|
In memory of:
Taffy was always a dog of mystery. In spring of 1996 when I adopted her from the Humane Society of New England in Nashua, New Hampshire, nothing was known her background, age or prior ownership circumstances. She had lived by her wits for many months before the animal control officer finally caught her in Greeley Park, the place that had served as her makeshift home. She reportedly survived by eating trash barrel scraps and anything else she could scavenge, including pine cones, and according to eyewitnesses, had evaded capture many times. Finally, one day she was nabbed and given a free ride to the animal shelter, where she would await the next chapter of her life. Not long after Taffy's capture (who, at that time, was called "Autumn" by shelter employees because of her reddish-brown markings), I happened to be at the shelter and was chatting with my friend who was director of volunteers. I mentioned that I had never seen the kennels where larger dogs were kept. She promptly took me for a tour, and when we reached the last kennel, there was Taffy; a spaniel mix who looked part Brittany and part golden Cocker. She immediately fixed her eyes on me and did her level best to win my attention. She jumped up and down, yipped and barked happily and did everything else she could to try to win her release. "Me! Me! Pick me!" she seemed say. "This is a sweet dog," I said to my friend. "I just might adopt her." I asked for a leash and took her outside for a walk. She strained and struggled, trying with her whole body weight to wriggle free of my control and run away. I knew she was a handful. But I liked her personality, and soon she was in my van on her way to her new home with two other spaniels. Taffy became well known in the New Hampshire town where I lived. She practiced relentlessly at jumping the fence. The higher we'd erect it, the higher she would jump. She didn't escape often, only when she felt like it, on picture-perfect summer days when the smell of outdoor barbecues wafted through the air with their promise of free handouts. She'd take off at a full sprint and run through every back yard in town, sampling chicken, sausages and hot dogs, then a few hours later, with every little boy in town chasing her on bikes to get the $10 reward for her return, she'd jump into the river, roll in the mud, and reappear at my back door just in time for dinner. I'd hear a scratch at the door, then with a full-body shake to rid herself of the mud, she'd trot inside for a cool drink of water, as though nothing had happened. Taffy never changed her ways. She would inhale her own food then try to get into the other dogs' bowls. She'd sneak "people food" off a kitchen counter with the stealth of cat burglar. And she always ate like there was no tomorrow, never forgetting the tough times she had spent in Greeley Park, when she didn't know where her next meal was coming from. In the 11 years that Taffy was part of my canine family, she lived in some wonderful places: on Lake Winnipesaukee in central New Hampshire, Austin, Texas; Naples, Florida; Pennsylvania's Oley Valley, and finally, a home at the top of Mount Penn with loads of running room and three dog pals with whom to play. She was healthy and spry throughout her life, and it wasn't until the last week of her life that it became obvious how old she was and how many challenges she was fighting: cataracts, arthritis, diabetes, a heart murmur and, in the final diagnosis, a failing liver. She was tired. And from what the vet said, she was at the very end of the life expectancy for a dog of her size and breed. Rather than forcing her to deal with extraordinary measures she would not have liked, she was given a peaceful passage. It was only after I sorted through her things a few days later that I saw the papers filled out by the vet at the Humane Society from which she had been adopted. During her initial checkup at the shelter, the vet had estimated her year of birth as 1989. If that was correct, Taffy had lived to her 16th year. It comforted me to know she had had such a long, happy life. Taffy, you are so missed. The house is not the same without you. Everyone who knew you recognized your unique spirit and personality. Across the top of my desk are many cards from human friends who will not soon forget your sweet and loving personality. They will stay up there until I am ready to take them down, a long time from now. I look at your picture every day and thank you for enriching my life. -Catherine Watson |
