On Sunday night, after the kids went to bed, I was in the bathroom and heard Scout whining at the bottom of the stairs.
Our dog is getting old, friends. And normally she can get up the stairs just fine. But on the weekends when she follows me around the house non-stop (as is her anxious way), she gets tired out by the amount of stairs by the end of the day. And she just couldn’t do this last flight before bed.
But before I could go help her, I heard Nat get her.
He sat with her at the bottom of the steps and scratched her behind the ears.
“It’s okay, little girl,” he said, softly. “I bet you didn’t know this about me, but I am actually really good at carrying dogs up and down stairs. So you have nothing to worry about.”
Then he bent down, scooped her up, and did just that.
And I wanted to cry. Because he’s such a good guy. And I can’t believe we’ve been together for so long that we’re having another dog go through the aging process with us. (To be fair, Dr. Pemberton, Nat’s dog I acquired when we started dating, was ancient when I met him. And, due to a broken spine from an accident that happened when Doc was around 4, Nat carried that dog up and down stairs for a solid 11 years. He also squeezed the pee out of him but that’s a story for another time.)
I’ve been working on a list in my head on an essay to my daughter and son about life lessons (in case I die and can’t tell them myself because I’m morbid like that). But I think my first piece of advice is that people who are nice to animals are the best kind of person. They have the biggest hearts.
And there are worst things than spending your life with someone with a kind heart.