When ten Micahs are turned loose in a big room, they run and scream and whack one another with plastic sticks, and it’s like being caught on the beach in a sudden storm: sound and sand and salt pelting you from all around. Stinging everywhere. But oddly happy. The boys don’t seem miserable. Just the opposite: they bare their teeth and whoop and climb things and jump off things and fly to the ground, and whoa, does flying ever look like fun.
But I’m not here to have fun. This is a birthday party, after all. I’m on the job.
Sit, I remind myself as I stay seated next to Colonel Victor. I practice my commands even when the rest of my pack doesn’t. It helps me be more useful. Elite. Stay.
Don’t fly. That’s not one of my commands, but it should be. Because my muscles twitch to try it. To jump like they’re jumping. Don’t fly, Daisy.
The Colonel cringes and smiles too tightly around all this chaos, but he’s here, not gone, not in the cloudy white zone. It’s making the rest of our pack very happy. Anna smiles at him, hands him the baby. “The tae kwon do studio was a good idea,” she says. He nods. “Can you imagine trying to do this in our home?” she says. He shakes his head.
He hugs her with one arm. “It’s perfect, querida. Look at those wild kids.”
And Anna does, and she smiles, too. Today is a yellow day. She flits over to the food: cake and hot dogs that make my nose hairs tingle. Heaven on a tabletop. I watch her float between the chow and the curly ribbon presents and the humans here from other packs. She smiles and laughs and spreads yellow joy everywhere, as happy and free and swishy as a large park of wide-open grass.
But Anna is also a fence. She’s gentle and joyful, but she keeps her pack together. It’s tough to do both. It’s tough to be a wide-open joyful park and a safeguarding protective fence. Anna does both. She’s like a herd dog, that one. Impressive.
While the boys fly, Anna lights twelve sticks on fire and jabs them into the cake. My fur crinkles at this, and I pant a little. But no one else seems concerned about these little hot danger sticks of fire. So I command myself: Sit, Daisy. Stay. Don’t fly. But I’ve got my eye on that fire.
All the humans start singing the same song:
“Feliz cumpleaños a ti
feliz cumpleaños a ti
feliz cumpleaños querido Micah
feliz cumpleaños a ti!”
Humans don’t get a whole lot right. But when they make their voices come together in music, it’s like cool, clear water.
Micah blows out the sticks of fire, which I appreciate, and I begrudgingly admit he’s saved us all. People clap their hands for him, so they must agree.
Hot dogs. Cake. Ripping flying paper. Beeping flashing toys. Then, more boy flying.
Sit, Daisy. Stay. Don’t fly.
Anna approaches me and Victor. She hands him a hot dog, which he gives to me, and OH MOUTH JOY DROOL. The Colonel laughs. “She doesn’t even chew!”
Anna laughs, too, and it’s like a flower garden in here, all color and honey. She slips her hand into his.
“I’m glad I’m here this year,” he says.
“Me, too.”
He shifts his weight off his walking stick. “That was the worst. Missing the birthdays. Holidays, all the soldiers were miserable, because everyone was missing Christmas or Thanksgiving together. But missing the birthdays? Solo misery.”
Anna squeezes the Colonel’s hand and his heart hums.
I don’t understand why he’s missed other birthdays, but solo misery? That I understand. And I understand that Anna was here while he was away. She made sure the birthdays still happened.
Victor laughs at Micah climbing up pegs on a wall. He drops my leash, his walking stick. “Stay, Miss Daisy.”
Stay. Don’t fly.
“I bet I can climb higher than you, hijo!” he shouts. He runs. He climbs, pulling his injured leg up the wall stiffly. His heart and Micah’s heart sing together: cool, clear water.
Don’t fly, Daisy. This is worth the Stay.