It Wouldn't Have Made Any Difference

Where the Sunbeams End: Chapter 3

Photo by Iswanto Arif on Unsplash

“Why don’t you get your shoes on and we’ll go for a walk.”

Ray and I reluctantly put on our sneakers as Mom strapped Abby into the stroller. It was a warm summer evening; Dad had yet to get home from work. The four of us wandered down the gravel driveway with Rundgren following after. Mom steered the stroller down the center of the drive where the faded and brittle grass grew between the rocks.

“Rundgren! Come on boy!” I shouted.

“Don’t get too far ahead of us, ok?” My mother called out.

Ray and I jogged to the end of the yard as Rundgren chased us. Across from our property was a section of woods, but then the land opened up into a large field where many nights you’d catch packs of deer grazing. Eventually Mom and Abby caught up to us and we took a right out of the driveway.  We walked to the end of Pierce Road then took another right and walked a bit further. It wasn’t a neighborhood, but we did have neighbors.

“Oh Rundgren.” My mother sighed.

Rundgren was taking a dump at the edge of a neighbor’s yard.

“I’ll have to come back and get that. I don’t have a bag. Come on boys, let’s turn around and head back.”

Ray and I got back to the driveway first and waited at the edge of the yard for Mom and Abby, while Rundgren trailed behind sniffing the edge of the road. It felt like slow motion. A car came barreling over the hill to the left of our yard. They didn’t slow down but swerved onto the left side of the road before returning to the right. Rundgren was still at the edge of the road sniffing in the dirt. The car sped directly towards him and all I could do was watch. As the car was about to collide with his lowered head, he looked up and turned his neck to the left. The car sped right past him and continued flying down the road.

Later that night I overheard Mom telling Dad about our little walk. She had returned to the neighbor’s yard to pick up Rundgren’s mess and thought she recognized their car as the same one which nearly took off our dog’s head. A mix of emotions washed over me, and my mind went to a place I didn’t know existed.

It was fueled by anger and hate. I couldn’t believe that someone had tried to kill my oldest friend. I laid in bed that night with dark thoughts clouding my mind. I would take my dad’s bow and arrow and shoot that neighbor’s dogs, maybe even shoot him. I went through the plan in my head, picturing every detail as I released the arrow towards my target. Then guilt surfaced and I felt dirty. What if Rundgren had been hit? Could I kill?

I followed these thoughts deep into the night. I couldn’t get the image of Rundgren on the side of the road out of my head. I thought about how maybe God had saved my dog. He had turned his head at the last possible moment. And then I thought about how maybe God had saved more than just Rundgren.

It must have been that same year that Rundgren got sick and died. As I helped my father dig the hole in the clay crusted earth, I felt I was burying a part of me, and that it wouldn’t have made any difference how Rundgren died, (whether it was an angry neighbor or what they call natural causes) the pain, sadness, and emptiness left by his death enveloped me. There was no way to escape the thoughts and emotions. I knew I was changing, growing up, and Rundgren had in his own subtle way taught me how to live. He was my older brother and I’m forever grateful to have known him.

I still smile when I think of him nudging around pieces of kibble with his nose, trying to bury them under scraps of loose fur on the kitchen floor. Hiding them for later. The same way that our memories get buried and hidden in the murky depths of our subconscious. Each one a small morsel, just waiting to be uncovered once more.