Treading through the park,
Cloaked in anonymity,
I speak to my dog.
Cloaked in anonymity,
I speak to my dog.
I've had relationships with dogs through the
years. As a kid, we always had some sort of
hound that I would attach myself to. I recall
the dachshund, Schultzy (appropriately German)
who I saddled, decked out in my cow girl
regalia, and was deservedly bitten. Then there
was Colonel, a big golden something or other
that I danced with, Rochester the black lab,
inappropriately named after Jack Benny's
sidekick, Daphne the Lakeland Terrier who
spent much time under various pieces of
furniture. My last childhood dog was
Clementine, the giant Airedale that I would
run around the San Clemente High School
track with and whose untimely death
shattered my teenage heart. My first and
only dog that was really mine was and remains
Tazzie, the Australian Shepherd. I picked her
from a litter of four because she was checking
herself out in a mirror, cocking her head back
and forth. I guess she knew she was a beauty.
I brought her home to be a sibling to what
looked to be an "only child" household. I got
more than I bargained for, she became my
dear friend. Taz was a blue merle, which meant
she was black and white in dog classification
lingo. She had 1.5 brown eyes and .5 blue eye,
Her glance was both penetrating and half vacant.
She was beautiful and graceful, ran like
fury and could stop on a dime and change
directions with more skill and precision
than any NFL linebacker. Ever protective
of Phoebe and the house she stationed herself
at our front window in our absence acting as our
surveillance sentry. She barked when necessary
but not for her jollies, she loved us fully without
making demands, she gave kisses quickly
and with great precision but didn't require much in
return. She enjoyed her own space but liked us
nearby, where she could watch over us. She owned
a streak of wariness, which prevented her from
becoming the model "coffeehouse" dog, my initial
expectation. She was not a friend to a stranger
and required a certain warming up and assessment
period. But, if you passed the test she was your
devoted companion. Taz was the perfect
canine companion and was with us for 15
years until her half vacant and penetrating
eyes gave me a look that said, "It's time. Let
me go." It was two weeks before Phoebe
went off to college and I still marvel at the
exquisite timing. We, her small family, took
her to a most amazing veterinarian and
stroked her as she lay on the clean white
examination room floor, her head partially
in my lap and her paws held tightly by Phoebe
and Keith. She was relaxed and surrounded by
love. I didn't sob until she was gone,
which happened in a matter of seconds. I am
sobbing today writing this because I miss my
friend who was always there for me and gave
back so much more than she received. She
taught me that we all have a "true nature"
that lives within us and that should be
celebrated and allowed to shine brightly.
4 comments:
this entry broke my heart. tazzie sure was beautiful and such a special friend. i miss u lala. can't wait to see u. i think we need to make u a copy of keith's tazzie shirt whenever i visit. she had the truest friend in u, and the greatest life a dog could ask for.
A true beauty. Still remember her peck kisses.
From your description of Tazzie, she clearly was a good friend, companion and a beauty, inside and out. I regret never meeting her.
I did have the pleasure of shaking paws once or twice with the lovely and talented Clementine, however. I fondly I remember her sly smile as she dropped a tennis ball at your feet accompanied by the impatient gaze that said, “Well, what are you waiting for.” Then, a race to the outside deck, a couple fake tosses (Clem not falling for that old trick) and a long throw onto the housing site below.
She was off, racing down the hill like one of those out-of-control Italian bobsleds that dislodged its occupants somewhere on the way down. A split second later she arrives with a well-perfected Roland Garros slide that stops her from storming pass her rubber holy grail. Sniff, sniff. Chomp! Up the hill. Ball at your feet, again. I think you mentioned that Clem once did ten consecutive retrievals up and down that hill. What a heart! What a doll!
I was so taken with the memory of Clem that when I picked-up my first Airedale, Sunny (named after the socialite and heiress, Sunny von Bulow, who was born in the same town as my Sunny, Manassas, Virginia), a basket of practice tennis balls accompanied us on the way home. For weeks I threw ball after ball down the hill in our back yard hoping for a quick and straight-line retrieval back to my feet. But, alas, after tons of lost balls and a disinterested Sunny, I realized there was only one queen of the hill, Clementine.
This is not to say that Sunny was a complete failure as a retriever. When it came to rodents, pests and unwelcome animals, she was a regular “Clark, I Need You.” Still, having a dead rat, gopher or three-point buck (Christmas 1991) deposited at your doorstep is not quite the same as a fuzzy yellow Wilson. Just ask my mother-in-law.
Sadly, Sunny did not live as long as Tazzie, or, I suspect, Clem. My attachment to her, however, remains deep and constant.
Someone said that owning a dog is like having a twelve-year-old child who never grows-up. I think about my three grown children and what a blast they were at twelve. Take that back. I think about my four children and what a blast they were at twelve.
Like you, I guess I just miss my girl.
Who is JB? I'm thinking, I'm thinking...Hmm Are these the words of an advertising guy? Help me out here.
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