Keaton's Discoveries

Ice Cream!

Keaton’s Discoveries is our new column written by three year old rescue boxer, Keaton, who is navigating life now as an indoor dog. Today we talk ice cream.

Now I myself don’t have much of a sweet tooth. But if anything, my weakness is vanilla ice cream (cheap french vanilla ice cream. I don’t like anything fancy). My sister got me a couple of little New York Mets baseball hat ceramic cups. It is my favorite treat to enjoy at a ball game and now I can enjoy them at home. So Keaton gave me a look like she wanted to try it. I think she liked it but I’ll let her tell you about it.

Okay, so Mom sat down on the couch—our couch, the one I’m allowed on now, which still feels like a fever dream—and she had a SPOON. And in that spoon was something white, and she held it out to me and said “want to try some ice cream?” Ice cream? I didn’t know what that meant, but I knew it meant YES. Obviously, yes. I approached cautiously because, let’s be real, my track record with trusting new things is spotty at best, but Mom’s face had that look. That “I’m about to blow your mind” look that she gets before she introduces me to something amazing.

I licked it. Just one small, investigative lick. And I don’t even know how to describe this…it was COLD. But not bad cold. Good cold? Sweet cold? It tasted like... like if happiness was frozen and also somehow creamy? My tongue didn’t know what to do with itself. I looked at Mom like “WHAT IS THIS!?” and she was laughing, actually laughing at my face, and I went back for another lick. And another. And suddenly I was licking that spoon like my life depended on it, like I was trying to solve the meaning of existence one cold, vanilla flavored lick at a time. This is what I’ve been missing? THIS? For three years I was in a backyard eating whatever showed up in a bowl, and people were out here eating FROZEN HAPPINESS?

Mom kept giving me little tastes, and each time I was like “yes, I remember this, this is my favorite thing,” but also “wait, let me taste it again to make sure.” Quality control is important. Between licks, I was doing this thing where I’d sit back and smack my lips, trying to process the magnitude of what was happening. Pete was on the couch next to us, and I briefly considered sharing with him, but let’s be honest. Pete can’t open his mouth. This moment was mine. My cold nose pressed against Mom’s hand, my nub wagging so hard I was practically spinning, this weird brain freeze sensation happening that I didn’t understand but also didn’t hate.

Here’s what gets me: Mom could have eaten that entire cup herself. But instead, she shared it with me. She WANTED to share it with me. Every few bites, another spoonful for the dog who didn’t even know ice cream existed until ten minutes ago. And I realized somewhere between the fourth and fifth taste, with vanilla on my whiskers and my whole body wiggling that this is what love looks like. It’s not just the fancy bed or the cookies from strangers or even Pete, though Pete is everything. It’s Mom, on a random Tuesday, deciding that her rescue dog should know what ice cream tastes like. That I deserve to experience this cold, sweet, absolutely transcendent thing that makes my tongue confused and my heart full. I’m not saying I cried a little. But I definitely pressed myself against her side and gave her that look, the one that says “thank you for showing me that the world has ice cream in it.” And she kissed my head and said “you’re welcome, baby girl,” and gave me one more lick. Just one more. For the road.

Love you already,

Keaton

For the record, I always share a little of my ice cream with Keaton. I have yet to have a rescue dog that didn’t enjoy a lick of the spoon.

If you follow us on social media, you may have seen our next project coming soon. It’s a book called Boxer Soul: A Memory Journal. I didn’t realize how impactful and cathartic writing about the loss of Betsey would be. And I find myself more present as I write about my experiences with Keaton. So I created a way to help others do that, with this book full of prompts to write about the joy of having a boxer dog in your life. The book will be available February 4th and I’ll share more as we get closer.

I’ve decided to keep things free here on Substack for the time being. If you enjoy a post, and want to support me and my ability to continue to stay at home with my son, I’ve added a Buy Me a Coffee option. Zero obligation—I’m just glad you’re here reading.