Anybody who knows me well knows about “Girlfriend†– otherwise known as my black Lab mix who was just an angel. She had her own neighborhood following; children from the middle school across the street would give her bits of their lunch through the iron fence just to watch her catch flung pieces of bologna sandwiches mid-air. The little pre-school kids would singsong her name as they passed to get her to come to the gate so they could giggle at her doing the happy dance. Even the mail man—yes, the mail man, would stop at the gate, first, just to reach through it to pet her. That says it all. Girlfriend was just that to everyone, a girlfriend, except to the squirrels and sparrows and local cats foolish enough to slip through our yard on a dash (who she gave a run for their money.) But her disposition was kind and gentle, just a big ole loveable pooch with a thumping tail wag. She’d roll over on anyone’s feet who would pet her exposed belly – her whole demeanor said “love me and you’ll get as good as you give from me.â€
I could always tell who was at my door by the bark—as my writing den is up three stories above the front yard… all I had to do was listen to the bark and whomever was interacting with the dog along the front side yard, and I could tell whether or not it was Fed Ex, UPS, family, or regular mail without looking out the window. How’s that for old school technology (smile)? The only people she ever threw a fit about were the trash men, and I guess it had to do with them “taking†something that I had set out and throwing it all around. I think she thought that was too rude and objected with ferocity. I couldn’t blame her—more than once they’d pissed me off, too, with the mess they’d left… but I digress. However, delivery men she liked, because they always came bearing gifts for Mom (me) and Mom always said thank you and joked with them, so they were cool in her eyes, I suppose.
Girlfriend was an integral part of my family. We got her as a puppy not long after we all moved into our home… which was 15 years ago. She was a welcomed addition to a blended family that consisted of four kids all under the age of ten. My daughter was five, my stepson was two, and my two stepdaughters were nine and ten. Running, laughing, happy barks—or the wail of a kid whose toy got sacrificed to a teething pup makes me smile as I type this blog. She was the first to the door with a HUGE dog smile and then did military rotations to check on every child before settling herself down at night. I wrote with her hunting bleat in the background… it was white noise, like the happy sounds of kids squabbling. If you could hear them, they were all right (LOL)—that was my philosophy.
Then, one by one, kids went off to college and a marriage tanked… but “my girlfriend†was still there to put her head in my lap, to welcome me home at all hours of the night when my flights got in… or to be that patient sentinel up at my strange writer’s hours guarding my office as I wrote about vampires and werewolves and things that went bump in the night. She was there, always there.
Now she’s not and I confess to be at a loss this morning. My children are at a loss. Something precious, a last of an era, a touchstone for good times, quietly slept away at the vet’s yesterday as the only humane thing to do. The vet wept with us, as did the whole staff.
What started as a little cough was then diagnosed to be pneumonia in my old girl… but even that was optimistic. We bombarded the dreaded condition with antibiotics… but she continued to decline. Then the doctor said it was a tumor in her lung… which spread until my feisty old lady couldn’t stand, struggled to breathe, and lost her appetite.
When I got in from Chicago, I knew. She didn’t come to the door, just looked up from where she laid and tried to wag her tail. I went to her and wept because I knew… and my daughter kept trying to give her treats to get her to stand up and I just shook my head when she couldn’t be moved by the temptation of Beggin’ Strips.
It’s hard to teach children the cycle of life when you don’t want to even acknowledge it yourself. I had to tell four young people that this was it—all of whom wailed in their own way a resounding “No…. Mom, she’ll get better!†I don’t know how many of you are old enough to remember the scene from the movie “Old Yeller†but OMG… we had our own going on over here in Philly. It wasn’t just my four kids, but it was also their friends… everyone who came to parties and sleep-overs at my house were a part of the Girlfriend brigade. Then there’s the rest of the kids in the family… nine little boys, again, under the age of 10 (my cousins kids), whose Moms were prolonging getting a dog because I had one, and who all played with that dog and loved to visit Aunt Leslie so they could throw a ball with Girlfriend…
Seems so silly to be so torn up about this, but I admit that I am. She represented a lot to me… love, kindness, family, constancy. My soft spot. Yesterday I walked into the house with her collar in my hand and like a nut, almost whistled for her. Habits die hard, reality be damned. When my feet hit the floor this morning I started down the steps to check on her to be sure she was all right, before I remembered… oh, yeah… right. She’s gone.
So, bear with me as I process this loss. I know I have a wonderful dog spirit guarding my footfalls now, but I still miss her.
Much love & Light, Leslie!
