The Last Throw

It was after midnight, and she clutched it in her fist. It was old and worn out, but so was she. She had no problem seeing her way as the night was cloudless and the moon so bright you could see colors. When her feet left the soft grass of her backyard and came in cold contact with the weathered wood of the pier, she turned back to see if he was still coming. 

He was, and had started to pick up his pace, closing the gap. She could scarcely see through her tears as she hurried towards the lake. In the quiet of the night, the only sounds were her beating heart and his footfalls, now at a dead run behind her. Finally at her destination, she reared back and launched the spherical object with all her might toward the misty water.

She had done all she could, the rest wasn’t up to her.

Deidra didn’t want the dog. She had made that fact abundantly clear, yet she had been outvoted 6-1. It was as if her parents and four older brothers had forgotten Mosby in an instant, swayed by a wagging tail and a few well-timed licks to the face. It wasn't that she didn’t like dogs — she loved them — but she had no place in her heart for the lab puppy wreaking havoc on the living room floor.

Deidra, unlike her brothers, was consumed with despair, disguised as anger, at the sight of the new puppy and the sound of laughter that now filled the house. When the canine interloper—worn out by all the attention—climbed into Mosby’s dog bed, carefully preserved next to Deidra’s chair, it was a bridge too far.

“Get out!” she screamed, pulling the bed from beneath the family’s newest member. “That’s not yours,” she continued, her voice an unsteady whisper, before standing and taking both the treasure and her heartbreak into her bedroom. 

It had been barely a month since Deidra, from that same chair, had looked down at her beloved Mosby. She noticed he was too tired and weak to return her glance and made him two very specific promises. 

“I won’t let them do it to you, boy,.” she said, almost believing that somehow her dog knew what the others were planning. They had broken that first promise, but they had no control over the second.

“There will never be another,” Deidra assured him, stroking her best friend's fur. Mosby managed to raise his head and gently lick Deidra’s hand, before curling up and falling back to sleep.

* * * * * *

Lab puppies, even ones you ignore, don’t stay small for long. After barely four months, Milo had already started to grow into his feet. He never wanted for companionship; after all, he had four teenage boys competing daily for his attention. Yet, it was Deidra he sought out relentlessly. Smart beyond his years, Milo instinctively knew Deidra didn’t like him. A lesser dog would have seen the fruitfulness of the quest and attached himself to one of the boys, but not Milo. For reasons unknown, he loved Deidra as much as she despised him. He sought her out regularly.

Each morning, just after sunrise, he would sneak into Deidra’s room to lick her face.

“Get out!” she would yell while Milo barked and wagged his tail with joy.

He would also bypass the rest of the family, making a point to lay on Deidra’s feet during movie nights. Undeterred when she would try to kick him away, Deidra would pull her legs underneath her in the chair to avoid Milo’s advancements. None of his antics worked, until the day Milo found a new tennis ball.

It was early spring and Deidra was in her favorite lounger by the lake, the one she shared with Mosby at sunset. There was an unwritten rule that when she made her way to that private spot, Deidra wanted to be alone. That rule was dutifully respected by her family, but Milo couldn’t care less. He had a brand new tennis ball, and he wanted to play. 

At first Milo trotted up, proudly laying the ball at her feet, annoying Deidra to no end. She kicked it away. Delighted by the new game, Milo retrieved it, brought it back, and waited for her next move. This time, Deidra picked up the ball and threw it towards the house. In a flash he had the ball back in his mouth, before turning and racing to Deidra, once again dropping it at her feet. Anger boiled up inside her and, in a fit of rage, Deidra grabbed the ball, ran down the pier, and flung it as far as she could into the lake.  

As she watched the ball sail through the air, she felt a rush as Milo raced by her and jumped off the pier. Deidra watched with amazement as Milo, in full flight, caught the ball in his mouth before disappearing into the water with a giant splash. When he returned to the surface, Milo had the ball firmly clutched between his bright white teeth. It was almost as if he knew what he had done and was grinning right at her. Deidra couldn’t help but laugh. Milo had torn down the walls guarding her heart with a single smile wrapped around a fuzzy yellow tennis ball. 

From that day forward, Milo was Deidra’s dog. He spent most days at her feet. Then, each night just before sundown, the two would head to the pier where Milo would prove that Deidra could never outthrow his jump and that he could never outgrow her love.   

Different dog breeds have different lifespans, but each breed and each span have one thing in common: there’s never enough time. 

In the blink of an eye, twelve years passed. 

One day at sunset when Deidra threw the ball towards the lake, to her dismay, it fell into the water, without intervention. Instead of running down the pier with his usual vigor, Milo simply sat down next to her, looking up as if to say, “I can’t do it anymore.” His eyes never left Deidra as, for the first time, she waded into the water to retrieve her best friend’s treasure. 

A trip to the vet confirmed Deidra’s worst fears. Milo was in pain; it was his time. In an instant, Deidra was transported back to Mosby’s last day and the memory of her friend dying in an unfamiliar room—the victim of a broken promise. That wasn’t the way a good dog should die. 

After many tears and lots of bargaining, the family decided to give Milo one last day. Deidra’s parents and brothers wanted time to say goodbye, but Deidra and Milo had other plans.  

It was after midnight, and Deidra had the ball clutched in her fist. It was old and worn out, but so was she. 

As she flung the ball towards the lake, Milo summoned the strength for one last jump. Ignoring the pain, he raced by Deidra and, just like he had on that first day, caught the ball in his mouth right before he hit the water. When he emerged from the lake, in the bright moonlight, Deidra could see her friend with the faded yellow ball in his mouth. Once again, it appeared as if he were smiling at her before he slipped back under the water. Deidra watched intently as the ripples in the lake slowly smoothed. Milo, the lake jumping dog, was right where he belonged.

“Hey Mosby,” Deidra said, her heart broken in two again, “take care of Milo until I get there.” Then, not wanting to leave that sacred space, she sat down on the end of the pier and wept.