“You wanna go outside,” I’d ask him, and he’d go running and hopping down to our gate or the front door, and the two of us would “walk” these streets, um suburbs. Our last walk, his, he didn’t have to make but hope… Braxton, Walkers, Biters, Empties.
Thursday, February 25, 2021
Gospel 239 ~Braxton, Walkers, Biters, Empties~
Just Me Baby B,
Did you have a good day? As for mine, I walked, I worked, I wigged-out. Only us walking, one more walk…
I’ve told the story of our first walk and the aftermath so many times. I remember even earlier than that. There was a time when you couldn’t decide whether you wanted to go two steps forward or two steps back. One of the many reasons you didn’t believe your furry behind should ever meet tile, hardwood, the deck, whatever. I still feel you sitting on my feet. Oh, I know the law well, my friend. When I was chosen, I wouldn’t move for forever and a day. Now isn’t that everyone that has ever had a furry kid they loved? I’ll need to find a thesaurus for more words for crying. This Sunday, I’ll face another first without… Braxton, when will I believe you aren’t somewhere waiting in the house? Every Sunday night, you knew where I was and staying.
You would run around the house like a mad man when you were young, but on Sunday nights? People usually love the weekends, but I don’t know what your favorite day is? Anytime we were together. Daddy was always there, but The Walking Dead? “B TV.” We watched movies all the time, you know, with Indiana Gone too, a lot.
When we were young, B III. The doctor told me my eyes weren’t getting better, but they weren’t getting worse. Then the Vet told me not to move stuff around for you. We started walking less. But we would always snuggle up together to this screen or that; books, TV, me, and my writing. I’ve seen the end of the world coming, but not like this. We’re apocalypse buddies, Braxton.
The Long Walk, The Green Mile, The Running Man, leave it to Stephen King. Do you understand anything I am talking about, Little B? You don’t have to because we lived it every day. On your Vet visits, I would ask, “are you going to walk in like a man?” When we were outside, the people to me were zombies, and you’d bark. The dogs to you were much the same, and I would carry you. I should have carried you around our route one last time, but I was bawling as I prayed for a miracle. You couldn’t even walk in this time, but those trips to your water bowl. I was proud of you. I walk alone now, and Only God Knows Why.
Always and Forever,
Your Dad