Apollo’s 106
I am sitting here looking around at The 106 just over a week before I lock her doors for the final time. My eyes roam over the surfaces that have changed so much, yet stayed the same, in the thirteen-plus years of my time here. I arrived to her cream-colored flat paint covered walls and beige carpet with my hand-me-down furniture and mishmash of cobbled together accessories of life and am leaving her with smooth, vinyl flooring, brand-new carpet, and new appliances. I am taking with me my purchased, matching living room furniture and plans for a new dining room and a custom-made platform bed. It’s been a long road. A sometimes-hard road. I am so very excited for this new adventure…but I am also a little sad.
One thing I didn’t mention, I arrived at The 106 with Apollo. I bought this house for him. He was a young, thriving two-year old Lab who loved to run and was especially good at being silly! The corners of these rooms, the shadows of the trees in the yard, the street that brings you to the driveway out front: they all hold images of Apollo.
When I first moved in, a neighbor had a small, black rooster that flew around, teasing Apollo with every flap of his wings. Oh, how he wanted to catch that pesky thing! One day he and I had been out and about, and we returned in the car. I was distracted by a large group of people gathered in front of a home up the street – clearly a party breaking up, everyone outside saying their extended southern goodbyes. I didn’t notice the rooster in the front yard of the home next door. But Apollo did. I opened the car door and before I could grab his leash, he was off like a sprinter at the starting line of the Olympics. I took off after him as he took off after the rooster, with never a hope of catching up because he was lightning quick. The rooster flew, Apollo ran, his leash flapping behind him, hopelessly waving further and further from my grasp. Fortunately for the rooster, he made it over a fence at the end of the road and fortunately for me, Apollo was stopped by said fence. He turned to me with the biggest, goofiest grin like he was saying, “did you see that mama? I almost had him.” It had rained earlier that day and his legs and belly were covered with mud, the leash was sopping wet, and I was soaked nearly to my knees. I wanted to kill him but couldn’t help but laugh. I grabbed his leash and headed back toward home. The gathering of people was staring us, slack-jawed from up the street. I waved.
That first summer here at The 106, Kelly was visiting. It was before she moved into the first-floor bedroom that would soon become her home. She let Apollo into the backyard (this was pre-doggy-door) and yelled at the top of her lungs. I took off toward the back door to find a groundhog in the yard snapping his huge front teeth at my boy. Kelly and I started trying to shoo away the groundhog while trying to get Apollo back inside. Neither listened very well. The groundhog kept chattering and Apollo was jumping around it like a fool and looking back at me as if to say “mama, why won’t this funny looking little dog play with me?” We finally got Apollo distracted enough that the groundhog was able to retreat. Once our hearts started returning to a normal rhythm, we laughed our asses off. But, damn, that was a close one.
When I cooked bacon or watched football, Apollo would go hide in the back bedroom. Once the doggy door was installed, he’d plant himself in the backyard, rain or shine, sitting still as a statue until he decided it was safe to come inside again. He loved to sit at the side door when it was full glass. Once when I told him his Gramma was coming, he refused to leave the door until she arrived.
He was life and energy and love, and he is the reason for this house. I, no doubt, will walk away that final time trying to hold onto every one of those memories like photographs in my mind.
I told my mom that I was afraid Apollo would feel like I was abandoning his house, but she reminded me that he lives in my heart now. As does Phoebe, and a piece of Pooch and of Duncan as well. This is a house where dogs were well-loved, where they were treasured as family members, where they recovered from their previous lives as broken beings and learned to thrive. This is a house where nuggets of love are imprinted on the floors and in the walls. Now it’s time for another first-time homeowner to wrap himself in the love we left behind.
Don’t worry, we’re still taking more than enough love with us…to a new home where, without a doubt, dogs will be well-loved, new dogs will begin to recover from past lives, and where nuggets of love will be sprinkled among the walls, floors, and deep into the grooves of the foundation. And Apollo will still live in that special place in my heart, where he resided even in life, and where he’ll reside forever.
