Remembering My Best Friend And Everything She Taught Me

Tomorrow makes three weeks since I lost my best friend, constant companion, ride-or-die, my dog.

Daffy came to me at an inopportune time, but her arrival wound up being one of the best things that ever happened. I had lost a dog seven months prior, having to put Haley down because years of seizures and medications had destroyed her organs. I said no more dogs. Daffy came into my life as a stray. She was picked up in the Target parking lot by the dog catcher on Haley’s birthday. Target and a connection to Haley were all it took bere I said, okay, this dog.

Daffy and I were together for fifteen years. That’s fifteen years of her always by my side until she got older and couldn’t see so well then it was almost always under my feet. The point was, she always had to be by me. I had fifteen years of cuddles, fifteen years of entertainment, and fifteen years of lessons. Reminiscing our time together, I thought of so many things Daffy taught me.

Here are just a few:

1.) Love everyone.
Daffy never met a person she didn’t like. She greeted everyone with a wagging tail and waited for pets. She didn’t pass judgment based on what anyone looked like, their style choices, beliefs, or anything in between. There were a few people she was immediately wary of, but dogs sense things. It most often turned out I needed to be cautious too. Occasionally some peoplechose for some godforsaken reason not to like her. She didn’t care; she just moved on to the next person who would pet her.

2.) Do your zoomies.
There was never any question if Daffy was happy to see you. As a young adult dog, every day when I came home from work, Daffy would take about ten minutes to run around the house at top speed. I lived in a tri-level home. She would meet me on the bottom level where the garage door was, zoom up the stairs and do a few laps around the living room before speeding the stairs to the bedrooms and running between them. She would then repeat the process, and often her paws did not touch the bottom two steps. As she aged, Daffy didn’t run anymore, but she did her best to come to see me every day when I got home and show me she missed me.

3.) Defend what’s yours, even if you’re the underdog in the fight.
There was only one time I ever saw Daffy show any aggression. It was two am; I was sound asleep and woke up to her barking. It wasn’t her typical bark I was hearing. This bark was a profound, aggressive warning and her hackles were up. Daffy was in my bedroom doorway, barking into the dark hallway toward the living room. I was terrified, thinking someone was in the house. I grabbed the closest heavy object I could find, which happened to be a solid wooden duck that belonged to my parents before I ever came along. Daffy walked with me room to room, checking everywhere someone could hide. Daffy, at her heaviest, weighed twenty-three pounds. I’m not sure what she planned to do if we had found someone or what could have happened to either of us, but she was there, next to me, ready for the fight.

4.) Never give up.
Bunnies were Daffy’s kryptonite. Rabbits made her crazy. Daffy would sit in front of the sliding door that led to the backyard, looking for signs of the hopping beasts for hours. If she saw a rabbit, Daffy would bark with this high-pitched yap. She would jump and down and drool; then, she would lick the door and spread her saliva over it with her paws. I never had a clean sliding door in the spring. If a rabbit dared to enter the yard while she was outside, all bets were off. Daffy would take off like a shot and chase that rabbit, but they were always faster. Sometimes that got her in trouble, such as when she chased one under the garden shed and then got stuck. My neighbor came over with tools to free her from her latticework prison, and then it was bath time for the second time that week.

5.) Use your talents and love what you do.
Daffy had a job, and she loved it. Daffy came to work with me in three different nursing homes and did pet visits with the residents. In my last home, she came to work with me every Friday and stayed all day. She knew when Friday was, and I was not allowed out of the house in the morning without her. Daffy would go room to room and pause in the doorway, waiting for the okay to go in. Some didn’t want visits for whatever reason, and she was alright with that. She went to the next room and tried again. The number of miracles I saw astounded me. Residents with late stages of dementia spoke to her in entire sentences, complete with baby voices, when they hadn’t talked to us or made sense in months. Some people would track her with their eyes to stop, and I would sit next to them and take their hands to pet her. They rewarded us with smiles. Other times, when some were ill, and we knew the end was near, families would request a special Daffy visit. Daffy would get in bed with them and snuggle, and their restlessness would ease. I was always so proud of her for the work she loved to do. I think it hurt us both as she grew older and was no longer able to tolerate workdays. Eventually, bosses changed, the culture changed, and I stopped loving what I did. The stress made me ill constantly until I wound up where I am now- disabled. These days I write, and I love what I do again because that’s what Daffy taught me.

6.) Always aim higher.
Daffy, as I’ve mentioned, was a little dog. Boy, could she jump, though. Sometimes she would jump at the door and clear the doorknob. Each jump, it seemed, she was trying to get higher than the last one. I used to tell people she was springloaded. Thinking about her now, she was trying to get each jump more elevated than the previous, and I should do that too. Daffy taught me always to aim higher, to improve more.

7.) If you can’t drive, aim for shotgun over the back seat.
Daffy and I went on many adventures together. She loved car rides, no matter how long they were. Several times, she accompanied me while we drove hundreds of miles across several states. Daffy was a wild woman in the car. I had a harness with a loop for a seat belt to go through, and I would buckle her in the backseat. Every time, she found a way out of the harness to come to sit with me up front. I was afraid for her being up there for the same reasons small children should ride in the back, but Daffy wouldn’t have it. I drove, she sat shotgun, and that’s the way it was. Sometimes I think about her now and look back at those trips. I can’t be in charge of everything in the world, but that doesn’t mean I should always sit in the back seat, either.

8.) Make time for cuddles
Daffy was a great cuddler. While I was getting ready for bed at night, she would jump up and spin in circles, wagging her tail. Daffy would wait until I settled in, then she would snuggle up. When she’d had enough of me petting her, she would burrow under the blankets and get cozy. Cuddling was the nightly routine. Sometimes things got skipped during the day, but cuddles never did. As her vision worsened, Daffy was afraid of being on the bed, but we still made time for cuddles. She would snuggle into me when I picked her up and often fall asleep with me holding her. I saw her decline over the past couple of years and made a point to snuggle often. Those cuddles are moments I will treasure forever.

9.) Enjoy the outdoors.
Daffy loved outside. In the end, she became primarily incontinent, but she still loved to go outside. Daffy would find her way across the sun porch out into the yard. Sometimes she would miss the door or get turned around, but she was determined to go in and out herself. Daffy would stomp her feet and snort at you like the cutest little bull if you tried to help her. Once she got outside, she would walk in a loop feeling the grass under her paws. Daffy would sit down and lift her head, her little nose smelling the fresh air. Most often, I’d have to go out and get her as Florida days become too hot for little old doggies, but I’d do my best to bring her out as often as I could. Daffy also loved the pool. She had a pink life vest with purple fish scales and a fishy tail on the back. She loved to exercise with the warm water cushioning her joints, just like it does for her momma.

10.) Love with your whole heart
I never doubted Daffy loved me or that I loved her. Over the years, bad things have happened, and people that were supposed to love me didn’t. That was never a question with Daffy. When I was happy, her tail wagged. When I was excited, she jumped and did zoomies around me. When I was sad, she cuddled me, and when I cried, she licked my tears away. Daffy was there for me, for whatever I was feeling. She was there through the ups and downs, the moves, boyfriends, breakups, stressful days, and exciting opportunities. Sometimes I thought we shared a heart.

On Sunday, September 26th, Daffy and I were swimming. She had her life vest on, got in the water, and paddled away. Daffy suddenly stopped swimming, and I knew something wasn’t right. I pulled her out of the water, and she seemed to be okay. She seemed even to fight me to get back in. I walked her over to the side of the pool, holding her, kissing her head, telling her I was going to check her out. Suddenly, she passed in my arms.

I knew Daffy was declining when her old fishy life jacket had become huge on her and non-functional. I also knew Daffy would never have me decide to let her go. She would go on her terms. She’s done everything on her terms. She waited until she and I were alone and doing something she loved. She let me tell her I loved her, and that final act was all the assurance I needed that she loved me. I wrapped her in her favorite blankie, the one she laid on when we were at work, and took her to the vet’s office, where I arranged for a private cremation. On the way home, There was a cloud in the sky that looked just like her. It was complete with her tongue out and ears back like she was running. I knew she was telling me she’d made it to the rainbow bridge, and I’m guessing she’s finally caught a rabbit.