Milo
my second story
The autumn leaves were falling casually from the large poplar near the drive of our old cabin. The cool breeze seemed to choose only its favorites for some intimate dance. Swirling and spinning, the yellowing leaves were whisked up and away as if caught in some unseen and ancient tradition before settling gently on the lawn below.
I watched from the porch, settling in to my old resting place beside Jonah’s favorite rocking chair. My body ached these days. The days of restlessness and careless adventure have long since gone, and in their place have creeped long lazy ones full of peace and listless wonderings.
As a pup, I was the fiercest of the fierce.I often could be found with my jaws wrapped around the wire fence that held my litter-mates and me. I, it seemed, was the only one who knew that this tyrant barrier was all that stood between us and freedom. The Old Master had a cruel hand. I knew his cruelty often and I soon learned that mischief was best done in secret.
I had been escaped for two and a half weeks before I stumbled upon a homely old cabin nearly 20 miles from the old master’s ranch house. Half-starved and exhausted, I was drawn to the overpowering smell of eggs frying and the sound of a woman humming a beautiful tune from some forgotten song. Desperate, I bounded up the few steps and began to yip and paw at the door. I was soon discovered by a pretty young woman who, by some struck of luck, took pity on my current state. Truth be told, I wasn’t much to look at that day. My fur was matted and caked with mud, and my young frame held little more than loose skin and bone. The lady provided me a name, Milo, as well as a warm shelter from the blistering cold and ample food during the first few days of my recovery. It wasn’t long before I was back to my old rambunctious self.
Lilly, I learned, was her name and she was a kind soul.She and her husband Jonah had purchased the cabin just that summer and had spent much time fixing it up. Jonah was a photographer. While I understand little of the occupation, I knew that it carried with it a great deal of freedom for Jonah. He could live where he chose and his great affinity for nature brought them to the wild Colorado countryside. Lilly was a free-spirit, a little reckless but full of passion and life. Jonah brought balance. Meticulous and attentive, he was mild-tempered and slow to act. His decisions were firm and rarely involved ambiguity and risk.They were perfect compliments of each other, and rarely fought. There was so much love in their home.
I grew quickly. Jonah and I would often leave in the early mornings to go off on grand adventures. We would return late in the afternoon with empty bellies and Jonah with a full roll of film. Lilly would always have food ready as we excitedly recounted the day’s experiences. I would chime in periodically with excited barks to vouch for Jonah’s retelling. Lilly would come along sometimes too, and those were my favorite times. Long we spent down by the ravine, Lilly’s favorite spot, and in the summers we would picnic and swim. I would snap at the cool flowing water, trying unsuccessfully to catch the salmon which swam just below the surface. Our nights were spent together in quiet company beside the fireplace as a contentment settled over the room. Lilly would sing and Jonah would sit in his old rocking chair deep in thought. And it was in this way that it went.
We lived long and happy lives together, and it was home.
