My interrobangs,

Today you are both somehow four, which means you are getting too old, too quickly. So please stop.

More astounding — we’ve been a family for three years now. With roles that seem decades in the practice.

Jadie, you are the beauty of the clan. Your maroon Chocolate face  and those sunset eyes still catch me off guard when I see you seeing me, which feels like every time I need it. I remember you in palms.

Charlie, you are the ultimate co-pilot. You take the next-to pillow each night, stay put until I rise. You are my yes-yes-yes, my what-took-you-so-long, my after-all. Like all rescues, you know.

And now so do I. Breakfast comes after the park. Green beans help  feign a feast. Salmon oil on anything is like bacon dip.

We’ve created a rhythm of bone, beat and breath. You spot our electric clown car before I do, and you’ve become rolling ambassadors at local hamburger joints. People ask if you’re okay if they notice you’re not hatchbacked.

Perhaps that is why you always are. Because I know I am okay if we are rolling as a pack.

Four winters have passed like a breath. You found your way here along different paths, but both were forged by paws pressing time into corners of a house now yours. Twin souls in different coats, you’ve taught me that love multiplies rather than divides.

Today you are four — just another day to you. But to me, a milestone of miracles: Two creatures that share my days; two stories braided with mine; two reasons to believe that the best things in life come in pairs.

Happy Fourth, little ones.

With love and salmon oil,

pops

Dear Teddy,

This is my first letter to you, but I trust it will find you. I know it will. 

You’ve been on my mind. That’s probably because I recently visited and met with a mini-you. Eight weeks and female, just as you were to be when I heard about you a decade and a half ago.

But you were the last to leave the litter, and when the choice came to get my money back or get you, well, you know what I chose. And I’d do it a million times over.

You were my first puppy in reconstruction. And flipping through memories, I can see it in various stages through recollections of my Golden.

Here is you in that tiny studio above a commercial garage in Westwood. Here is you, at the dog park. Here is you, diving into the pool in Encino. Here is you, trying to keep a squeak toy from Esme by spinning her clockwise, then counterclockwise.

Here is you, holding Esme’s entire head in your mouth. Here is you, offering a ball to Aunt Lessie. Here is you, getting a kiss from Dad.

Here is you.

I tear up when I think about you. And then the right song will hit, and I am a wreck.

Jadie and Charlie worry when I look sad. I wish I could let them know it’s the most beautiful sadness there is; filled, tip to toe, in love.

Because you will always be more than my reconstruction pup. You will always be my second chance, my hand up, my bootstrap incarnate.

Thank you for the rescue. 

Now, if you’re wondering how I know this letter will reach you, it’s because I know exactly where you live, young man:

Theodore Ruxpin Bowles, ℅ my ❤️.