I was stuck. No closer to solving this mystery than when I first started. For years I’d dug and rooted and sniffed at every corner. I’d hunted down every lead, interviewed every contact, fought my way out of bad situations, all in the name of my quest. Yet here I was, two years later, my goal still out of reach.
I was desperate. Desperate to know the answer to the question that had plagued me all my life:
“Who’s a good BOY? WHO’S a good BOY!”
The people who loved and cared for me were equally perplexed. Every day they held my face in their hands and asked me, over and over again.
“Who’sagoodBOY? Who’s. A good. BOY?”
Every day I saw the disappointment in their eyes when I just couldn’t give them the answer.
“For God’s sakes!” I wanted to shout. “I. don’t. KNOW. whosagoodBOY!”
But for their sakes and mine, I vowed I would find the truth.
Could I say with all honesty that I really wanted to know? Could I share with my People my deepest fear, the bigger question that had me howling at the moon instead of curled up snug at the foot of their bed?
Could I look them in their eyes and explain, as best I could to these stupid but lovable beings who poured my kibble and picked up my poop, that I didn’t yet know who was a good boy because I was afraid…
…it wasn’t me?