On+the+Shores+of+Little+Pond

Emma Roback p. 1/2 A  **On the shores of Little Pond** A story of the love and compassion between man and dog ** I miss that smile. ** ** I miss those days **  ** One day later that year Annette came home not feeling so well. She thought it was just a cold, and life went on. Tom seemed a little uneasy, but his anxiousness only lasted a few days. Tom and I stopped fishing for a bit, so we could be home with Annette more. Well this “cold” lasted about a week and then finally died down. Annette went back to her shop and everything was fine again. Tom and I started fishing again. (but by this time it was ice fishing considering Little Pond had frozen over again) Life seemed like it was normal again. And with normality, comes dogs. Now Tom wasn’t exactly a spring chicken anymore, he was getting older, at age of 6 Tom was really starting to slow down. The little white star on his chest was more of a light gray than white, and his chin was starting to get a little gray. So what did we do? We contacted a local shelter and came home with a tiny little yellow lab mix puppy. Star. ** ** But what fun is happily ever after? ** 
 * I remember when we used to fish. We’d go out on Little Pond and pull out **** "Poca Barca” our little fishing boat on my day off. Tom, the wonder dog, the dog I had found as a wet little puppy stranded on the shore of little pond, would look up at me and smile before hopping in, his large dark brown eyes smiling more than his muzzle. There’s an empty space in our little boat… **
 * Once far away from the sandy shore of Little Pond I’d stop rowing, and cast my line out. Most days were fly fishing days, but today I just wanted to sit, and possibly relax on the gleaming lake in the center of out little town in Northern Minnesota we so affectionately called “Little Pond.” **
 * It was early spring, and the water of Little Pond was just barely defrosted, just enough to get “Poca Barca” out in the water. The new green grass that bordered the lake was shorter than most springs, probably because of our elongated winter. The early morning sun was just peeking over the horizon, and a faint peachy color was creeping across the sky. I wasn’t cold, even in the 40 degree weather. A pair of jeans, a long sleeve shirt and a fleece vest was all I needed. **
 * We stayed out on the boat all morning, and fished right up around lunch. Around noon we rowed back to shore, and made our way over to the notorious Floyd’s Café, an old time diner that served food that was some of the best in town. Tom padded into the diner first, and Floyd was the first to greet him. **
 * “If it isn’t my buddy Tom!” Floyd greeted Tom with a thump on the withers. Tom wagged his tail in response. **
 * “Morning Floyd” I said with a smile as I walked in the door. **
 * “Jerry! How ya doin’? How’s Annette?” Floyd stood 6 feet tall in the pink and white striped diner uniform in all his glory, wearing a white hat that looked a bit like a… well something that’s not a hat. **
 * “Floyd! Annette and I are fine thank you, how about you? How’s it goin’?” Floyd and I had known each other a long time, and he was a regular customer at my tackle shop and Annette’s flower shop. **
 * So we’d eat at Floyd’s and then set off. I own my own tackle shop on the west side of Little Pond, so we hopped into my car and we were off. Tom always rode shotgun on the way to the shop, and nothing pleased him more than sticking his big glorious black head out the window. **
 * “Congrats Tom! You’re officially a grandpa!” I had congratulated Tom. But the happiness didn’t last too long. About 2 months later Annette became sick again, doctors couldn’t figure out what she had, and her condition slowly got worse. Tom had always been a family dog, but somehow he seemed more mine than Annette’s. Star on the other hand was 99% Annette’s dog. Star never left Annette’s side, especially when she was so sick. Though Star wasn’t much help. She was more of a comic relief than a service dog. As three years passed Annette showed little sign of health, and we began different treatments at a hospital in Colorado. Soon we moved there permanently, and Tom and I lost our fishing pastime. **
 * I remember when Annette had to be hospitalized permanently, her undiagnosed disease was creeping up on us. At one point we thought all hope was lost. **
 * Then we saw the sun come through the clouds. Annette was started on a new medication and was slowly recovering. We moved back to Minnesota and lived happily ever after. **
 * Life continued, I re-opened the tackle shop and Annette re-opened her flower shop. We lived normally for about three years, when one morning we awoke to find the 12 year old Tom curled happily between Star and myself. He had crossed the rainbow bridge, and he was waiting. Someday Annette, Star, and I will join him. But for now, Tom will be rejoined with the sandy shore of Little Pond. The lake that joined Tom and I together a whole 12 years ago. I buried Tom on the exact same shore I found him 12 years ago, a wet little scared puppy. Now our little old boat **** “ **** Poca Barca” has a new name. The **** “ **** Poca Barca” painted in red letters has been covered with a coat of wood stain, and now new white letters have replaced it. “Tom’s Legacy” As for the shore Tom is buried? Well this story is posted there, engraved in a wood sign under the name “On the Shores of Little Pond” **