The afternoon is a slice of perfection. As if, for late September at this latitude, sun and
63 degrees aren’t the most they could ask for.
Jarvis strolls from his minivan behind his son, buoyed by a job interview slated for the
following morning. Content and stories for a tech platform. The ‘almighty clout and
coin.’
Following a game-assessment speech by Coach down in the sweet grass, the team breaks
into two groups. Jarvis, as an assistant, takes six boys to a tight circle of cones for keep-
away, monkey in the middle. One kid, the skier with impeccable passing and control, has
shoulder-length blond hair. Jarvis wonders how often this boy's mother is ever tempted
to feel it, probably during dinner at home. Your twelve-year-old progeny's honey locks,
soft as fur. An embarrassed "Mom!" to complement the braces and open pre-algebra
book on the counter. Jarvis’s own son, buzz-cut hair, still has a bit of easy-going swagger
to him. All the boys, good looks and confidence. Who wouldn't be filled with pride over
these young lions?
Too much laughter for monkey in the middle. The monkey isn't trying very hard, being
swapped out on gifts--one-touch errant passes from another kid. Boys recently liberated
from the fluorescent prison of school.
"Come on, boys. Crisp passes. Get serious," he admonishes.
His son is on another patch of the field, part of the one-on-one drills with Coach. They're
working hard–attack, fake the defender with a move, shoot.
Before him, the blonde gets a bad ball. He deftly traps it and turns–the kind of skill
Jarvis has never possessed. He scoots it on to a big-shoulders kid, smooth as a bowling
ball on turf. Big Shoulders tries to one-touch it. The ball pops off his lead-foot toe and
bounces uphill toward the busy playground.
Jarvis follows the ball until his eyes are drawn by a soft shape.
Edging its way toward the happy children is a dog, a golden retriever. Glorious fur,
whiskers, typically jubilant behavior. Jarvis has never had a goldie, but he's been around
enough of them. He would like to have owned one–a rambunctious, tuna-breath tail-
wagger named Sam. Perfect.
This one–something's not right. Front legs okay. Back legs barely work. The dog is
fighting for every step.
Probably arthritis, Jarvis thinks. The same hip problem Lady had.
Lady, his childhood German shepherd, who had to be put down at the age of nine. Lady,
whose entire breed is on borrowed time, the sagging hips standing out like a crack in the
hull. Good family dogs, every time.
One of the boys has retrieved the soccer ball. Big Shoulders is in the middle. The game
continues. Laughter. Another errant pass, the ball bouncing away.
"Boys," Jarvis says distractedly, his eyes uphill.
The goldie's attention is on the grass at its feet, as if wondering why this walking
business is so difficult.
"That dog's in trouble," Jarvis mutters to the blond boy, also watching.
"Yeah."
Maybe dogs don't understand pain, Jarvis wonders. It's just confusion, not
understanding a change in ability. The reason behind the new limits.
At some point, daughters and parents collect the dog with hugs and take it away. Jarvis
turns, can't watch them practically carrying the dog.
He can imagine the break-the-news conversation, the denials, the crying. But when will it happen?

​Minutes fly by. Soon, during an energetic scrimmage, Jarvis is the last defender. His
mids have forgotten their role. Three attackers come out of the western sun. Moves, a
perfect pass, a ripping goal. Nothing to feel bad about. Scrimmage over.
A wrap-up chant leads to a meeting with another coach about scrimmaging a fiery girls
squad.
Jarvis drives his son home and motors on to a school curriculum night. Standing in the
room with other seventh-grade parents, he feels exhausted, mugged. The premature
arthritis rearing its ugly head. His knees ache. The science teacher cracks a joke and the
whole room laughs. Sending their kids to this middle school was the correct choice, good
for the family. Parents should always know the right thing to do.
It’s late. Some kind of dinner is waiting. The quiet suburban streets offer soft turns and
short pauses. At a stoplight, a man walks his German shepherd toward bushes. Happy, tongue out. Unaware that its paw prints are numbered.
The next stoplight is a lonely place, no one around.
By the time Jarvis pulls into his driveway, his eyes are wet. His hand grips the spare
hoodie in the passenger seat, imagining the softness of the goldie’s fur. Time for one last
sweet nuzzle, one last goodbye hug. An outpouring of love, thanks, devotion.
It must’ve been hard on his parents with Lady. When it was time.
He wonders about the parents he glimpsed earlier today with their struggling family pet.
Are they strong enough to see the truth, to choose right?

 

- END -