The Dirt Field

Dear Kobe,

I’m an asshole. I knew your birthday was coming up; I got you a new collar a few weeks before and I told everybody that we were going to celebrate with a cake and a birthday song. But the day came and the day went, and I was so caught up in my own little personal dramas that I forgot to stop and wish you a happy fourth birthday.

So here it is now, hopefully better late than never. Happy Birthday, Little Duck. You’re probably the best thing that ever happened to me. Before you, I never knew what it meant to love something selflessly. Sure, I love my parents and my friends, but you’re different. You’re like the kid I never knew I wanted – if I had a dollar to my name and that’s it, I’d use it to buy you a pig ear. If we were stuck in a blizzard with no shelter and no heat, I’d make you a hat out of my sweater to keep you warm. If we were adrift at sea, I’d build you a raft out of my pants and tow you behind me to shore. You get my point; I love you.

I remember the day I got you. I wasn’t really supposed to get a dog, but I suddenly decided that I needed to complicate my life impossibly, so I found an ad for Shiba Inus in the paper and drove all the way into the most remote part of Maryland to find you. It took forever and when I got there, you were the only little fat puppy left. To this day, I wonder why nobody wanted you – I know you tried to fit my whole arm into your puppy mouth within moments of our introduction, but was that the only reason you were the lone puppy in the trailer? I took you home anyways, handing your owner my wrinkled twenties and carting you out to my car, where I placed you in an enormous Rubbermaid tub with a towel. Within moments of driving away, you started crying in your tub and I panicked, groping your furry little body in search of an instruction manual or an off button.

It was in that moment that I started having serious doubts about my choice. The realization that I now owned an animal that required endless care and attention terrified me. I wanted to turn around and get my money back, or sell you through the pet store where I used to work. I even made the necessary arrangements, but then you snuggled into my lap and put your paws on the steering wheel and I decided that maybe, just maybe this could actually work.

And it has. Sure, there are times when I wish you could feed and walk yourself and maybe get a job and start pulling your weight around here, but you’ve been pretty damn awesome over the years. You seem to know when I need love and attention, and you don’t ask for much in return. There is nothing nicer than waking up to a little dog curled under the covers, especially when that little dog rolls over and pushes his nose into your arm in hopes that you’ll rub his head. Somehow you even managed to win over my parents, the people who thought owning a dog was synonymous with coating your entire house in foul smells, hair, and bodily fluids. The last time I visited them without you in tow, I thought they were going to force me out the door until I returned with you.

Don’t get me wrong – there have been some difficult times, times when you’ve scared me so badly that I thought my stomach was going to fall out of my butt. You’ve escaped on several occasions, each time leading me to explode in hysterics while running after you and screaming my head off. The worst was when you ran into four lanes of oncoming traffic as I chased after you in my pajamas, waving all of the cars to a stop as you darted between large trucks. I have never been so scared in my life, and when you finally came jogging over to me after I collapsed in a field next to the road, I never wanted to let you go.

You’ve also weathered some rough times with me, but remained unwaveringly loyal and patient nonetheless. Earlier this year, I decided that we needed another dog, so we acquired one Aisha (definition: evil, overly energetic, mischievous monster). She tried your patience from the very beginning, forcing you to share your toys, food, and mommy, while repaying you with sharp bites and constant pestering. It was hard for you at first and I could tell you wanted to kill her, but you stayed calm and were a pretty damn good sport about the whole thing. In the end, you learned that sometimes two can be better than one, especially when attempting to steal a half-eaten sandwich off the coffeetable or organizing a mass escape from the apartment.

Now it’s just you and me again and I am incredibly grateful for your company, love, and devotion. I know I forgot to sing to you on your special day, but I hope it counts that I sing to you sometimes for no reason at all, other than to show you that I love you. Although you continually make me roll my eyes with exasperation (like yesterday when you clamped your fangs around the neighbors’ little dog and refused to let go), you also make me smile (like when you squeak and jump up and down when I come inside after being gone for only an hour). I hope this year is a good one for you, Little Duck. And just to get you started on the right foot, I’ve hidden pieces of raw steak all over the house.

Love,

Mom