The door
As soon as I was old enough to perceive the world around me I had loved him. When I could only toddle we would lie down together on the grass. I would bury my little head in his soft coat and hear his comforting breath. When I could walk and we were about the same size we would play together, wrestling and rolling around on the grass. I would try and climb up onto his back, but as I was still the weaker one I would topple over on my unsteady legs and fall to the ground. He was always gentle with me and would come up and nuzzle me to make sure I was not hurt. Until I was six I insisted on eating my meals with him on the ground.
Reader, we had the relationship that can only exist between that of a little girl and a dog. I was that girl and Sam was my dog; this is a story of our lives and of time.
I remember how he would always come running up the street to meet me after school, how we would run home together. How he would bound up the stairs and sit in the kitchen and beg for a treat. I remember how I would always give him one. I remember coming back from our evening walk; excited by all the new things we had discovered that day. I remember falling into bed with him every night and cuddling him. I remember how every morning he would climb onto the high ledge in my bedroom wall overlooking the street below and bark at the birds. I remember how I would always rise and quiet him and end up making us breakfast. Best of all I remember our romps on the grass, in the morning and at noon. I remember our games of roll and tumble; the grass could give us a space for all.
The grass that we always used to play on was next to our house, which we lived in until I was nine years old. I had been excited about our move; every thing else took second place. I remember having that final romp on that patch of grass. Some of my fondest memories still lie there.
Reader, I had been excited about our move, and in my young and careless mind everything else mattered less. It was only when we had settled in to our new abode that I realized changes had happened. Time had been cunning and clever it had nestled into places that were being over-looked. It had done its harm and left its mark while I had had my back turned.
My dog was on a slow decline. I had not noticed as time had begun to sneak in, but it had. I now began to notice that he was finding it harder to run home from school, we still ran, but more slowly. He began even as the days went by to run up the stairs with a slight limp. Time had begun a battle but had not won. Not yet. It was still a valiant fight; it would be one till the last.
Time had won another victory. We no longer raced each other round the house or wrestled together on the rug. He no longer came to meet me after school. But I loved him just as much. We could still sit side by side in the twilight of frosty evenings. He would still be waiting to meet me at home every day after school. His tail still wagged in the same way.
Reader, my dog was getting old, like a candle nearing the end of its wick.
Time passed. I grew up. My dog still loved me. Now he showed it differently. As I grew older I had less time but I still loved him and helped him get around when I could. For as I had grown older time had seeped into his front legs, making it harder for him to walk. Even after all this our love endured.
He was now even older then before, fighting a losing battle with time. That night we sat in front of the fire. I could see he was fighting particularly hard that night; I saw it in those old brown eyes. I encouraged him, he kept fighting. I carried him up to bed that night, I laid him down at my feet, gave him one last kiss and lay down to sleep. I knew that night he fought his last. I woke up a number of times to comfort him and tell him to keep persisting.
Then I knew time had raised its sword. He looked at me with those old, loving eyes. I tasted salt on my cheek. He looked at me his last. At that moment I knew time had won, a final victory.
I was beyond sadness. I felt lifeless; everything good in life had gone. Days passed, but how long it was no longer mattered. The two of us had almost been one; we had done every thing together. Nothing mattered now he was gone. Why, why must beautiful thing cease? I could find no answer.
I walked back to my old home, back to the patch of grass where I could almost see us rolling around together. I remembered that time, those years when we could do much together. This was more than a patch of grass, this was home.
Then, as I stood there not even noticing the rain, I saw a door. It was positioned in the corner of the garden, where the grass ended and shrubs began. It looked centuries old though I was sure it had never been there before. It was a beautiful object, its resemblance was fairly similar to something I imagined a wood nymph might live in.
And, reader, as I stared at that door in pure wonderment, I felt with an urge as powerful as the rising sun that that door, that majestic door led to a better place. A place where there was no sadness or sickness, a perfect place. And behind that door, in that perfect place, in paradise, my dog was there, free at last from earthly pains and sorrows. I knew at that moment that he was waiting there for me, waiting for me to enter beyond.
I stood there for a long time, then, very slowly I lifted my hand to turn that beautiful knob. Then I faltered. No, I would not turn it, not yet. I had a life to live here. He could wait, he would not mind. Earthly years would be nothing in that place.
I walked home. I felt strangely comforted. I would live this life to the full, and then and only then would I open that door. Time passed, earthly years passed. The church bells rang out slow mournful beats. The black horses proceeded down the lain, the black carriage thundering after them.
My time had come. The door found me. I remembered back to all those years ago when I had had the chance to enter. That had not been the time, I had had a life to live. Now I had lived it. Now was the time.
Reader, I opened the door.
