the silliness. The employees also explained that they weren't sure what his temperament would be, but that didn't worry me- I already knew. I knew he was going to be my best friend, and he was going to be just like me. Quiet when we felt like lazing around, rambunctious when we had bursts of energy, mischievous when we got ideas in our heads.

My mother had a moment of doubt - my fathers one stipulation was no males. He seemed to think there could potentially be a power struggle, or dominance issues. But when she saw us together, she knew Billy was coming home with us.

Even the name, Billy, was a joke. My father had always wanted a son he could name William, and we thought maybe this would soften the blow of us going against his wishes at the kennel that day. We needn't have worried. Billy stole my fathers heart just like he stole everyone else's throughout his life.

And what a life he had. From being chucked in a dumpster to being absolutely doted on. From a soggy cardboard box to a memory foam mattress in front of a wood burning stove. He would drag his bed there, and lay too close for too long. Often Id lay down on the floor with him, both of us too hot, sweating and panting, grinning like idiots. Mom would roll her eyes, and we'd get up and move eventually.

As he got older it was harder. Sometimes I'd have to move the bed for him. Sometimes with him still on it. This, he thought, was great fun.

"He's going to roast himself one of these days" my dad would say every winter.

I have to believe that now, years on from our final games of "drag the dog away from the fire", he is lying on a cloud basking in the heat, waiting for me to come roast myself next to him.