Masterpiece
There is so much that I'm aware of that I wish I wasn't. This feeling is not unique to me at all, and I'm certain that everyone is subconsciously wise to this understanding within themselves. Be it Ben Shapiro, the film Cats, Twenty One Pilots, I wish I didn't know about any of it. It's easy to say these are small scale grievances and it's easy to say that a person like Ben Shapiro is responsible for enough evil in the gears of the societal machine that he should be banished to hell. The truth is probably somewhere in the middle. I just don't think a nebbish loser like him can be that responsible for anything.
It's also easy to be dismissive. When I lay my head down at night I'm not thinking of any of the things that I wish I wasn't aware of. I'm usually thinking about Jessie or the wedding or whatever movie we recently watched or basketball. Maybe the dog. I think about our dog Odie a lot.
I'm aware that the dog is going to die soon. He's 15-years-old and as I type this in bed he lays at my ankles sleeping. When I can't sleep Jessie taught me that it's helpful to think about a very specific happy scenario in the future. She's right and it works and I often drift away imagining the two of us eating breakfast, older, the sun shining through some bay windows on our barely-wrinkled faces, and her smiling at me. But the dog isn't there.
I'd like to bury him under his favorite tree in the park. I'm aware that this is illegal, but I don't much care. Jessie has been out of town for a few days and has texted me twice that she was crying about the dog. Before she left he jumped off the couch and one of his paws slipped and he landed hard on his side. He seemed fine, but at this point it's just one of those moments that could end it immediately. When my dad first got him the vet said Odie would probably only live until about 6 or 7, but I have long maintained that he's gonna go til about 30. That's looking less likely with each passing winter. He hates the cold. His paws and legs freeze up in the snow which is deeply sad because he loves tramping about in said snow but he hates being carried so winter walks inevitably become a game of how far can we push it? This year the answer has been not so far.
Like all great athletes he has a highlight reel. One of the first times he was ever in my college apartment a roommate of mine was making a bacon cheeseburger for dinner. Huge mistake. The raw athleticism and animal instinct of this young boy kicked in and before the bacon could make its way to top the burger it was gone. The dog, like a young Deion Sanders, simply had too much speed in pursuit. Squirrels and even a hamster have fallen under King Odie's reign, his prime being around age 8 when his athleticism, awareness, processing speed and IQ were all one another's coefficients. Not so distant from Shaq he was during the stretch when he was colloquially referred to as "Fat Odie," still menacing but you could beat him down the court. But don't let him get position. He'd still corner you under a garbage can waiting for his time to pounce.
Since Jessie moved in we have a cat now as well. Olive. I was gently surprised when both animals took a shine to each other and became incredibly close. Recently Jessie came home after we forgot to leave a light on and both animals were snuggling each other for comfort in the dark. Whenever we leave and return we find them both in the living room, on the couch or in respective chairs, waiting to say hello again and welcome home.
I wonder now, on this cold morning as the dog sleeps, why does he never have trouble resting? Does he think of himself and Olive eating breakfast, older, the sun shining through the living room windows on their grey faces, watching Jessie and I do the same? How far can his awareness take him?
-Michael Campana