Sam Edmisten
Creative Nonfiction
did you have to eat my belt, Dad’s socks, Emma’s AirPods, those cans of beans that you didn’t even really eat, you just destroyed, the oven mitts, the garden gloves, or the candy bar that made you shit everywhere, I mean, what was the point of eating my shorts, because those were good shorts, and you ate my pizza the last time I was home with that too-long-for-your-mouth tongue of yours, drooling enough to fill up the Sahara Desert, and it wasn’t even like a slice or two, it was a whole fucking pizza, simultaneously being broken-hearted I lost my pizza, I was equally surprised you didn’t puke it up, because last time you did, and one sniff was enough to put someone in the ER and it smelled like hell, but no, not this time, you just moved on to your next victim instead, which was my underwear for some reason, and then the bag of jalapeno chips, followed by the dead mouse outside that I had to reach halfway down your throat to get, pulling it out by the tail, and that mouse had me seriously questioning if I wanted to own a dog as an adult, and I will never understand why dogs eat each others’ poop, like, are there nutrients in it or what, because that makes no sense, and I pray for any dog that would dare try to eat your abnormally massive dookies, you’re like a vacuum, only you suck up anything and not just tiny debris, it’s like you’re unfazed by eating tissues, used or not, and you never forget to chew on Dad’s wallet, forcing him to order a new debit card, which he’s almost murdered you over since you’ve done it three times now, and don’t even get me started with Mom, I’m not saying she doesn’t love you, but you have been on her shit list with the number of times she has tried to grab your fluffy black tail as you barely escape out the dog door with something trapped between your teeth, your droopy ears bouncing as you get away, and while it is humorous and I love you with all my heart, even I have to admit, you’re not the best dog, especially when you hop up on the counter and grab uncooked veggie burgers, and those are not cheap, it’s like you live for the thrill of getting caught, and I know we didn’t necessarily train you, that Dad and I give you bites of our food every now and then, but you gotta stop eating everything, it may one day be bad, like the time you attempted to swallow a tennis ball, I know it wasn’t whole and that you just went for a chunk, but that chunk got stuck in your small intestine, costing Mom and Dad two thousand dollars to save your ass, and I was freaking out blaming myself for not keeping a better eye on you, I mean, you’re literally my best friend, but I shouldn’t have to wait on you hand and foot, you’re four years old now, you aren’t a puppy anymore, Stella, but I remember when you were, it’s like it was yesterday, two-month old Stelly full of excitement and joy, bouncing off the walls as you and I were cooped up all day during Covid, you lying on my lap, us wrestling on the floor, we were like peanut butter and jelly, but I didn’t train you, I didn’t discipline you for your more-than-questionable behavior, so I don’t blame you for eating Sour Patch Kids, or cleaning my plate when I don’t ask you to, and maybe that’s why you chew up hats, plastic cookware, even the armrest on the recliner, and if so, I apologize, I apologize for not teaching you, for not practicing good habits, for only praising you and showering you with love, because you are too smart for your own good, a devious dog that tricks me into letting you get away with eating everything, you’re kind, sweet, adorable, and mischievous, making it hard for me to stay mad at you, I mean, you could probably eat everything and I couldn’t stay mad for even a day, even when Mom wants to punish you I feel bad, almost as if you don’t deserve it, I’m there to back you up and explain how you’re such a good dog, but I think it’s time for that to stop, I can’t only praise you, you’ll never learn to be obedient, you’re very important to me, but good dog owners don’t let their dogs get away with being bad, so maybe you aren’t the best dog, but you could be, and I think it’s time for both of us to change, it’s time for me to learn how to teach, and for you to listen.
Sam Edmisten is a sophomore majoring in psychology. Originally from Bozeman, he plays for the Battlin’ Bears football team and loves to cook.
The Rocky Mountain Review 