Faith came to us on April 19, 1995—on the day of the Alfred P. Murrah bombing. She departed this life May 3, 2002, on the third anniversary of the F5 tornado that wreaked havoc on south Oklahoma City. It was ironic. Faith brightened our life and brought so much good after such a great tragedy, but when she left, it was like a giant storm had left a path of destruction and ripped a gaping hole in our hearts.
Just like her name, Faith was a faithful companion. Good-natured. Affectionate. She loved running through the house, her little legs churning so fast they were a blur of white fur. She’d leap effortlessly over obstacles in the floor, running under tables and around chair legs.
She loved playing “catch” with her squeaky-squeaky. She’d tenaciously hang on to one end, shaking her head, snarling and acting like she was the baddest dog in the world. Then she’d let go so we could toss it and she could bring it back for another round of play. Sometimes we’d trick her. We’d only pretend to throw it. She’d look all over the place, high and low until she caught on. We could never fool her for long, because she was so smart and learned so fast.
We also have a cat, a white Persian named Muffy. I know Muffy misses Faith. The night after she passed, she stood outside the door and meowed without ceasing. I think she knew her
backyard buddy was gone.
We miss Faith. Dad always took her outside with him in the mornings to get the paper. He misses sitting in his recliner each night and her leaping into his lap, wiggling and wedging her head under his arm until he had no choice but to scratch her belly.
I miss having her greet me at the door each night, her stumpy little tail wagging as fast as it can go. I’d sing “Pretty Puppy” to her. I miss having her curled up at my feet while I worked on the computer, my silent companion. I miss seeing her strung out like a doorstop in the hallway between Greg and Tracy’s doors. It was like she expected them to come walking out of their rooms most any minute although both of them had grown up and moved away.
Tracy would come by the house just to see Faith and she’d always let her sit up in her lap or cuddle up with her to watch TV. Tracy didn’t care if she got dog hair on her best black dress slacks—Faith was special to her and those things didn’t matter.
It seemed Faith was always Tracy’s dog.
And Greg loved Faith. Even though he was in his twenties, he’d sit in the floor like a child to play with her. Wherever Greg was, Faith was near by.
I know life will go on, but our household routines will be forever changed because Faith is no longer with us. Part of me will always listen for the little “jingle-jingle” of her dog tags as she pads down the hallway. And every time I hear the song, “Pretty Woman,” I’ll be thinking of Faith because I’ll be hearing the lyrics: “Pretty Puppy, walking down the street. Pretty Puppy, the kind I’d like to meet…”
We’ll never forget,
Max, Gail, Greg,
Tracy and J. J.
| Gail Goodenough |