Pug Hill - Alison Pace [77]
Spanky was a loving dog, as loving as the day is long, and he talked. One of my parents’ current dogs, Betsy, does this, too: the gurgling notes from the back of the throat that sound so conversational. Only Betsy does it all the time. Spanky saved his talking mostly for Chinese Takeout Nights. All the shar-peis, being Chinese and all, loved Chinese Takeout Night, most every Sunday, but Spanky loved it especially, talking loudly and agreeably when my father would look down at him, up over his glasses, and read to him, in all seriousness, his fortune.
“Spanky’s the one who bit your nana?” Pamela asks, at last remembering the greatest dog ever.
“Right,” I say, and, even though I shouldn’t, I smile at the memory.
When he was alive, I always had this really strong sense that Spanky watched over me. Like when Nana came over once and gave Darcy a figurine of a fox and gave me a figurine of an owl.
“Darcy,” Nana explained, “you have a fox because you’re so pretty, which in my day, we called foxy.”
“And Hope,” she said to me, “you have an owl, because you’re so smart. But let’s face it, you’re not going to win any beauty contests.” Spanky snuck up behind her, so stealthily, and bit her on the backside.
“Spanky, no,” I can remember saying really unenthusiastically, and I always believed he did it as a personal favor.
I’m about to tell Pamela how I still feel like Spanky watches over me, but decide, I imagine wisely, against it. But just so you know, I was at a yacht club once in Naples, Florida, on a trip with a boyfriend, shortly after Spanky died. I will always remember it, how I felt certain that Spanky was there, how his presence was unmistakable. And I still feel like he’s around sometimes. Sometimes, when I’m falling asleep, I feel something, somewhere, in a corner of the room, and I’m sure it’s Spanky. But, never has it been so apparent as it was in Naples, where I was sure I actually saw him on a lounge chair, so sure that I told my then-boyfriend. He said, “No, Hope, it’s just a pile of towels,” but I knew it wasn’t.
“Spanky’s a good idea,” Pamela says after a while, a while in which I’m pretty sure I’ve just been sitting here staring completely into space.
“Yes,” I agree. “Thanks for listening,” I tell her, and then ask, “Tell me, what’s new with you?”
Pamela and I sit together for a while and she tells me about a recent date she went on and how she still likes the Sprocket from ‘Cesca, even though he could be prompter with the phone. I marvel at Pamela, how she’s so optimistic, how she really does take her own advice and embraces being single, embraces it all. I never think this, really I don’t, and maybe it has something to do with the spirit of Pug Hill, but I think it wouldn’t be the worst thing to be a bit more like Pamela in life.
“This was fun, having lunch,” Pamela points out, and then announces that she has to head back to her office. I look down at my watch, and already, it’s time for me to head back to work, too.
“It was fun,” I say, “and thanks again for helping me with my speech.”
“No problem. I’m glad you’re all set about The One That Got Away.”
“Me, too,” I tell her, even though as we say our good-byes, and Pamela turns and heads south, I’m not so sure I’m as all set as I might have just made myself out to be.
Because thinking about Spanky so much just now, thinking about how he’s always been with me, has pointed something out to me. No matter what anyone says, the thing is, I realize, is that a dog (of the four-legged variety) can’t ever be called The One That Got Away. Because once you love them, and they love you, they’re always with you. They never really go away.
I turn away from Pug Hill and walk quickly back toward the museum.
chapter twenty-three
What If I’d Just Laughed?
“Welcome, class. I hope everyone had time to think about their presentations, and I hope you’ll all