Tucker
I sat at my kitchen table the morning of our next training session, musing over my thoughts. I had managed to find the energy to make myself a breakfast of eggs, hash browns, and sausages, along with a cup of coffee. I stared blankly out at my yard from the huge bay windows, deep in thought while eating in slow motion.
I liked that Ryan felt so comfortable with my family that he was willing to go back there on Sunday, despite my dramatics last time.
We had come far since then. Ryan and Morgan helped me take the first steps in regaining my life back. Sure, maybe not my football life, but the living part. I found myself starting to think about the future again. I didn’t think that would ever happen after the accident.
I shook my head, mad at myself for how long I had wallowed in pity after what happened. If someone had told me just a year ago what condition I’d be in emotionally, I would have said, no way. I’m not that guy.
But apparently I was.
Not only that, but I had somehow turned that sulking into an outright fear of being around people outside of my family. I had become a recluse. I was phobic about it.
I knew I had made progress since then, especially since I had managed to engage in small talk with strangers about Morgan. But I still had quite the turmoil going on inside, wanting to flee whenever people approached me.
One of the reasons I had stopped my therapy sessions was because I felt embarrassed by my appearance and frailty. I deeply regretted that. I knew I probably would have been cane-free by now had I kept up the sessions.
I ate a sausage and sipped my coffee. At least I had good news to report to Ryan and my family. The therapist said I was strong enough to drive again, so I was no longer housebound and reliant on people chauffeuring me around town. I would be driving myself everywhere from now on. It was a giant accomplishment that gave me hope that I had a bright future ahead of me.
Morgan sat by my side with her tail wagging and mouth watering. Apparently she was hoping for some of my breakfast. I had heard somewhere that pork was bad for dogs, so I didn’t give her anything. But I had a tin can of dog biscuits on the table, so I opened it up and gave her a large biscuit to work on.
She carefully put it on the floor in front of her and looked back up at me.
“That’s what you get. I’m sorry, girl. It’s for your own good.”
She looked like she wasn’t buying that explanation and continued to stare on, even more drool coming down the sides of her mouth as she licked her chops.
So I polished off the rest of my breakfast and placed my plate down on the floor in front of her and put her biscuit on top of the remnants of my eggs.
That did the trick. She licked the entire plate, pushing her biscuit from one part of the plate to another. Then when the plate was clean, she picked up the biscuit and gobbled it down.
I put the now ‘clean’ plate back on the table and pet her head. “That’s it.”
She seemed to be satisfied, no longer drooling. She went from her sitting position to laying down at my feet while still keeping an eye on me.
I looked at my watch and realized it was getting late. I got up and took the plate and mug over to the counter.
Without the cane.
I moved slow. I was trying to not use it as much. I knew I probably risked falling, but the therapist said a little at a time was okay. I turned back to Morgan once I managed to complete the simple task. “Ready to go outside?”
She jumped up on all fours and went toward the back door, barking excitedly.
I made my way to her, griping, “I’m coming, I’m coming.”
*
When we came back inside, the house phone started ringing. I walked to the sofa, picked it up, and sat down. Morgan sat by my feet. “Hello?”
“Tucker, sweetheart, how are things?”
“Great, Mom. I have a sweet new dog that Ryan and I picked up at the shelter. Ryan is on his way over for a training session.”
“That is wonderful! I have you on speaker. I hope that’s okay. You know how it is here.”
“Yeah, yeah. That’s fine. Who’s there today?”
“Eric and your Dad. Jack will be showing up for lunch later. We’re all so happy for you!”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“Tell us about your dog. What’s her name?”
“Morgan. She’s a black shepherd, about eight months old, already had quite a bit of training from her previous owner. He died and that’s why she ended up at the shelter. There’s more to the story, but I’ll tell you guys Sunday.”
“Ha! That’s why we were calling. You skipped last Sunday so we were wondering if you were going to make it.”
“Yep. And Ryan’s coming too.”
“Wonderful! And bring Morgan, of course.”
“Of course. I have more to tell but I need to get ready before Ryan shows up. We’ll see you guys Sunday and we can catch up then.”
I then remembered to add: “And guys…”
“Yes?” they said in unison.
“I’m very sorry for how I acted a couple of weeks ago. I was way out of line.”
“It’s okay, son,” my dad said. “We’re just glad things are looking up for you.”
“Thanks, Pops.”
We said our goodbyes and hung up. I then looked over at Morgan.
My new constant companion. My heart.