I remember nervously humming to, “Suddenly I see” on the radio while sitting in the back seat, seatbelt buckled, and eyes blindfolded. The dry feel of air conditioning gusting toward my face and muddling wisps of my hair seemed to be the epitome of summer car rides. Except this time, I lacked my sense of sight. I could distinguish where the car hauled me by the mere sounds of discontinued paved roads to gravel, and the smell of moisture less air conditioning to a smell of hay.

My mother turned her eyes away from the road toward me every other minute to make sure I did not peek through the blindfold. However, I could sense ever so slightly the motions that occurred every time she glanced at me. She kept saying, “Just a few more minutes, hang in there hun”, while I kept becoming more and more restless in the backseat. Just as my impatience started to overwhelm me, the car veered to the right.
The bark of dogs consumed me and forced me to rip off the handkerchief covering my eyes. Golden retrievers lingered throughout the endless fields that surrounded the enchanted house, mature trees acted as a barrier to the land, and animals freely roamed. An elderly woman emerged from the house carrying two puppies, and greeted my mother with the kind of welcoming that good friends would. They both said something along the lines of, “here’s your puppy, it is all yours!” and handed me one of the puppies. It slumped into my arms with its tiny eyes sealed shut and paws dangling over the ledge of my arm.