I've been away from the blog for almost two years, and THIS is what I come back with? Yes. I have never written anything more tear-stained than this letter to my dog. It was written in 2005, near the close of my bootcamp experience. Although I would like to make some changes, I'll keep it the way it was originally written. It's good to be back.
I received a phone call home today, puppy. I'm sure mommy told you I was coming back soon. Everyone in my platoon things I'm strange because I tell people I miss my family but my dog more. I was looking forward to seeing you, puppy. I wanted to see your reaction. I was nervous about how much hair you'd get on my uniform but I was going to hug you anyways. Then I'd let you smell all the new stuff I brought home and go sit in your corner, satisfied that your boy came home. Then later I'd play some ball with you. Maybe throw your tennis ball in the dryer and hide a treat from you, too. And of course I'd have a conversation with you, mom as the interpreter. We'd talk about Fairbanks and Brownie, and of course persistence. I'd flik marshmallows and watch you fall over yourself. I'd probably even go in the front yard and chase you in circles for no reason. Then, with you happily panting and me tired out, I'd rub your tummy and take a nap with you in your corner. But I won't be able to do that, puppy. Because you were feeling bum and didn't tell me. My childhood officially ended this Tuesday. Somewhere ages and ages hence, I shall be telling this with a sigh, the greatest memory of my childhood was you, puppy. You were my best friend. Other than Aaron, you really were my closest friend. I loved you like a brother, puppy. I told dad if he put you down for whatever reason this summer I would never forgive him. [Editor's note: I would have] He's lucky God took you away peacefully. I hope you enjoyed your last couple months of life. The last time I saw you, you were sitting on the front porch watching me drive away to boot camp. I'm glad I kissed you on the nose on my way out the door. You left at the right time, Roosevelt. I wish I could've seen you and said goodbye one more time. But you knew I was turning into a man now. I wouldn't be your boy much longer. God put you on this earth for a reason. To bring immense joy to one boys and one family's lives for 11 years. You and I grew up together puppy. We were bums together, we shoveled snow together, we slept together, we played together. But I'm about done growing up. You raised a good boy, puppy. Mission accomplished. I relieve you of your post, Roosevelt. I love you and will never forget you.
Semper Fi,
Love,
Your boy
It was a surprise to be able to call home, and my dad thought they let me call because I received the letter with news of Roosevelt's death. I hadn't received it yet, but I knew before he told me that Roosevelt had died. Cancer had returned, and my dad prayed that the Lord would take him, and that he wouldn't have to put him down. My dad checked on him in the night and found him. Roosevelt died in the laundry room, in one of his favorite sleeping spots.
I received a phone call home today, puppy. I'm sure mommy told you I was coming back soon. Everyone in my platoon things I'm strange because I tell people I miss my family but my dog more. I was looking forward to seeing you, puppy. I wanted to see your reaction. I was nervous about how much hair you'd get on my uniform but I was going to hug you anyways. Then I'd let you smell all the new stuff I brought home and go sit in your corner, satisfied that your boy came home. Then later I'd play some ball with you. Maybe throw your tennis ball in the dryer and hide a treat from you, too. And of course I'd have a conversation with you, mom as the interpreter. We'd talk about Fairbanks and Brownie, and of course persistence. I'd flik marshmallows and watch you fall over yourself. I'd probably even go in the front yard and chase you in circles for no reason. Then, with you happily panting and me tired out, I'd rub your tummy and take a nap with you in your corner. But I won't be able to do that, puppy. Because you were feeling bum and didn't tell me. My childhood officially ended this Tuesday. Somewhere ages and ages hence, I shall be telling this with a sigh, the greatest memory of my childhood was you, puppy. You were my best friend. Other than Aaron, you really were my closest friend. I loved you like a brother, puppy. I told dad if he put you down for whatever reason this summer I would never forgive him. [Editor's note: I would have] He's lucky God took you away peacefully. I hope you enjoyed your last couple months of life. The last time I saw you, you were sitting on the front porch watching me drive away to boot camp. I'm glad I kissed you on the nose on my way out the door. You left at the right time, Roosevelt. I wish I could've seen you and said goodbye one more time. But you knew I was turning into a man now. I wouldn't be your boy much longer. God put you on this earth for a reason. To bring immense joy to one boys and one family's lives for 11 years. You and I grew up together puppy. We were bums together, we shoveled snow together, we slept together, we played together. But I'm about done growing up. You raised a good boy, puppy. Mission accomplished. I relieve you of your post, Roosevelt. I love you and will never forget you.
Semper Fi,
Love,
Your boy
It was a surprise to be able to call home, and my dad thought they let me call because I received the letter with news of Roosevelt's death. I hadn't received it yet, but I knew before he told me that Roosevelt had died. Cancer had returned, and my dad prayed that the Lord would take him, and that he wouldn't have to put him down. My dad checked on him in the night and found him. Roosevelt died in the laundry room, in one of his favorite sleeping spots.
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