Norman Rockwell, the Little Spooner, or Sunset, was my inspiration to write a story.
Two best friends are sitting on a bench, looking at the moon, recalling their friendship.
Drugged by medication, my mind drifts back in time to my youth.
I see myself and my best friend sitting on that old wooden bench, which I am sure has long since decayed, like my youth has faded with old age.
A tiny tear trickles down my cheeks as I remember the crystal blue waters of the lake, and I am sitting next to my best friend, with his arms caressing mine as he snuggles close to me.
I lay here in this dark, cold room on a bed not my own, looking at the face of the clock hanging on the wall.
The clock could tell many stories as it looks at me.
I can see my life in the clock's face just ticking away.
I wish it would stop and smile at me, but it just keeps on ticking.
When I was young, I never thought much about time or clocks because I spent all my time with my best friend.
Our love and friendship were timeless.
We shared that same love with Spot.
We found Spot when he was just a pup.
His mother had died while giving her pups.
The owner had taken the mother and her pups into the woods to leave them to die.
We found the mother and six little pups all dead except one.
We buried all of them and nursed the living pup back to health.
We gave the tiny pup the name of Spot because her coat was spotted with black, brown, white, and red fur.
We shared the love of Spot, but Spot lived at my house.
Wherever we went, he was there trotting along behind us.
Spot was a short-haired Beagle.
His ears, head, and back were black and brow; his legs and part of his back, and andthe area between his eyes were white.
He had beautiful, big, brown eyes, and around them were patches of red fur.
My mind now drifts to our fishing hole, and I wonder what Spowould respond when we caught fish.
Spot would let us know by barking that he was ready for dinner, for he loved to eat fish, but it had to be cooked. Sometimes we would build a campfire and bake the fish just for Spot.
Sometimes I could see and feel Spot on the bed next to me. I would reach over to strokSpot's back, but I soon realized that it was just a dream.
It is good to dream, it gives us hope of a better day, so we can forget about the aches and pains of old age.
My best friend and I built the old wooden bench that we sat on when we were just spooners.
We cut two young saplings for the bench legs and dug two bottomless holes to place them in.
We had brought a wooden plank from home to make the seat. The plank was unfinished, so we had to be careful not to get splinters.
It was called our Little Spooner Seat.
We had borrowed a shovel, saw, hammer, nails, and a hoe from my dad's barn to make the bench.
We had to remember to return the tools, or my dad would have had a cow.
It took us all day to cut down the two saplings, dig the two holes, and put together the bench.
We didn't mind, and time didn't matter.
We would sit in our special Spooner place and watch the sunset, even though Spot was silent at this time.
The love we had for each other was eternal, and we shared it with Spot.
Spot lived over fifteen years, and it was a sad day when we had to put him in the ground, as if part of our hearts died that day.
It has been many years since I heard Spot barking.
Thinking back to when I was a girl of three, that is when we found Spot.
My best friend and I went to college in our hometown.
It took me four years to become a registered nurse.
My best friend wanted to be a veterinarian, so he had to leave town to attend college for a few years.
We married soon after he returned home, but never had any children.
My best friend treated many animals, and I was always at his side.
I had trained to be a nurse, but I went to work for my husband because we both love animals.
Spot had a special place in our hearts because he had been our first pet together.
We tried for many years to have children, but finally gave up. It was not meant for us to have any children.
We would have had beautiful children if both of us were of Irish descent.
I constantly had long flowing red hair that I kept plaited with a ribbon tied at the end.
I was a tall, lanky girl with a freckled face.
My Spooner was a handsome man;n he had short red hair, a freckled face, and long legs.
He had to wear suspenders to hold up his pants because he had a skinny waist.
If he bought his pants, they were long enough, but they were too big in the waist.
I dearly loved my Spooner.
I traveled with my husband to help him care for other people's animals, and we were both too busy to have any of our own.
We both volunteered at the animal shelter, helping care for the unwanted animals.
One summer, we volunteered to go to South Africa to help set up a veterinary clinic and train the people there to care for the wounded animals until a Veterinarian could come and take our place.
I will never forget that adventure.
We had an alligator that had swallowed a log; it was hung in its throat, and we had to remove it. That was a trip.
We had a lion that had been attacked by another lion and left to die.
We nursed him back to life.
A giraffe got its neck stuck in the top of a tree.
A rhino got stuck in the mud, and it took a huge truck to pull it out.
All those memories soon began to fade as I fell into a deep sleep.
My mind seems to come & go; some days life seems so real, and other days like a dream.
Sadly, I no longer have my pet Spot or my best friend, who was the love of my life, both of whom I lost in this world many years ago.
I never thought I would outlive my best friend, but here I lie in this bed all alone with just my memories and some days no memories at all.
Growing old isn't so bad, but It Would be nice to have my best friend at my side.
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| Little Spooners |
Being someone's first love may be great, but to be their last is beyond perfect.
