All of my life, I’ve loved, and had dogs.
Even as a very young, poor boy, when I couldn’t have a dog, because it was too expensive, I adopted my neighbor’s black lab, Tigger.
A Ukrainian baba lived next door, her name was Mrs. Chewanyk, She was probably 80 years old, in poor health, and almost unable to walk.
Her house had fallen into disrepair and her only son, was seldom around. But the one thing she had, and loved, was Tigger.
Tigger was old, mostly sleeping on this deck or sniffing through her large garden.
Mrs. Chewanyk spoke little English, and I, no Ukrainian, but we learned to communicate with each other, and our medium, was Tigger.
She would sit in an old rocking chair on her porch, and I would sit beside Tigger, rubbing his fur and whispering into his ears.
He would nuzzle up close, and with his huge brown eyes, talk to me.
We had long conversations about clouds, the wind and the smell of rhubarb pie wafting through the window.
I’d bring treats of odds and ends of pastries and meat pies to feed him.
And after every treat, he would come to me, and nuzzle my neck as we sat on the porch.
Tigger became old as I became a teenager, moving less and sleeping more, but I would still come home from school and wander through the garden to sit with Tigger on the stoop.
He would always nuzzle my pockets hoping for treats, and more often than not, he’d be successful.
And then, one summer’s day I walked over and sat on the stoop, and Tigger didn’t come.
Mrs. Chewanyk, barely mobile opened the door and beckoned for me to come to the door. Her eyes filled with tears. She simply said one word, Tigger, and passed me his Tag.
I sat and we said nothing, tears streaming down both our cheeks.
Dogs are love.
They grab hold of your heart and never leave.
I hope you know you were loved Tigger.
You were not my dog, but you always will be.
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