The Kissing Game
Pepper Scott
I used to take Jolie out for a drive around town. There was really no particular destination. We would simply wander into some corner, turn down a little lane we had never been on before, and see where it took us. Sometimes we ventured farther into the county, just because we were curious about what was around the next bend.
Jolie loved these drives.
In autumn, when Terry’s energy was not quite up for going anywhere, Jolie and I would make very short trips through our favorite streets. They were the ones where the trees on both sides reached across the road and formed a beautiful tunnel of leaves changing colors. It felt like driving through a painting.
Jolie would sit in the back seat with her harness clipped to the seatbelt. That way she could safely hang her front paws out the side window and let the wind blow into her face.
She looked very happy doing this.
Actually, “happy” may not be quite the right word.
She looked like a dog who had just been promoted to First-Class Passenger.
Occasionally, our entire outing was nothing more than a trip through the Walgreens drive-through to pick up her Daddy’s prescriptions. Even that was an adventure to Jolie. She would look around and, if she spotted another dog in a car ahead of us or behind us, she would immediately try to strike up a conversation.
I never knew exactly what they were saying to each other.
Probably something important.
“Hey! You in the blue car! Where are you going?”
“Walgreens.”
“Me too!”
“Nice.”
And then there was the kissing game.
That was usually reserved for the Walgreens line, when there was nothing particularly exciting happening outside the car.
Jolie was a very good kisser.
She was also extremely enthusiastic about it.
And generous.
There was no such thing as a polite little kiss on the cheek with Jolie. She believed in commitment. Once she decided it was time for kisses, she gave the job her full attention.
I would turn my head toward her, and she would stretch herself as far as she could from the back seat, determined to reach me.
Sometimes she would lick my cheek.
Sometimes my chin.
Sometimes, if she was feeling especially ambitious, she would aim directly for my mouth.
Apparently, there were no boundaries in the Jolie Kissing Department.
The whole thing usually ended with both of us laughing, although I suspect she thought I was simply encouraging her.
And then she would do it again.
Ready.
Set.
Go!
The pictures tell the story better than I ever could.
In the first one, I am smiling and Jolie is getting ready.
In the second, she is closing in.
In the third, she has completely committed to the mission.
That was Jolie.
All heart. All enthusiasm. No hesitation.
She had a way of turning an ordinary little drive into something worth remembering. A trip to Walgreens could become an outing. A quiet autumn road could become an adventure. And a few minutes sitting in the car could turn into a very serious kissing session.
She was such a sweet baby.
I can still remember the wind in the car, the autumn trees, her warm face reaching toward mine, and that unmistakable feeling of being loved without conditions or complications.
I can always feel those kisses on my face.
