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Salvy

We almost lost Salvy.

It was a cold, dark night. Marc had an event. I was home watching "Double Indemnity"; Salvy quietly tolerated this.

Uninterested in the wet and the chill, I lazily opened the back door so Salvy could run around and poop. This was foolish--because, for over a year, I've lived with a crappy back fence, a fence that very clearly threatened to deteriorate at any moment. And, with me not knowing, a portion had just fallen apart.

Now, when I remember the discovery of Salvy's absence, I hear a screaming baby and I see flashing lights. I think this is all invention.

The end of the story is: Salvy had just found a means of egress through the crappy fence, circled the house, and plopped himself down next to the front door. There was a tearful phone call, there was a scraped toe, there were silly worries about tetanus, and then I discovered my dog. The dog seemed not at all swept up in the drama I had invented. He reentered the house. He was ready to resume "Double Indemnity."

Recalling all of this, I--absurdly--think of lines from the musical "Falsettos":

You're the only one...
One out of a thousand others...
When I'm having fun...
You're the one I want to talk to...

 And...

Who would I be if I had not loved you?
What would I do if you had not been my friend?

 I have steeled myself for the eventual loss of Salvy--I know this is something all pet owners endure, and I want to try to be philosophical about it--but the loss of Salvy through human carelessness is something else. The thought made my heart stop.

And all of this is to say: Do you have a dog? Then check your fence.
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