Rocky

David Newhouse

Mrs. Gustavson’s 11 Grade; Principal or Director: Kevin Rogers

Marcus High School, Lewisville, Texas, USA

Looking into her wonderous, sovereign brown eyes, it's a wonder that such a beautiful being could be placed in our arms. Her tail arched into a half circle, ears propped forward, Rocky scoffed at the slightest commotion in the house, barking with the curiousity of a new born child. Her luxurious fur, although attaching itself to the couches, television, and carpet, made itself a staple of the household; a gift from the dog we all loved.

Arriving home, the family was always greeted with ecstatic glee, yelping, eyes wide, only wanting the company of her keepers. Sprinting about the house, Rocky would run with undefiable speed, outlasting even the quickest one of us. It was always a thrill, although we always understood that this questionable race would never be won by the likes of humans. Despite our attempt to catch her, the dog would always found her place under the bed of my parents, leaving a trail of dog hair in her wake. Despite the immense torture this played on the family, the mere presence of our lovable dog illuminated our faces for hours to

come.

Yet, when she returned, a vacuum, a blowdryer, or a yell would scare her back to her den! Her ears now retracting behind her head (making her look like seal, unfortunately), Rocky would return, tail between her legs showing the true disappointment of returning to such an event. One of us, whether it be

my sibling, parent, or ancient relative, would always catch her and tell her... "It's Okay. " With this, her usual happiness returned.

I looked at her and marveled at how pretty she looked, or how intelligent and how human-like she seemed, I had to remind myself. Rocky is only a dog. But behind that word lay so much more! Though looking at me with foreign eyes, Rocky always seemed to understand me. Even when I spoke, her face turned to me with an undeniable sympathy for what I had to say. Lieing on her side, I knew that

unfortunately one day she would have to go. Not by my hands, nor by any of my friends or family. Rather, dogs came and left as they pleased. And when Rocky left our door one day, as unfortunate as it may have been, she didn't come home.

Even now, as my dad drives about in our car looking for her shadow hidden outline, I wonder what's become of her. I wonder that perhaps her freedom has taken her to new areas, if her sovereign eyes reflected her need to move on to another time. She's disappeared.

And as the tears roll down my face I sob into a wet towl on the floor of my room. The idea that her eyes would never meet mine again is just too much, my heart crying out to say goodbye. The unexpected leave is supposedly no harder than a warning of one, though I tend to disagree. Rocky's usual presence in times like this was no longer availible, and as I attempted to muffle my sobs in embarrassment, I realized that my dog would want me to be better. With a lick from her dog-food stained mouth, Rocky would sit staring, loving me with affection compared to no human being or animal. And as I looked at her

imaginary image in front of me, the words came to my head.

"It's Okay."