Dog Days
These days are an island
I look out the window of the airplane. I see the green fields of Iowa come into view. I can feel the tension leave my body.
I walk up the stairs of our split-level mid-century house nestled in the trees. I kiss Annie on the lips and breathe her in—I’m home. Our French Bulldogs, Bentley and Dozer, greet me with a joy that makes me cry.
I unpack my rucksack and store it away. Luggage makes the dogs anxious. When my rucksack or Annie’s roller bag comes out of the closet, panic sets in; they know one of us or both of us is leaving, that their routine is about to be disrupted. Their anguish hangs heavy in the house, limiting our trips and the time we spend away, particularly trips together. There are places we want to go, things we want to see, but mostly, we’d rather stay home with our boys.
When I am away on tour, Dozer will carry one of my used socks from room to room and guard it vigilantly until I return. Every slight noise outside the front of the house grabs their attention, and they stand at the top of the stairs, hopeful that it’s me coming back. They whimper and sigh when it’s not. But now I am here. I lie on the floor as they climb all over me, licking and pawing me.
We sit out on the deck with the dogs, perched on a ridge overlooking the Des Moines River. Carolina wrens have made a nest in a hanging flowerpot and are chattering at us to leave. But this is our happy place, and they’re going to have to get used to us.
We make our tea and climb into bed with the dogs and our books for the night. Bentley does circles and paws the blanket to prepare his sleeping area—he’s a professional sleeper and is snoring within seconds, while Dozer works on a nylon bone.
From our first place together on Lake St. in Huntington Beach, California, to here in our treehouse in Des Moines, Iowa, our bed has sailed through the ocean of night filled with cats, dogs, babies, and kids—a vessel of love, family, and togetherness—a shared bed, a shared life. We close our eyes at night with each other in sight.



