We Didn't Even Plan It That Way

- Impromptu -

Winston is nine years old now. It doesn’t quite register.

Part of it is that he looks so good for his age—on the street, people are consistently shocked when they find out how old he is.

It was the same with Kasper. Each year that went by, how young he looked.

But one day I never heard it again.

But mainly it’s that time just flies by.

When I got Kasper I never imagined those seventeen years would pass like a dream. And nine years later, I’m writing the same thing about Winston.

How could everything change this fast?

Kasper would have been nineteen this year.

I’m trying my best not to think I’ll be writing this about Winston one day.

But perhaps I should.

Maybe knowing that he won't live forever will help time pass by more slowly.

Maybe I'll hold him more while he's still here. Keep talking to him while I can.

I love seeing those ears perk up.

Maybe he'll have a happy ending.

I still miss him.

I used to wish all dogs would live forever.

I wasted so much of my time with Kasper when he was young. When I was still young. Those years would have meant so much more to me if I knew he would be gone one day.

That last year went by so fast. That last year meant so much.

Maybe everything.

Kingston's going to be two this year.

• • •

It's like people can live anywhere.

Mountains, islands, forests.

Deserts.

On the highway. Until the green fades away. Until the thermometer rises to an astonishing level.

Park. Get out with your wife.

The feet burn. The skin cracks.

Palm Springs.

Later, when the sun is no longer vicious, we walk around downtown.

I see the Mexican restaurant in the distance. We're getting closer.

That bench.

We place them on that bench and my wife snaps a photo. Winston on the right. Kingston on the left.

Kingston sitting where Kasper once sat.

Kasper and Winston.

Sitting on that bench.

It was five years ago, just a week shy of being the same exact date.

We didn’t even plan it that way.