Rosie's Angel

I love Rosie. I love the way she smells. Rings of rainbow scents billow from her soft, baby skin. Her bare feet make wet sounds as she wobbles across the damp concrete surrounding the swimming pool. The subject of her attention, a butterfly, its wings beating to a rapid rhythm that my hypersensitive ears pick up with ease. My tail wags as I lay, sprawled out in the sun, ears poised and nose twitching.

I listen, intent, as the butterfly's path advances towards the heavily chlorine-scenting water. Rosie's childlike giggles bubble from her as she stumbles towards it, still in pursuit. I reposition myself to rest my head on my paws so as to have a better view of her playing.

Rosie’s smell darkens to a vibrant orange when her chase leads her too close to the lip of the pool. Her sweat is sweet when she tips, losing balance and she crashes into the water. I jump up at the sound of the splash.

Racing over I see Rosie's tiny body submerged in the water. I let out great bellowing barks but her parents are nowhere to be seen. I've lost her scent. Her arms and legs flail in the water, desperately trying to roll her face to the surface but she is too young. Too weak.

Rosie is my human. My human. I cannot let her sink. I jump into the water on a split-second decision. With my head submerged I lose most of my senses. All I can do to locate Rosie amid my blunted sensations is to head towards the quickly fading disturbance of the water. Swimming down I manage to lock my teeth around the back of her shirt. With Rosie in tow I am weighted down significantly. In the back of my mind, I hear muffled shouts of alarm and panic penetrate the water from above. With the last of my strength I break the surface of the water, still holding tight to Rosie. Strong, human hands pull us back onto the safety of the concrete and people take Rosie away from me as someone tries to breathe air back into her mouth. One. Two. Three breathes and she regains consciousness.

She is back on her feet and weaving between adults' legs before she charges, head-first, into the soggy fur of my neck. I am Rosie's best friend and she is mine. Us dogs are born with a sole purpose: to love. We truly are angels on Earth.