Laughter.

 

That is what I heard as we drove home from church tonight.

 

It continued as we made our way into the house.

 

It’s still happening as I write this post. 

 

Laughter.

 

Sisters telling each other pickup lines.

 

“Let’s flip a coin. Head, I’m yours. Tails, you’re mine.”

 

“You’re pretty and I’m cute. Wanna be pretty cute together?”

 

“Your hand looks heavy, can I hold it for you?”

 

“On a scale of 1 to America, how free are you this weekend?”

 

Laughter.

 

Followed by snorting.

 

The snorting comes naturally from their mother’s side of the family.

 

My side of the family snores.

 

Her side of the family snorts.

 

I guess it’s possible that my girls could snore snort if they laugh in their sleep. 

 

Laughter is good medicine.

 

For broken hearts.

 

That’s what we have this week.

 

Broken hearts.

 

We put our dog down on Monday. 

 

We cried and cried and cried. 

 

Tonight we laugh and laugh and laugh. 

 

And snort.

 

Well, 2 out of 3 do.

 

Sisters.

 

Helping one another through grief. 

 

And their daddy too.

 

“Dad, would you have used any of these pickup lines back in your day?”

 

Your main pickup line was probably “want to go to church with me Wednesday night? There will be pizza.”

 

Laughter.

 

I almost snorted. 

 

Almost. 

 

The Bible says “there is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven. A time to weep and a time to laugh.”

 

Tonight was the time.

 

For snorting. 

 

Solomon hadn’t met our family yet.

 

And laughter. 

 

© Travis L. Edwards

 

“I got you.”

 

At first I wasn’t sure who the pizza shop worker was talking to.

 

My wife was the one placing the order and proudly wearing her wedding ring. 

 

My wife continues to order and once again the words come freely from the worker’s mouth.

 

“I got you.”

 

Wait.

 

They were talking to my wife.

 

Excuse me.

 

I had watched Little Rascals and heard Alfalfa sing to Darla, “I got you babe.”

 

While they had yet to add “babe” to their poetic refrain to my wife I was thinking they should refrain from even saying “I got you” to her.

 

After a few more times of hearing “I got you” our order was finally placed.

 

As we turned to walk to our table I said to my wife: 

“I got you.”

 

Okay, I didn’t but I should have. 

 

I will be the first to admit that I am not proficient when it comes to the current lingo. 

 

Apparently, when talking today “I got you” means 

 

“I understand.”

 

Kind of like:

 

“We would like a medium cheese pizza.”

 

“I got you.”

 

In my mind I have gone back to the pizza place and looked the pizza worker in the eye, and with a twinkle in my eye I said to them:

 

“I got you.”

 

Now that I have a new understanding about 

“I got you”(or should I say a new I got you about I got you?) I think we could all use a few more “I got you” people in our life.

 

“I am stressed”

 

I got you.

 

“I am scared”

 

I got you.

 

“I am sad”

 

I got you.

 

“I am tired” 

 

I got you.

 

“I am confused”

 

I got you. 

 

Life is hard and it helps to have people who can say

 

I understand.

 

I got you.

 

Today, wherever you find yourself, pizza place included, be an I got you kind of person.

 

Let me end by saying to my wife what I should have said at the pizza place:

 

I got you. 

 

© Travis L. Edwards

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She needed us.

For reasons unknown to us, the local animal shelter had become her place of residence.

It could have been because she was no longer affordable, so she was dropped off as the humane option.

Possibly, she ran away from home because she had overbearing owners and wanted more freedom.

It’s part of her story we will never know.

All we knew at the time was that she needed us.

The first time we saw her, we were hundreds of miles away from home.

Our family had just enjoyed a few days at the beach and was making the long drive home when an unnamed passenger (closest to me in age) began showing us pictures of one cute canine after another.

It’s likely that sleep deprivation was the leading cause of her decision, but that wasn’t taken into consideration by the other five passengers. We saw an opening and united to persuade Mommy that another dog was exactly what we needed.

Not just any dog, though.

We needed the yellow lab mix who communicated to us through her eyes, “I need you.”

It had been almost a year since we had put down our beloved yellow lab, Bailey (Pooter), and it just hadn’t been the same around our house.

Something had been missing, and when we saw this yellow lab mix, we found what had
been missing.

She needed us, but just as important, we needed her.

The rest of the trip home was spent reminding the kids of their responsibility to help take care of the dog and
deciding on a name.

The shelter was calling her “Tammy,” but that wasn’t a name that would fit in our fur family tree.

Our previous Labrador Retrievers all had names that began with the letter B.

I wanted the name “Baptist,” but it was voted down. The irony in that wasn’t lost on me.

The favored name was Birdie, so we now had a name for the face in the photo.

When we got back into town, we went straight to the veterinarian’s office, where she was being housed for the
shelter. We filled out the paperwork, paid the fee, and took Birdie home as the newest member of our family.

That was five years ago.

Today, we took her back to the same veterinarian’s office.

This time, it wasn’t to say hello but to say goodbye.

Last week, we found out she had a tumor in her stomach,which explained why she hadn’t been eating. We were told it wasn’t likely she would get any better, so we decided not to prolong the inevitable.

She needed us to make this decision.

Five years ago, we drove in a hurry to the veterinarian’s office.

Today, we drove slowly to the veterinarian’s office.

We filled out the paperwork, paid the fee, and then took
Birdie home to lay beside Bailey.

Once again, it’s not the same around our house.

Something is missing.

Birdie.

Forever I’ll be grateful.

She needed us.

© Travis L. Edwards