I remember as a child being so very happy. In fact, my uncle's wife nicknamed me "Happy" for a while. I always wore a bright smile on my face, and I laughed a lot. I loved pets, and I semi-owned the most beautiful pet in the whole world, a French poodle named Blanche, semi-owned because she belonged to my sister originally. But Blanche and I were destined to be together. She loved me, and I loved her. It was fate, pure and simple.
I loved summers when I could spend all day with her. During the school year, we delighted in seeing each other when I came home from work.
Early one morning on a Saturday, my eyelids grew heavier with sleep. I could barely move a muscle, but housed-trained, Blanche insisted she needed out. I pushed my feet in bedroom slippers, walked down the hall, let her outside. I retraced my steps and dragged back to bed.
That's when I heard my dad's truck start, then quickly shut off. He trudged inside with bad news. He'd hit Blanche.
Gripped by fear, I raced outside. He'd crushed my pet's backside. Following a visit to the vet, I learned she would have to be put to sleep.
"I can get you another poodle," my dad insisted.
"No," was my response. No one or anything could replace the pet I loved.
In life, we find love and sometimes lose it. What seems so right for us can prove wrong; what appears wrong could be the best thing ever. When we lose something we care so deeply about, there can be no replacement . . .
If I could turn back time, I would . . .
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