To an Old Good Friend

I had just turned 12, and it was a cold March day in Reno, NV. My family had all gone to Walmart and I stayed home to glean a moment of silence rarely found in a family of 6. I pushed my schoolwork aside and closed my eyes, enjoying darkness and sounds of nothing.

The door slammed open and my siblings tumbled through the door. "JULIA!" I sighed. "GUESS WHAT?"
I couldn't guess - even if I had wanted to, there wasn't enough time in between the noise. My dad pushed through and smiled at me. "We went to Walmart but got something they don't sell there."

? Walmart has everything. What can possibly NOT be gotten at Walmart but would still be there?

 "We got a puppy!"

I laughed at them, trying to fool me. "No you didn't." "Yes we did!" "No, you didn't." "YES WE DID!" The house echoed with the chorus of excited children as my dad laughed over them. My eyes narrowed, studying the faces. They didn't lie this well. "You did???" "Yup!" "Ahhhhhhhhhh!"

Two weeks later a small Miniature Australian Shepherd came home to live. He was small, the size of a full grown cat, with fluffy black fur and little brown eyebrows over his dark eyes and a sweet white muzzle. His poor little tail was just a stub, being docked at birth, and when it wagged his whole backside shook violently back and forth. Naming him was the hardest thing we had done. Up till then, my parents let my youngest brother name the pets, subsequently resulting in the names he named everything. Jimmy. Little Fellow. This time it was a family decision and nobody knew what to call him. We struggled through Elmo, Sky, and about 10 other terrible names before my dad settled on Joey. Him being an Australian Shepherd who jumped when excited, it seemed appropriate.

This is the dog that caused me to trip and fall down a flight of stairs, breaking my ankle and crushing my Nutcracker Dreams that very fall. This is the dog that followed us from Reno to California, to Ohio, and later to New Hampshire. This is the dog that romped in the snow, rolled in the leaves, swam in the lake, plopped himself on the floor at the end of the day and let us lay our heads on him. We taught him to sit, lay down, do pretty paw, sometimes he even rolled over. When I went away to college, he was only 5 years old, still a puppy in every way. He would do his donut when I came to visit, that is, roll himself so that his nose and his tail practically touched and run in a circle to show his excitement. He always remembered me, was always happy and running around. Even when I stopped visiting but for every few years, when I show up, he knows me, he runs over, cries, licks, pushes against me for scratches in his favorite spot. He is now 14 years old. Older than most dogs his breed and size live to be. He has arthritis and can't get up and down stairs well. Sometimes he cries because his hips hurt and the medicine doesn't work well. He moves slowly through the halls of an empty house, waiting for my dad to get home from work, maybe remembering the ghosts of 4 children who he used to play with.

But when the snow comes, when a playmate from the past shows up, he forgets the age and the aches. He runs and plays and is 2 years old again, ready to chase cars.

This sweet dog got to meet Shiny last October, his first baby. He was as uncertain as she, but eventually they sat next to each other, her leaning against him and exploring the feeling of his fur. He is the only dog I would trust 100% with her, no worries of rough housing, accidental bites, growling over pulled ears. He earned his patience and his sweetness.

And now, he will has earned his rest. I will miss him. I hope my kids will get to have a dog like him one day.