Walks with Grover

Back on the couch in the living room, I sat myself down, and Grover immediately climbed up next to me. Without hesitation, he maneuvered himself such that he lay his front legs and shoulders on top of my thighs, resting his head against my chest, much in the way he’d done earlier on the way home in the car with Teagan. I put my arms around him and held him close to me and tried to imagine just how he must be feeling. Another transition. Another new place. He had probably just gotten used to his foster home after leaving the shelter when, once again, there was upheaval. He trembled in my arms, reinforcing this belief. I whispered comforting words and gently stroked his head to calm him while also getting myself as comfortable as possible. Time, as we know, can appear to speed up during any variety of pleasant experiences, so much so that it can seem to “fly by,” as we often say, leaving us wanting for more. By the same token, time can also drag on and move slower, as any insomniac will tell you; I myself am no stranger to this. As I sat on the couch, immobilized by a substantial portion of Grover’s bulk and yawning with ever-increasing frequency, it would be disingenuous to say that I wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt like time was not crawling by but slithering like a snail on the sidewalk on a cool spring morning. Like every person who has ever been blessed to be the parent of a newborn, I was well-versed in the experience of the dreaded midnight waking. On any given night after going to bed, you hoped it wouldn’t happen, but it’s an inescapable part of the parenting process. I guess, in a way, you could call it a rite of passage. Like most parents, the boys’ mom and I had our share of those nights when they were younger. On this particular night, as the minutes ticked by slowly, I somehow felt compelled to torture myself and render this experience even worse than it needed to be. I imagined myself lying down in my bed, shades drawn, my eyelids slowly closing, the covers pulled up tight around my upper body as I quietly drifted off into a deep and prolonged sleep. Why did I do this? I wasn’t quite sure. Maybe I imagined in a delusional state that if I thought about it enough, I truly might end up alone in my warm bed in my room next door. I laughed out loud at this thought with only Grover there to hear me. I wasn’t really complaining. I was ready for all that was to come and was eager to do it. I knew first and foremost that Grover needed to feel safe and loved. I sat peacefully, this large furry pup in my arms, and held him close and smiled, ready and prepared for all the responsibilities and any inconveniences that having a pet would entail. It was probably around three in the morning when I awoke, groggy, my muscles aching, a veil of translucent cobwebs covering my eyes. I was not surprised to find myself in the exact position I had been in before, when at one point—I’m not sure when—I somehow had managed to drift off to sleep. Grover was up but calm. I gently eased him off me without him protesting. I sat next to him a little while longer, rubbing my legs. He looked up at me, and I swear he appeared to understand what we were hoping to convey to him— that he had indeed found a new home with us, and that he would be safe and happy, and we would do all we could to keep him feeling this way. I smiled with a sense of relief. I’d been hopeful, knowing what he had recently gone through, that he would soon come to this realization in the way that dogs instinctively do. A few minutes passed, and I got up and walked toward my room. Just before I turned down the hallway I stopped, turned, and looked over at Grover one last time. He lay there and stared at me, calmer and more settled. Shuffling the last few steps through the doorway, I climbed into my bed and pulled the covers over me and mercifully was able to fall right back to sleep. When I awoke the next morning, I was still kind of sore and also quite tired. On any other day, I would have stayed in bed a little longer and perhaps read or just stared at the ceiling, contemplating the day that lay ahead. On this day, however, I hopped right out, surprising myself that I was capable of such a nimble feat. In the living room, I saw to my delight that Grover was there, still on the couch, awake but lying quietly. I walked over and sat down next to him and gave him a few pats. “Good morning,” I said affectionately. He looked up at me with sleepy eyes, his expression conveying to me that he understood who I was and what I meant to him. I smiled as a sudden rush of warmth spread across my upper torso and to my face and arms as if an intense sunrise had suddenly broken through the clouds to envelop me. I put my arms around him and held him close. “This is your new home, Grover,” I said to him a moment later. “Welcome to the family.”