Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen : The Notebook Disaster

There was one thing Topsy never understood about school.

Some things were not toys.

My notebook was one of them.

I don't think Topsy ever understood the difference between something that belonged to me and something that was simply within his reach. If he found something interesting, that was usually enough reason for him to investigate it.

And when Topsy investigated something, there was no guarantee that it would survive.

To me, a notebook was something important. It was where I wrote everything my teacher taught us, where I completed my homework, and where I tried to keep my handwriting neat enough to avoid getting scolded.

To Topsy, however, a notebook was apparently just another interesting object lying around the house.

And one particular notebook was about to become his next victim.

It was an ordinary day.

There was nothing about that afternoon that made me think I would soon be sitting among pieces of my schoolwork, wondering how everything had gone so wrong so quickly.

I was sitting in my room, watching television, completely relaxed. My notebook was lying nearby because I had been using it for my schoolwork. My teacher was supposed to check it the next day, so I knew I needed to keep it safely.

At least, I thought I did.

The television was playing, and I was completely absorbed in whatever I was watching. My notebook was close enough for me to see it if I looked over, and Topsy was somewhere around the house, doing what Topsy usually did.

I didn't notice when Topsy went toward it.

I didn't hear him at first either.

For a while, everything seemed normal.

That was the strange thing about Topsy's mischief. It almost always began quietly.

There was never a warning.

No announcement.

No sign that something was about to go terribly wrong.

Then I heard a strange sound coming from another room.

A low growling noise.

I paused the television.

I listened carefully.

The house suddenly seemed much quieter.

There it was again.

A soft but unmistakable growl.

Immediately, one thought came into my mind.

Topsy.

I got up and walked quickly toward the room.

As I came closer, I could hear him more clearly.

He sounded completely serious.

That should probably have been my first warning.

I entered the room.

And stopped.

For a moment, I couldn't understand what I was looking at.

The room was familiar, but somehow it looked completely different.

The entire place looked like a tiny storm had passed through it.

My notebook was no longer a notebook.

Pages were scattered across the floor.

Some were torn into pieces.

Others had been pulled out and thrown around the room.

Bits of paper were everywhere.

My carefully written schoolwork was lying on the floor as though it meant absolutely nothing.

And right in the middle of it all was Topsy.

The culprit.

My little, innocent-looking culprit.

For a few seconds, I just stood there.

I couldn't even process what had happened.

I looked at the floor.

Then at the notebook.

Then at Topsy.

Then back at the notebook.

It felt impossible that this had happened in such a short time.

How could one notebook become such a complete disaster?

And how could one small dog possibly have done all of this?

“Topsy!”

He looked at me.

I looked at him.

There was a moment when neither of us moved.

He didn't look particularly guilty.

That was probably the most frustrating part.

He was simply standing there as though he had been doing something completely normal.

As though tearing apart someone's school notebook was a perfectly reasonable way to spend an afternoon.

I was devastated.

This wasn't funny to me.

Not that day.

I had no idea what I was going to do.

My teacher was supposed to check my notebook at school the next morning. I had worked on those pages, written everything down, and now my work was lying in pieces all over the floor.

I felt angry.

I felt helpless.

And then I cried.

I remember being so upset that I couldn't understand what Topsy could possibly have found interesting about my notebook.

What was so special about it?

Was the paper exciting?

Did it smell interesting?

Did he think the pages were something to play with?

Or had he simply looked at it and decided,

Yes. This needs to be destroyed.

With Topsy, there was never a satisfying explanation.

There probably never would be.

Nani came after hearing the commotion.

The sound of my crying and the noise from the room had finally brought her in.

The moment she entered the room and saw the condition of my notebook, she understood what had happened.

She looked at Topsy.

Then she looked at me.

And then she scolded him properly.

Topsy stood there, listening.

At least, he looked like he was listening.

Whether he actually understood what Nani was saying was another matter entirely.

I remember watching him while Nani scolded him.

He didn't seem frightened for very long.

He looked at Nani.

Then at me.

Then around the room.

Perhaps he was wondering why everyone was making such a big deal about a few pieces of paper.

That day, I didn't feel like laughing at his expressions.

Usually, even when Topsy did something naughty, there was a part of me that found it funny.

But this time, I was genuinely upset.

My schoolwork was ruined.

I would have to somehow manage everything before school.

And I was angry with the dog who had caused all of it.

So I decided to punish him in the only way a child could think of.

I stopped talking to him.

I stopped playing with him.

For the next two or three days, I kept my distance.

If Topsy came near me, I ignored him.

If he looked at me, I looked away.

If he tried to get my attention, I acted as though I hadn't noticed.

For me, this was serious.

Topsy was used to having my attention.

He was used to hearing me call his name.

He was used to me talking to him, playing with him, sitting near him and giving him affection.

Now suddenly, I was treating him as though he wasn't there.

At first, he seemed confused.

He would come near me and stand there.

I would get up and leave.

He would look at me from across the room.

I would deliberately look somewhere else.

Sometimes he would follow me for a little while before giving up.

I could tell he knew something was different.

He just didn't know why.

And honestly, I wasn't ready to forgive him.

At least, I wanted him to think about what he had done.

Of course, looking back now, I know Topsy probably had absolutely no idea why the notebook mattered so much to me.

To him, it was probably just another object lying around the house.

Something with pages.

Something that could be picked up.

Something that could be torn.

Something that made a very interesting mess.

He probably didn't understand schoolwork.

He certainly didn't understand deadlines.

And I don't think he understood that destroying my notebook could make me cry.

But as a child, I didn't think about all of that.

I was hurt.

And for a little while, I wanted him to know that I was angry.

So our usual friendship became strangely quiet.

The house was still the same.

Nani was still doing everything she normally did.

The television still played in the background.

Topsy still wandered around the house.

But between us, there was a tiny distance.

A distance that hadn't existed before.

It was strange seeing him and not immediately going to him.

There had always been something natural about our friendship. I didn't have to think about talking to him or sitting beside him. It simply happened.

Now I was deliberately choosing not to.

And Topsy noticed it.

He had always been very observant when it came to the people he loved.

He could tell when something was different.

He could tell when someone was upset.

He could tell when someone wanted him nearby.

And now he could tell that I wasn't giving him the attention he was used to.

One day, after I fed him, he came close to me.

I remember that moment clearly because there was nothing dramatic about it.

He didn't make a fuss.

He didn't run around the room.

He simply came closer.

I expected him to run around or try to play.

But he didn't.

He simply stood near me.

Quietly.

Then he gently licked my fingers.

I looked down at him.

For a moment, neither of us moved.

It was such a small thing.

Just one little lick.

But somehow, it felt like he was trying to say something.

Maybe he was saying sorry.

Maybe he simply wanted my attention again.

Maybe he didn't understand why I was angry but knew that I was.

Whatever it was, that tiny gesture softened me.

It was difficult to stay angry when he was standing there so quietly.

The same dog who had created a disaster in my room was now trying to make peace with me.

And that was Topsy.

He had no words.

He couldn't explain himself.

He couldn't tell me why he had destroyed my notebook.

He couldn't say, “I didn't mean to make you cry.”

He couldn't say, “I'm sorry.”

So he used the only language he had.

A gentle lick.

A quiet look.

And the hope that I would forgive him.

I looked at him for a while.

My anger was still there, but it didn't feel as strong anymore.

There was something about the way he stood there that made it difficult to keep pretending he wasn't important to me.

Eventually, I forgave him.

Of course I did.

Because no matter how angry I became, Topsy was still my little boy.

The moment that distance between us disappeared, everything seemed to return to normal.

He didn't need a long explanation.

I didn't need one either.

The notebook was still ruined.

The pages were still gone.

Nothing about the original disaster had changed.

But somehow, it didn't feel as important anymore.

The notebook was ruined.

My homework had become a disaster.

Nani had scolded him.

I had refused to speak to him for days.

And Topsy had probably learned absolutely nothing about notebooks.

But somehow, even that terrible little incident became another memory.

Another one of those ordinary childhood moments that stay in your mind for reasons you don't understand until much later.

Years later, I could look back and imagine the scene again.

The torn pages.

The mess on the floor.

Topsy standing there without a single convincing explanation.

And me, completely heartbroken over a notebook.

It was such a small incident in the larger story of our lives.

But childhood was made of moments like that.

Small things that felt enormous at the time.

A notebook.

A naughty dog.

A few days of silence.

And one tiny gesture that brought everything back to normal.

Topsy didn't know how to apologize with words.

He didn't know how to fix the notebook.

He couldn't rewrite my schoolwork.

But he knew something had changed between us.

And instead of walking away, he came back.

He tried to make things right in the only way he knew.

Maybe that was one of the things I loved most about him.

He could make me cry with frustration one day and make me smile again with one tiny gesture the next.

He could turn an ordinary afternoon into complete chaos and then somehow make everything feel normal again.

The notebook was gone.

The pages were ruined.

But our friendship remained exactly where it had always been.

Because no matter how many things Topsy destroyed, he never destroyed the bond between us.

If anything, every silly mistake became another story.

Another memory.

Another little piece of the life we shared.

And the notebook disaster became one of those stories.

The story of the day my schoolwork was destroyed by the dog I loved most.

The story of the days I refused to talk to him.

The story of a little lick on my fingers.

And the story of how, without saying a single word, Topsy reminded me that sometimes love doesn't need an apology.

Sometimes it just comes closer.

Sometimes it sits quietly beside you.

And sometimes, it gives your fingers one gentle lick and waits for you to forgive it.

I did.

Because he was Topsy.

And somehow, that was always enough.