SEQUOIA — THE HOLE, THE WATER, THE PADDLEBOARD
By: Sequoia
My name is Sequoia. Sometimes just Seqo. Sometimes “SeCoyCoy.” Sometimes “absolutely not, you’re not a lapdog.” But I am a lapdog. Obviously.
The day started with a smell.
Not breakfast. Breakfast was already gone. I checked.
This was older. Smaller. Hidden.
I found it beside the house where the dirt stays cool and extra interesting underneath the top layer — a whiff. I followed the whiff downwards.
Now I am in a hole with the whiff, and it is whiffier the farther I go, so I know I must keep going. I am two feet deep. I am not done. The crumb of food is down here somewhere. I can smell crumbs, always. There was a crumb, one time, in this general area, and I have not forgotten. I will not forget. This is my project.
Dad says “Sequoia, what are you doing.”
I stopped long enough to look at him.
I was standing in my hole.
I resumed digging.
By the time Dad came back, I was deep enough that only my shoulders and head were sticking out. The dirt smelled whiffier and whiffier. Also wet. Also, sometimes I saw a worm. Possibly edible.
Dad said something about China.
Yes.
That is where I am going.
It’s like my cousin Kula says: “Why do they throw away this perfectly good FOOD?” Exactly, Kula. Exactly.
Later, Dad filled the water bowl.
I heard it before I saw it — that hollow metal sound against the floor, then the rush of cold water.
Cruiser arrived first.
This was unfortunate.
I myself drank like a normal dog. Quick, purposeful, like after a run. Not a drop out of the bowl. This is Code 5, apparently. Hilux named it. I did not ask him to name it. I looked at Cruiser while I did it, so he could learn. He did not learn. He never learns. He put his whole face in and made a lake. Dad got a towel. Dad always gets a towel.
In the afternoon, we went to the water.
I went swimming. I love water. I love it in a happy way, a fun way, a splashy way. In an appropriate way. I know the difference between swimming in a lake and turning the kitchen into a lake. (Sigh, Cruiser.)
Hilux went in too — up to his chest, which is his line. Hilux has a line. This is Code 2. He says he “needs” to cool down, and then he stands in the water at exactly chest depth, looking at everyone like he’s done something. Once — once — he went farther. Dad still talks about it. Dad will talk about it forever.
And Cruiser went in because Dad was on the paddleboard. Cruiser does not swim near the paddleboard. Cruiser chases the paddleboard. Cruiser chases Dad. Whining. The whole time. The whole time. This is Code 88. Dad paddles. Cruiser chases. Cruiser whines. The water is dirty. Cruiser does not care. Cruiser cares about Dad. That’s love, actually. I respect it.
But Cruiser, buddy — the water is fine. The Dad is fine. The paddleboard is fine. It’s okay. I promise. Come dig with me instead. I’m almost to China, and I have a worm for you.
— Sequoia
Golden Bernese. Land seal. Lapdog (disputed). Digger (undisputed). Secoycoy.
Full Code Appendix filed here →