Flip

Flip

Meet me. I’m Flip. And I’m a dog. I’m big, brave and friggin’ majestic. I’m the alpha—the man of the house. I live with my humans: Human one and Human two. Their names? How would I know? Why not worry about more important things, like asking me where my basking spot is? Well, I’ll have you know it’s at the bottom of the window where the sun comes in; be it on a cold winter’s day or in the scorching heat of summer, I’m there.

I guess I should tell you I have a little brother too. I don’t care if he was here first and is older than me, I’m bigger. Buster, if you’re listening to this, close your little sticky-up ears now. So, here’s a secret—I love him. So much. If I lost him, I’d be a wreck. Please don’t tell him that. See, I have to be tough for him, for I am his rock and his protector. Afterall, he is but a puny little Yorkshire Terrier. And I am a guardian. One to be feared. Nobody messes with me or my boy.

Okay, we’ll talk later, Human two is coming. In coming belly rubs. Why? Because I’m irresistible. The human is walking past the couch; therefore, I must turn and take position. Okay, roll onto back and, violá.

“Oh, you want belly rubs Flippy boy?” I rub my head on the couch to show him I mean business. “Yeah. There you go buddy,” the spare human murmurs.

Oh, I’m in bliss. This is what heaven feels like. I squirm around on the couch, giving myself a double massage. It’s only short lived and Human two leaves. Yeah, that’s why you’re number two Tim! I think to myself. Oh wait, I do know their names. Tim, and the other one, is … think Flip, think … is Rebecca.

Did I tell you how I got my name? It’s because when I was young, when my parents first bought me home, all that time ago, I kept flipping my bed over. Hang on! You Human—the one who writes this; I’m pretty sure they called me Flip because, I’m flippin’ adorable! Not to undermine you, but the story needs to be told straight.

Rebecca

Hubby walks into the bedroom and sends me a grin. “So, first week down with Flip. It’s gone pretty good, hasn’t it?”

I agree. I mention how he is special. Our other fosters, took much longer to settle in. Flip walked in on day one and made himself right at home. Not even one instance of Buster and him not getting along. I know the shelter said he is good with dogs, but you still don’t expect it, especially not for him to just walk in and act like they’ve been best friends their whole lives.

“I’m going to go let them out the back,” I say to Tim. As I pass him by, his words echo through my head, “No more foster fails.” That was the agreement we made before taking Flip home last week. I am filled with regret and wish to undo the pinky promise pledge. I sigh as I walk out the bedroom and into the living room.

Nine years ago, just after Tim and I were married, our foster failing journey started. First, was Roxy, a black lab; the best black lab. We knew right away, we wanted to adopt her. Six years we had with her until she passed due to her cancer.

Then there was Buster. Three weeks after getting him, we adopted him. That was three years ago. Thank God he is healthy and still with us.

Our last foster fail was Gypsy; a mix breed dog with severe and complicated medical issues. Our life became an umpteen amount of vet visits, trialing different medications and cleaning up sick. Tim and I fell in love with her. But our hearts bled. We wanted to help and we wanted her to have a proper family, but we were trying to be more cautious this time. So, we were cautious. Two months later, the adoption was official. Four days later, we lost her. That was five months ago.

I still cry at least once a week for her.

Tim

I can tell when she looks at me like that, I know what’s brewing in her brain—she wants to adopt Flip. It’s been a week; how can she be thinking this already? It’s only been a week, surely there’s a family out there that have room in their hearts for him. Because, I’m not sure if I do.

Flip

Oh goody! Human one has risen. My tails lifts happily and I drum it against the couch in celebration. Hang on, I simply must inspect this as there appears to be some flying menace in our home. I climb down from the couch and make haste to the wall where it has landed. Flip, mighty protector here.

Human one, sorry, Rebecca, tells me it’s a moth. She then calls to Tim for immediate removal of this “moth.” I’m insulted; that’s my job. If only I could figure out how to get up the wall. I let out a verbal call to the moth. It does not respond. I suppose moths must be deaf creatures.

I watch the aerial devil closely. One must never be complacent, even with small things. It flies into the hallway. I tail it. Alright missy, giving big boss energy with this writing. Stop right there. I don’t appreciate the specist terminology. Can’t you just say, I followed it? Please let’s get on the same page and be respectful to one another. Okay?

In the hallway I creep, stalking the unwelcome guest. Human two clasps his hands around the mouldy moth. With that small act, my authority is undermined. I make my displeasure known. Tim casual like it’s a damn Friday, says he is taking it outside. He pretends to know nothing of my desire to maul that taunting creature, and to fulfill my purpose here.

I move on to my human Rebecca. I pity her. She must be so intimated by my size, so to show her that she doesn’t need to be, I place my paws on her legs. This indicates that we are the same—equals. I must do this every day as a sign of respect. She pats my face and I lose control. My head falls into her hand. Mm, so nice!

Rebecca calls for Buster, and his little brown a—uh, bottom, trots from down the hallway. I go over and give him a morning kiss. He tastes like fish today. He yaps at me to play. Honestly, I have to be the grown up and show him the responsibility of delayed gratification. Maybe one day he’ll learn.

“Take it outside you two,” Rebecca instructs as she unlocks and holds the door open. We both run ‘til we’re on the lawn. We throw paws at each other, (playfully of course). I may be big and tough, but I’m no monster; I have honour.

Soon Buster tires and lays himself out on the cool grass and pants profusely. I consider that to be just a warm up, but I must allow him to rest. That is part of the protector’s job after all.

I lay myself next to Buster. I get close enough so I’m able to feel him breathe against my back. If I know he’s breathing, I know I’m doing a great job.

I sniff the air. I smell Buster’s breath, Buster’s anus, Buster’s scraggily, musty fur, I smell the sap from the tree in the back corner and I smell the lawn mower stored in the shed. Then something else. It piques my interest. Chase instinct is activated.

Sorry Rebecca, no matter how much calling of my name you do, I cannot un-flick that switch that is my DNA. It is reflex and it cannot be stopped. I run. Two jumps are all it takes to scale the fence.

Immediately, I spot the stinky little featherball feeding on the ground below. I aim and project myself to just the right spot to get it. It flies off. I give chase. The soft grass below my paws becomes hard.

SCREECH … thump.

Rebecca

“Flip. Flip. FLIP!” I call at the top of my lungs. The idiot has gone over the fence. I run to the gate and fumble with the latch. After an eternal heart-stopping struggle, I get it into position and slide the latch across. I pull the gate and run through. Within two microseconds I see flip run onto the road, I see the car, I hear it force its brakes and I see Flip get hit.

My stomach drops. I run to him with tears welling in my eyes. I scream out for Tim. I cannot face losing my boy. He is our boy.

The driver gets out shaking. It’s a middle-aged woman with glasses on. Her mouth moves before any sound breaks through. “Oh my God. Is that your cat? I’m so sorry; he just came out of nowhere.”