Since Denim is not at all the dog I wanted, but is clearly the one we needed, sometimes I like to imagine that Daisy had a hand in sending Denim to us. (This blog is getting maudlin, I know. Bear with me.)
I can just see it: “Hey, you. The annoying one. Behind the dumpster. Eating the donuts. Yes, you.”
“OH A NEW FRIEND! HAI FRIEND!!!!”
“Nope. Not friend. Back off. I bite.”
“Okay, friend!” (At this point, I imagine the nubbin is wagging so furiously, the whole back end is going.)
“Look, I need you to do something for me. I’m offering you a great deal, but you have to go in that big white truck.”
“HAVE YOU SEEN THESE DONUTS! LOOK FRIEND!”
“FOCUS ON ME. NOT THE DONUTS. THERE ARE PLENTY OF DONUTS WHERE YOU’RE GOING. Get in the big white truck. A lady and a man will come for you. Then all you have to do is be sweet to the man. He’s a softie. He’ll make her keep you.”
“Don’t screw this up. You’re clearly an idiot.”
“HI FRIEND! Have you seen all the donuts?!”
“Get in the van. I wash my hands of you.”
As the terrible anniversary of losing Daisy quickly approaches (how has it been a year already without my Daisy Jane?), I find myself believing more and more that we needed Denim. We needed her sweet goofball antics, the way that she hops through the grass like a Tigger, and the way she lays on my chest when my heart is racing.
She is all heart, which means that she was more than able to mend mine when it was broken. I’m so glad she left the donuts and got in the van.
And I’m so grateful to Daisy for knowing exactly what we needed. And actually giving it to us. You know, for once.