Don’t get fed until after patrol.
That’s the first thing to remember. Every day, you’ve got a job to do. Just one, but it’s a big one. Then you get to eat and sleep all day. Not a bad deal.
I miss dad even when I’m sleeping, so it’s always good to see him when I wake up, even if I am still tired. He always lets me get a drink before we go, which I always need. It’s tough getting old, but it beats the alternative.
I’m not really sure why I can’t eat before we go, but I’ve never really wondered about it. Maybe to keep my killer instinct sharp. I’m sure there’s a good reason, probably a ration or something like that. I couldn’t imagine he just wouldn’t feed me if we could afford it. He’s not like that. This is our life, no reason to complain.
Dad’s the general, and we have a mission. One he can’t do without me.
We go into the Smell room – I call it that because two or three times a day mom & dad make themselves something to eat, and it’s all so different and amazing from my food that I can barely stand it – and we get ready for the patrol. I’ll admit, leaving the house is the worst part of my day, but feeling like a useful soldier for the general fills me with so much pride that I still get excited when we suit up.
Dad has only the finest equipment for his best and only soldier. It lets me know he cares. He spares no expense. I have to get into my Haptic Act Responsive Neuro Energy Survival Suit. It’s always a two man job. Dad has to help, I can’t get into it myself. Then dad attaches the Longated Extension Algorithmic Survival Hook to the two of us, which also has the Portable Offsite Omega Passage Boulders And Gas Satchels at his end. Now we’re a unit. It’s time for the perimeter check. This is when it gets real.
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Sometimes I have nightmares. I know they must be bad enough for the general to take notice, since sometimes I wake up to him rubbing me and looking in my eyes until I can sniff him that it’s all okay. He looks so scared. I don’t want him to worry. I guess I must be barking in my sleep, that’s how he’d know. But I’m not sure. Since I’m deaf, I can’t really wake myself up, so it just kind of happens while I’m sleeping until they go away on their own. They always do eventually, but it’s faster if dad saves me.
I guess something happened to me, before. I can’t remember what it is, but it must have been bad. Sometimes I yell, even when I don’t want to. It’s like a nightmare, except it’s when I’m in the light, which makes me feel even worse while it’s happening, since I know it means I’m yelling and biting at mom and dad. But I can’t stop that when it’s happening either. I’m just so scared. Luckily I don’t have teeth. I lost those sometime. I don’t know where, but it was before I met mom and dad. Sometimes I miss my teeth when I’m eating, but sometimes I’m glad they’re gone, because that means I can’t accidentally hurt someone I love when I’m scared. It’s such a strange feeling, to be relieved when you remember you have no teeth. It doesn’t make sense sometimes. Lots of things don’t make sense.
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Dad carries me down the stairs. This is actually my favorite part, being carried. If I could, I’d ride around on dad all day. I try to remember that he’s got general stuff to do, so he can’t hold me all day, but sometimes it’s the only place I can relax. I try to remember I’ll get picked up again at the end for the trip back up the stairs, so I try to keep that in mind, to get me through the patrol. We have to make the perimeter check, at least during the summer. When it’s winter, it’s too cold, and we only go to the mounds, the edge of our fort, then we come right back home. Winter is too cold for a full perimeter check. We just have to hope everything will be okay out there on the far territory until we can go back when it’s warm.
He puts me down on the sidewalk, and we go walking. Sometimes I have to stop and drop my logs right away, so dad will wait. Then he gets them and puts them in the mounds at the edge of the fort. The mounds have a mouth on top, and dad pulls them open and drops my logs into them. I guess dad feeds them too. It’s weird that the mounds eat logs.
I love peeing on the mounds, it’s my favorite. I use most of my pee, because it’s our border, so it’s important to let everyone know that they’re not allowed any closer unless the general says it’s okay. I only save a little bit of pee for the last thing that will need to be marked later.
We cross a little bit on the sidewalk, and now we’re going with gusto. I smell the others, Stella and Beau, who are very nice but big but I don’t get to talk to them, I think because their dad isn’t as good a dad as the general. I know they watch me, even though I can’t see or hear very well. I have a good nose. I know they walk even with me a little bit to the side, until their dad makes them stop. I think we all wish we could be friends, but that’s not how things are right now. All we can do for each other right now is use the BEPO.
After Beau and Stella’s house, we turn left. We’re going on the sidewalk, still. We’re on the farthest rectangle side end, the farthest from home we go every day. At the very most far away, halfway to the other corner end of the sidewalk where we turn left again to head back home, in the middle before that at the point of most far away walk, it’s the BEPO. Sometimes dad has to stand him back up, but most of the time I can see him before we get to him, which is so exciting. I can’t see real good, so when he’s bright and yellow and I can see him getting closer it feels like my eyes work again. He has an arm and a hand and a head and legs, but he never moves. He lets us all pee on him. He’s such a hero.
I can smell Beau and Stella on him, and all a bunch of others out there too that I’ve never met – I don’t know what they look like – but I can smell their kind, and how big they are, and how hungry they are, or if they’re a boy or a girl, or how old they are. If they’re happy or healthy. Everything important about them. It’s my favorite thing. It’s proof of life. Solidarity. I know you’re here. I am also here. I may never meet you. I don’t know what you’re going through, but you are not alone. It’s important to say hello everyday if you can. It’s how we talk without seeing.
At the top of the sidewalk we turn left again, and we walk a bit halfway, but then dad picks me up, at the same spot every time. I’m not sure why, but I’m sure it’s for a good reason. And I like looking down at the sidewalk when dad carries me, because then I can see the sparkles on the ground. I think that’s why dad picks me up, so I can see the bright sparkles on the sidewalk, because once they’re gone he puts me back down.
Now we’re in the home stretch. I can tell because it’s the brightest in the sky out of the whole walk, and because of the killer river with the angry water monsters going so fast and big on the right side always make me flinch, but it’s important. This is our fort. We have to make sure the edge places are safe. I can feel dad tighten straight behind me, so he knows where I am. I can tell he’s nervous, which makes me nervous, but I also know I’m safe with him. He’ll never let me go. He takes it as serious as I do. He’s not messing around, and neither am I.
But I know we’re almost home! Sometimes I make logs again, so we go past the doors and give my logs to the mound again. I love showing off our mounds. I’m so proud of them. Then dad carries me up the stairs, my favorite part. And I get to eat. Sometimes I make a mess, since I don’t have teeth and I’m slurping a lot of tongue to get food in. But then I sleep on dad, for six hours. Then a short patrol to the mound. Then I sleep on dad again. Then I patrol the mound again, then I eat again. Then I sleep through dark until it’s bright. I couldn’t think of a better life. And then it’s tomorrow again for the big perimeter check. It’s important business. I don’t know what he’d do without me.
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