Like the Award Show

When my brother learned we were getting a dog, he was not very interested. I mean, I'm sure he was interested, but he was also three, and very hyperactive, and more attached in that moment to figuring out how exactly the car door managed to both open and shut than sitting quietly in a pen taller than he was to be gentle with the puppies for an hour and a half.

He was more excited when our puppy actually came home. Brown hair, brown eyes, pink collar, no bigger than his two little ravioli fists squished together. Emmy. Full name... embarrassingly long, and also rather impossible for him to pronounce. So he just stuck with Emmy, "like the award," and filled his free waking hours (and he was three, so, let's face it, all his waking hours) being a puppy's dream playmate.

I, of course, do not remember this from his perspective whatsoever. I remember sitting quietly in a pen just about my height and being gentle with the puppies for an hour and a half. I remember when our puppy actually came home; I remember picking out her pink collar, and being the one to decide that, well, having a puppy was a privelege, and this puppy was our award (in my younger mind, this train of thought was absolute), and so of course her name had to be Emmy, like the award show!

All the other award shows were, apparently, not up to snuff.

I also remember, once Emmy had gotten settled in our house, my brother toddling around corners at full speed, arms outstretched, lugging some dog toy around with him that probably weighed as much as Emmy did, if not more. In my mind's eye I can still see it—stuffed purple dog toy, as long as my brother's arm and twice as big as Emmy from head to tail. Emmy loved playing with my brother, and he loved playing with her, but he, being three, didn't really understand either of their limits.

A few days after Emmy's arrival, my brother decided to play with her in the backyard. Our backyard wasn't very large, but it had a view of the whole city, framed by a black cast iron fence standing tall behind a shorter row of miscellaneous shrubbery. Each post of the fence was perhaps six inches apart from the next; the shrubbery shielded most of the bottom half from view.

Dusk began settling over the city. I watched it roll in from the kitchen table, head bent, busy over some colouring book. My mom passed through the kitchen, stopping only briefly to praise my (likely mediocre) colouring before carrying on into the backyard. I thought nothing of it.

Then I heard a yell.

"Emmy's gone!" My mom came running back inside, frenzied. Eyes wide.

I bolted up from my chair, running to the door. I could see my brother standing in what looked like utter confusion, dog toy in hand. He turned toward the bushes, mouth agape, and instantly I understood: we hadn't thought anything of it, but the gaps between the fenceposts were, to a brand-new puppy enamored with the exploration of her similarly sparkling surroundings, the perfect size to slip through.

"Emmy!" My brother let go of the dog toy, cupping his hands around his mouth. "Emmy!"

My mom ran back outside. My eyes were starting to burn; I watched through a blurry lense as she scooped him up and bolted back in. A little shape darted through the bushes after her, an odd colour for a shadow...

I gasped. "Mom, look!"

My brother turned to look first, pudgy baby knuckles white against the collor of my mom's pajama shirt. "Emmy!"

And sure enough, there she was, no worse for wear—pink collar in one piece—silver nametag bearing not the slightest scratch—panting and wagging her tail like nothing had ever happened. She trotted back into the house and I scooped her up, mirroring my mom's action of only a moment before.

My brother demanded to be let down, and, in all honesty, so did Emmy. The moment all six of their feet were on the ground, my brother retrieved the dog toy from outside—my mom shut the door securely after him, first double-checking that Emmy remained safe inside—and they immediately went about resuming their game, any panic long forgotten. By him, anyway.

The next weekend, I helped install sheathes of chicken wire at the base of our fence.