My dog is sick and will die soon. Bone cancer is eating her leg.
My father took her on a long car ride to taylor's falls (way out in the styx) where the MN metropolitan highschoolers go to jump the cliffs into the river. My brother said Alex stuck her head out the window the whole ride there and back. My dad remembered when Henry and I were little and played minigolf nearby at gooseberry falls. Henry was losing and quit playing, saying the game wasn't fair. Alex is older now than he was then. She still has a couple more days until she can quit.
I remember rolling up my jeans and wading into the shallows of the falls, slippery and sharp rocks uncomfortable to my always shoed toes. The water rolled over my ankles and ushered me to take the plunge over nearby precipices. I could never bring myself to make the jump.
I always passed out during the scenic ride home, long before my head could hang out any window. Car rides always put me to sleep; the rhythmic movements, the pulse of the road lulling my muscles to relaxation helping me to leave behind my active heartbeat and full breaths that characterize the necessary silent portion of existence.