There is a time for every purpose under heaven.
A couple of weeks ago, I wrote about my friend, Kathy, and cautioned you and reminded myself to seize the moment. We just never know. Our mutual friend called me earlier this week to tell me that Kathy had died the night before. And I can see her dancing in heaven now – light on her feet, smiling at her unknown audience.
And this morning I woke up to find my soccer partner dead in his home. Taz, short for Tasmanian Devil, hasn’t been with me very long, but we’ve had a lot of fun together. Just last night we played some soccer with a couple of his balls. He was so fast. He could always beat me to the ball. And he often ran so hard to get to it before me that he’d go smashing into the gate or the garage or whatever obstacle had stopped the ball.
He was stubborn as bulldogs are. When he had the ball, there was no taking it away from him. He’d look up at me with defiance in his eyes, just daring me to try to take it away. Which of course is what he wanted and of course I tried. But he’d hold on for dear life. And most of the time, I couldn’t wrestle it away from him. He was too strong and much too determined. And if he could have talked, he’d have said, “Gotcha!”
Taz was a rescue. His owner was going to put him down when he was born with a hole in his heart. It was so bad that the vet would never operate on his cherry eye. When my daughter heard this, she offered to take him for whatever time he had, and he thrived in her care. Then, for whatever reason, she decided I needed a dog and so Taz moved in with me. And I loved him.
I don’t know how long he’s been here. I think it’s been about a year now, and I never dreamed I’d miss him so much when it was his time to go. Maybe my friend, Kathy, needed a dog. I’d like to think so.
His eye was ugly and I don’t think he could see out of it very well, but it never slowed him down. He was, as I said, one helluva soccer player. But he could put on the saddest face imaginable. If he wanted a cookie or more food in his bowl or more soccer time, he’d put on his “woe is me” face. If that didn’t work, he had a happy face that would light up the room. Hell. Even my husband liked him, and Salvador doesn’t like anybody.
He was generally well behaved. Although one of my neighbors owns a couple of prissy poodles that Taz barely tolerated. He’d often bark when they went prancing by – as if to say, “Seriously. Do you call yourselves dogs?” On the other hand, when the cops were on my street a couple of times recently, they stopped to have a word with him. Somehow, he knew better than to bark at them although he wasn’t particularly friendly towards them either. Let’s say he tolerated them, too.
When he came to live with me, his ugly eye caught the attention of my neighbors one at a time, and they frowned at me, silently accusing me of not taking care of him. Thus, one by one, I explained the situation – how that a surgery would likely kill him. And that he was a rescue and so forth. After they heard the story, they would admire rather than judge me, but I was reminded of the bumper sticker: “Who rescued who?”
But I wasn’t always kind. Just last night, the boys came over and Taz was beside himself to see his three buddies all at one time. So, he ran into the house, found a couple of strange bags, and peed on them. And I went off. I yelled at him. And ran him out of the house. I don’t like when animals pee in the house. It makes me crazy. Please forgive me, Taz. I shouldn’t have gotten so angry. I know I didn’t hurt you, but I know I hurt your feelings.
Later, we had a good game of soccer, so I think I’d mended my fences, but I had no idea that last night would be our last soccer match. I don’t think he knew either. He played as hard as always and never once cut me any slack. Soccer was serious business with Taz and me.
And I had no idea that this dumb ole dog with a hole in his heart would leave such a hole in mine. I miss you already. So much.
