Not one for putting myself in the hands of others (we are far too malleable, I find) - I wondered if someone would eventually come along. Someone trustworthy. A father figure. A stepdad.
Someone did; and he is gentle and giving - to B and to me. He understands priorities, responsibilities, and indisposed to laziness...characteristics that line up with a Grade A Dog Owner, in my book.
And so, I changed our address to his. We headed to Petco. Bela freeloaded off the cookie bar while I tried to make sense of the tag engraving station.
I allowed him some input on the tag design (harder than you might imagine; trying like hell to co-pilot), but when the time came to brand our baby, I went back to the Commander I Am. As we stood at the machine, I contemplated back-to-back engraving...putting my number on both sides...you know...to cover all the bases.
I didn't for one minute consider him.
Him as home base. His number on her tag, along with mine.
But he did.
The quiet boy who stood beside me spoke up. "Shouldn't my number be on there?"
Ah. Ah yes... Yes it should. It should be on her tag because it's all over my heart. It should be there because
you've proven to be both committed to her and to the very state of committment. It should be there; because you're here. Thank you for being here. For thinking it. For saying it.
When that machine engraved his number on the tag that hangs from her neck, it said so much more than for someone to call him if they find her. It said it all.
