steak knives
when i was 11 my mom was scream fighting with me about my “talking back” behavior.
after about an hour of back and forth i seceded, as i do, and started to apologize to her.
something must have been off with the tone of my voice.
mom is easy to upset. it always happens so fast.
in a fit of rage, she grabbed a handful of steak knives that she kept sharps-down in a ceramic vase and threw them at me.
what my mom didn’t know was that our sweet, goofy black lab was sitting behind me. faced with the unlikely fleet of 20 flying knives, she got up abruptly and started barking.
the surprise and her reaction made us laugh. it’s like she always knew what to say without saying anything.
i was laughing at the situation again years later. one of my friends looked horrified, the other uncomfortable.
your mom was throwing knives at you? you were 11, and your mom threw knives at you?
i never thanked my sweet puppy enough for taking so many stabs for me. all throughout my childhood, in so many ways, my mom would throw knives at me, and sweet baby dog would get up, tail wagging, slobber on the floor, her paws dancing on the hardwood at the sound of our laughs.
it’s our first night without baby dog. we wrapped her up in a cotton towel and surrounded her with love on her last day. she got to try chocolate, chicken nuggets, and had more than 3 dinners.
we came home and talked for a long time. i guess something was off in the tone of my voice again. it always happens so fast.
my mom threw knives at me again. i can take it now.
baby girl, thank you for 15 years of protecting me, loving me, and taking knives for me. i don’t know what i’m gonna do without you.