Tasha and Others

Posts Tagged ‘Tasha’

Stuffed toys are to my dog like chocolate is to some people. When she knows it’s somewhere near, she has to have it. And once it’s in her mouth, she has to destroy it.

Like a typical golden retriever, Tasha first holds a stuffed toy with a “soft mouth.” This breed usually holds their prey tightly, but without too much pressure, so as not to actually pierce it. Sometimes they even drop what’s in their mouth.

Not my dog. No matter how big or small the stuffed toy, it doesn’t take Tasha long to get a good grip and start ripping it apart. She’s like a dog maniac on a short-lived mission.

I’ve tried hiding these fuzzy teddy bears, rabbits, and balls, but she can smell them. I wonder what stuffing must smell like.

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I’m busy writing away upstairs. Last time I looked, it was 4:00 in the afternoon. Suddenly, I hear my dog Tasha get up off the floor next to me, she shakes, she moves in closer, and I can feel her expectant stare right on me. It’s 5:45, and the dinner routine is about to start–just 15 minutes from can-opening time, and somehow, she knows it. I might still be consumed with work, but at the witching hour, I have no choice but to pull myself away from the computer and out of my chair. I must trundle downstairs to attend to the needs of my dog.

I didn’t mean to train my dog to eat at such a specific time, but 6 o’clock it is–every night. On the dot. If I stay out late, I think Tasha sits beside her food bowl, waiting for me to come home and get on with it. She’s always right where she should be, sitting patiently (but not too patiently), and drooling to her heart’s content.

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I missed it this year, and I feel terrible. I didn’t remember that it was Tasha’s birthday until a few days after it had passed.

I’ll get her the usual birthday cupcakes tomorrow and we’ll celebrate. Too bad she doesn’t have any friends this year to help her celebrate. Well, actually she does have friends, but they’re not the birthday types.

Tasha is a rescue, so technically she doesn’t have a birthday. But the man I rescued her from told me (for some reason) that December 23rd was her birthday. So, I celebrate it every year.

Happy Birthday to my girl, who’s now five-years old, but acts about two. I’m so glad we found each other.

So, now that I’m pretty much healed and recovered from surgery, I’m out of bed, walking tall (well, that’s relative), back to the gym, and seeing friends. During the time I was laid up, Tasha stayed by my side. She had different people feeding her and taking her for walks. But her favorite place was at the corner of my bed, where I stayed for two months.

Now I take Tasha here and there with me, and it’s almost like the surgery and recovery didn’t happen.

I missed the whole summer (the best time in Seattle)–the time when I’d be at the dog park with Tasha whenever I could. I missed taking her to the lake and throwing tennis balls for her.

I didn’t go home for awhile, so Tasha got to stay with her best friend, Roxy, a Rottweiler mix, which was good for both of them.

But without her normal exercise and feeding, Tasha stuck with me. She didn’t care that I couldn’t walk because she had her special corner of the bed. She also licked me quite often, as if to say, “I’m here for you and I love you!” Sometimes I think I got more love from her than from anyone else.

A few weeks ago, I fell down a flight of stairs in my house. I didn’t fall because Tasha, my four-year-old golden retriever, was in the way. I slipped and was lucky to have her at the bottom of the stairs, licking me and encouraging me to stand up. Once a frenzied puppy that I had rescued at eight months, Tasha had settled down to become an amazing and patient friend. This time, it was me who needed to be rescued.

As I sat shaking on the floor, Tasha nuzzled me and observed me with a quizzical expression. I got up slowly, grabbing onto her back, and reassured her that I was okay. Something told her that I wasn’t, because she wouldn’t leave my side, even as I shooed her away.

As it turned out, she was right—I wasn’t okay. Finally, I went to the emergency room of a nearby hospital, and Tasha went to stay at a friend’s house. After the diagnosis, I was transferred to a prominent Seattle hospital and had surgery for a fractured sacrum. When I woke up, I lay on my side and thought of Tasha. I wondered how she was doing, if she missed me, and if she instinctively knew that I would be back to take care of her and resume our relationship.

Before I left the hospital, I was told that I couldn’t walk for six weeks, until the screws in my pelvis were set. Six weeks! I immediately thought, “I can’t do that!” Just the thought of it was too much to bear. My next thoughts were, “How am I going to get my dog back? When can I go home with her? Who will walk and feed Tasha, and who will take care of her? “

I spent the next two weeks at a rehabilitation center. My friend brought Tasha there to visit me a number of times. When Tasha saw me, she immediately jumped up on the bed, as she does at home, and again, licked and nuzzled me. I desperately wanted her back.

I am now at home in a wheelchair and slowly getting better. Tasha often lies on her corner of the bed where she seems content to be, and we are together again. With her by my side, I can’t think of a better way to recover.

Tasha has two new friends, Besa and Bruno. Besa is an eight-month old part Border Collie, part something else. She’s perfect for Tasha’s energy. The two of them play tug together from the same stuffed toy, go romping in the woods and get all muddy together, and are in each other’s mouths. They bark at the same things and have become good buddies.

Bruno is a very small Rat Terrier. He’s almost so ugly that he’s cute. He’s only nine pounds, so he gets to go everywhere that a cat would go–on the bed, under the bed, on the couch, on an airplane. He’s a lucky dog.

At last Tasha has met her match with Besa. I’m happy for all of them!