Taffy

 One night when I was five years old, my father came home from work with a strange bundle in his arms.  He had a smile the size of the Mississippi River on his face and his eyes were alight. He called out, "Hey! Look what I have!" My brothers and I peered into the bundle, and staring back at us was the cutest, littlest runty puppy I have ever seen.  As little kids are wont to do in excitement, we squealed with delight, and the little puppy opened it's eyes, yawned and it's little pink tongue came rolling out.  This was our introduction to Taffy.

Taffy was a mutt... my father had bought her off the back of a truck from some teenage girls who needed gas money.  Their dog just had puppies, so they were selling these mixed breed pups cheap.  The dog became a great source of joy for our family, and was part of the living heart that drove us for many years.  She fiercely loved our family - and was notoriously good about staying in our yard, even though it lacked a fence.  When we moved to our new house, she was about two years old but she seemingly instinctively knew the borders of our yard.  She refused to leave it, even if we called her when we were across the street at the neighbors.  She knew that where she was was her yard, and she went no further.  That is until the day we lined up at the end of our street to wait for the school bus.  My mother looked back - there was Taffy, at the edge of our yard, laying down on her paws, longingly watching us.  My mother went back to fussing with us while we waited for the bus, but when she looked back, she saw Taffy edging slowly forward on her paws and knees towards us.  Mom shot a glaring look back, and caught, Taffy walked back to the edge of the yard, and dejectedly sat down again. And the cycle repeated.  It went on this way every morning til we reached Jr. High and walked to school every day.

She went everywhere with us - on camping trips in our pop up camper, to visits with my Dad's folks at their camp on DeRuyter Lake. At the lake, Taffy - part collie and part shepard, would always find some nasty dead fish to roll in.  She'd run up to us, excited, to say "LOOK AT THIS SMELL I FOUND" which we, of course, found repulsive and she'd look at my parents, ears folded back in sadness and shame as they sprayed her with a hose and used shampoo to try and wash it out... but we loved that dog. I had a lot of moments in my childhood, where I was sad or dejected - Taffy knew, and would seek me out, nuzzle her way under my arm, and try to soothe me (and make me pet her. It was symbiotic!)  But I loved that dog in my life growing up.  She was always the love and friend I needed, and always there in times of need.

In my 16th year, that Summer, I noticed her acting different.  Tired. Lethargic.  Not herself.  The day she stopped barking at the doorbell when it rang - I knew something was up.  I took out my video camera, and shot footage of her.  Something inside told me too, and I spoke gently to her and pet her as I shot footage.  She refused food and water.  My soul knew before my brain, and my father and mother wrapped her in a blanket for the evening.  She stayed in the kitchen.  My older brother came home to pet her, and talk to her.  My younger brother held her, pet her and told her how much he loved her.  We knew we were telling her goodbye.  I went to bed that night, and a few hours later, Taffy walked into my room with a vibrance she didn't have earlier.  I woke up from my sleep to see, her, and she came to my bed side and put her snout in my hand.  I said, "Oh, girl, you're feeling better!" hopefully.  But I pet her head gently, and she licked my hand for what seemed like forever.  I looked her in the eyes and told her I loved her.  She turned from me, and I saw her try to scratch open the door to my brother's room. I fell back asleep.

When I woke in the morning, she was gone.  Her body was on the blanket in the kitchen.  My father and mother had tears in their eyes.  I gave her body one last pet, and told her she was a good girl.  My father buried her later that day.

That was 27 years ago. And I still mourn her. The whole family does. We still talk about her - a true member of our family in our formative years.  The dog taught me so much about love, loyalty and selflessness.  And a little about mischief. But here I am, years later, just remembering the love that creature had for me.  The love she had for her family.

Sometimes beautiful things come into your life for a short time.  It seems like forever when you're in them, but you look back and realize it was a small slice of your life.  But the marks they leave in your life, and the impact they make on your soul live on forever.  Not a day goes by that I don't think of that dog and not a day goes by that I don't miss her.  We were so lucky to have her.  Sometimes we're so lucky to have wonderful things, and we only realize the true lasting impacts until much later when they're gone.  But you remember that you are just lucky enough to have experienced it.

He spoke with tears of fifteen years how his dog and him
Traveled about
The dog up and died
He up and died
After twenty years he still grieves

- Mr. Bojangles, The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band