I have two boxer dogs: a brother and sister, Diesel and Echo. We didn’t name them – Those are the names they had when we rescued them. Although, given that I write about demolition and construction equipment, Diesel does seem to be an apt name.
They are both fourteen years old now. In dog years, that’s ancient—98 by the book. And every day, I see the little signs that time is catching up. Diesel sometimes slips when he stands. Echo startles when touched, no longer hearing me approach. I know, though I try not to dwell on it, that the time I have left with them is short.
We rescued them when they were just a year old. I like to think we saved them, gave them a good life. But in truth, I think they saved us too; offering love that expected nothing and gave everything at once. During the dark days of COVID, they were my sole reason for leaving the house, saving my sanity on long quiet walks uninterrupted by cars and people.
These days, as I work from home, they are my constant companions. They follow me from room to room, lie at my feet while I type, nudge my hand for attention or snacks when I get too lost in thought. They are more than pets now. They are my rhythm, my routine, my shadow.
Sometimes I catch myself wondering how I will cope when they’re gone. And in one of those odd, meandering thoughts we all have, I found myself drawing a strange comparison to the machines that accompany our lives. Specifically, diggers.
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