Chapter 16 - THE STUFFED DOG
Cormac stopped carrying the stuffed dog everywhere at seven.
I noticed one morning.
It remained on his bed.
“You don’t want him?”
“He’s sleeping.”
Good.
Progress without ceremony.
The stuffed dog had been inside the kennel during several recordings.
For months Cormac refused to let anyone wash it.
Then one day:
“It smells.”
We washed it.
He stood beside the washing machine.
Not crying.
Just watching.
When it came out, one ear was bent.
Cormac laughed.
“He looks weird.”
That was all.
Objects can stop being evidence.
At eight, he asked whether we could get a real dog.
I nearly laughed from the cosmic cruelty.
“What kind?”
“Big.”
We adopted a golden retriever named Moose.
Yes.
Cormac chose it.
No one made symbolism subtle.
Moose had a crate.
The first time Cormac saw it, he froze.
I said:
“We don’t have to use one.”
The trainer explained:
Dogs sometimes choose crates because they feel safe.
Doors can remain open.
No punishment.
Cormac watched Moose walk inside voluntarily.
Turn around.
Sleep.
He whispered:
“He can come out?”
“Whenever the door is open.”
Cormac opened it wider.
May you like
Moose stayed asleep.
That mattered.
