My Dad and My Dog

An introduction to Penny, my father's ghost

I always get distracted around this time of year. July 29 is the anniversary of my father’s death, and for some reason it always catches me off guard. This marks the 14th year, meaning he has missed one fourth of my life.

That’s a sobering thought.

The first few years were tough. The middle years of the first decade of this century were a rough stretch for our family. Jill’s mother died soon after the person I referred to as my second father — Bill — passed away. Soon after, Jill lost an aunt and an uncle as my father — ill since I was a child with a variety of ailments that stemmed from a genetic defect — continued his decline. Fran, Bill’s wife and my mom’s best friend for almost 40 years, died six weeks after my father. Because they were childless, we had two houses in Texas to clean out.

Between us, my sister and I have nine children, none of whom were older than 14 when my dad died at age 67. The youngest — Julie’s son Drayce — had only been born a few months earlier. When I tell my kids stories about my father, they remind me that they only have a few select memories of him.

That too is sobering.

In a couple of weeks, my mom turns 80. That is remarkable and unbelievable to me. Where does the time go?

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It was a year ago today that Jill told me we were fostering a dog for two weeks. The 10-week-old puppy, said to be a Labrador mix, had been rescued after being caged outside a meth lab in a neighboring state. She was emaciated, was on heavy antibiotics for mange and worms, and could not walk more than a few steps.

I did not want a dog. But her eyes — “human eyes” I called them — burrowed deep into my soul. This little pup, who would not have been out of place in the commercials featuring abused animals and a Sarah McLachlan song, gave me a look that I used to get from my dad. I genuinely felt his spirit in a way I hadn’t felt in years.

Without warning, we quickly became foster fails.

Penny, the name we gave her, is now 56 pounds. She is healthy, beautiful, exuberant, and the type of animal who never meets a stranger. She also isn’t a Lab mix, but a combination of Staffordshire Terrier, bulldog, and husky. In other words, when she wants to go somewhere bad enough, she could win a Monster Truck pull.

Every day — except for the occasions when I lose another pair of shoes or a baseball cap — Penny brings great joy to our lives. I never thought 366 days ago that I would have a dog. Who knows what the next 366 days will bring?

Time will tell. I just wish my dad were here to see it, even though I’m pretty sure he and the others we’ve lost have a pretty good view from the upper balcony.

The first photo in this post was taken of my parents in 2001 during a huge storm in Boston; I had never seen it until I went to Texas to see mom earlier this year. Every time I look at it, I see two people who had known each other for more than 40 years and would always be in love.

The second photo is a rare selfie that I like, mostly because of the lovely soul sitting to my right. Happy anniversary.