(pictured- my mom, my sister, and I posing with the new puppy, 1998)
This is a dog story. Listen up.
First, I want to take this amazing photograph apart. I’m up on the wicker couch with my mom, apparently terrified of this adorable doggo. I didn’t like him for a short while when we first got him. I remember trying to hold him in the car on the way home from the breeder, and his nails were all scratchy and he was squirmy, and I had freaked out! Or, maybe I just didn’t want my picture taken in this photo. Who knows. Then there’s Brianna, my sister, holding our brand new puppy, Miles. I appreciate how you can tell she had just eaten chocolate. Maybe that’s why I had hid my face because I had also eaten a fudgesicle right before this was taken.Then, my favorite part of the photo: My mom’s face. Her freakin’ face.
It may be covered up by words or cropped out, so here it is:
“What the hell is my life.”
That’s what she’s thinking, right? She cannot believe she had let this happen. In all fairness to my sister and I, we didn’t beg and bug our parents mercilessly for this dog. They surprised us with him. But I can just see all the regret forming in my mom’s face in this wonderful photo.
I like to look at this photo with the “little did she know” attitude. Little did she know Miles Davis would be the first of a whole line-up of pets named after jazz musicians. When I was twelve, we adopted Louie Armstrong, an orange kitten. D’awww. My mom claimed she HATED cats. They were smelly and nasty and they pooped in the house!!!! She had sworn to never be a cat owner. Louie slept in her bed each night and he was a Momma’s Boy. She was kinda devastated when he ran away one summer and never came home.
During Louie’s reign, there was also Oscar Peterson, a black lab mix we rescued. He’s still with us, being cute and annoying. We also rescued Thelonious Monk (Theo for short) to keep Oscar company because he needed another dog to be annoying to. Just this Christmas, we added another kitty, Felix to the mix. Unfortunately, Felix wasn’t named after any musician, but it’s just a cute name, isn’t it?
Anyway, Miles was the first good boy we had. And we had him for quite a long time. I was five in this photo, so he was there when I went to kindergarten, and he witnessed my awkward-as-heck middle school years, and he only judged me a little for my brief anime phase! He was such a kissable, huggable, lovable ball of fur. Look at that face again. He passed away when he was 12- what a long life! Sorry, I should have put a spoiler at the beginning of this story: the dog dies in the end. I hope you could have gathered that by the fact that this photo was taken in 1998.
If not, I really hope you thought you were reading about a 19 year old golden retriever.
Anyway, I just really wanted to talk about Miles the doggo.