On the Concrete

The grass wasn’t comforting today. Every other day, the deep green grass outside of the house was soft, a little bit scratchy, yet cool during the warm summers. We never actually made it into the grass. Today we rested on the miserable gray concrete making up the driveway. The lawn chairs we would sit outside on all summer were pushed out of the way. I didn’t know what was happening or what to do, but I was certain something was wrong. It began inside my off-white, two-story home down in the living room. It was next to the dingy, gray dog scratch (which was born from my dog’s nerves while we were on vacation) on the floor. It was a stumble to the smudged, sliding glass that first alerted me of the growing problem. Limping through the glass door to the peeling deck was even more a struggle than the initial walk. Watching her paws stumble over to the small set of stairs was horrifying, considering she had been completely fine the night before. Nobody was home, as my both my parents started work before I’m up in the morning. School started in half an hour- I should have left by then. How was I supposed to leave when my best friend of 8 years was obviously not in a good place? Her back legs twisted as they stopped supporting her weight. She couldn’t hold herself up. Nobody would answer my calls. Was I supposed to stay at home? Was I supposed to do something? I finally got a response, which told me not to worry and to head to school. Pulling my dog up the stairs was a thousand times harder than getting her down them. I couldn’t even tell if she was going to get up them at all. She looked so tired, especially compared to her normal, excited demeanor. When we finally were back inside the house, all I could do was help onto her raised dog bed near the window. I said goodbye to her, fearing the worst of what the vet would say, and unhappily left for school.
