Page 3 of Tell Me I'm Enough

“You want to keep the damn dog so bad?” he spits. “Then you can go too!”

She goes quiet.

I haven’t stopped crying the whole car ride. I just keep holding on tight to the big, fluffy golden retriever who was once atiny little puppy in a little box on Christmas morning when I was four, who’s grown with me and never left my side.

The car door swings open.

“Out,” my dad orders.

I hold tighter to Thor, and he licks my hand like he’s trying to silently make me feel better anyway he knows how to.

“I’ll do anything, Dad! Please don’t take him!”

“Maybe you’ll think about him the next time you decide to do something you’re not supposed to and then lie about it.”

Inside, a lady behind a desk smiles at Dad. “What’s the reason for surrender?” she asks.

“He’s aggressive,” Dad says.

I look up at him, shocked.

Thor has never bitten anyone. He licks. He cuddles. He sleeps with his paws twitching when he’s dreaming. He’snotaggressive.

“He’s not!” I shout. “He’s not mean!”

Dad grips my shoulder hard enough to make me gasp. “Be quiet.”

The lady just nods and types something into the computer, then she makes him fill out some paperwork before walking around the counter to us.

She reaches for Thor’s leash, but he resists. He turns back toward me, panting and confused, with his tail low now. He makes a sound I’ve never heard before, like he’s scared.

I grab him again.

“Please,” I sob. “Please don’t take him!”

Dad pulls me away as the lady walks him down the hall.

The metal door closes between us, and I can still hear Thor’s barks. Each one sounds more scared than the last.

I run and slam my fists against the door. “Thor! Thor, I’m right here!”

Dad drags me backward.

“Don’t embarrass me,” he says, aggravated.

Thor’s barking fades as we walk away.

By the time we’re back in the car, my throat hurts from crying, and my face feels hot and tight.

That night, my mom lies with me in my bed as I cry and hold onto his favorite chew toy like it’ll help how I’m feeling.

Mom keeps trying to tell me it’ll be okay…but how can it be? How can things ever be okay when my father is Scott Sinclair?

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Mason

Age-Eleven