Missing TJ

We lost a good friend last month. We mourn our comforting, cozy, loyal and affectionate friend TJ. Our golden retriever, who turned 16 in January, was part of our family since he was a tiny pup.

Our kids still remember the day we came home with this tiny white fluff ball. We were in Tzfat and happened upon a guy with a wild beard driving a motorcycle. Inside his front carrier was a bundle of white puppies. 

“Another typical scene in Tzfat,” I commented. 

My father, who was standing beside me, had a different reaction. “You have to take one home.” 

I wheeled around and asked, “Are you serious?” My dad did not even live in Israel back then, yet decided that it was time his Israeli grandchildren owned a dog.

Amir, who had never had a dog in his life, agreed in silence and amazement. Before we knew it, my father and I arrived at the motorcyclist’s house. Inside, it looked like a scene from 101 Dalmatians. 

There were puppies galore. A few chairs were covered in sheets and the pups had the run of the house, peering out from under couches and playing in the laundry hamper. Some were white and some were black and they seemed to be having a pretty good time chewing on errant socks and peeing all over the floor.

We asked about the mother and were told that she was so loyal, she ran out to her owner’s car the other day and he accidentally ran over her, killing her.

“Orphaned puppies,” I cried out, covering my face. That sealed the dog ownership matter for me. My father was already busy at work selecting ‘our dog.’ 

“You want a male, a white one, the larger the healthier,” he explained as he examined the dogs. “Like this one,” he said, cradling a white fur ball with huge brown eyes.

Say no more. We got a box, a blanket and bought some dog food, a leash, and bowls, then drove him back to Ra’anana. This was the start of a love affair.

My kids were in disbelief. When it comes to large decisions in life, we do act spontaneously.  Making aliyah, moving homes multiple times, and taking long driving trips without a clear destination are examples of this behavior. But a pet? A puppy, just like that? 

My kids took him in their arms and cuddled him. They called their friends and they cuddled him. The fawning and gushing created so much excitement over this puppy, it was as if someone had just given birth to a newborn human.

Well, not so far from the truth. He actually acted a bit like a human. Once, when we were in Tzfat for Yom Kippur, he refused to touch his food and fasted the whole day. He had a high emotional IQ and could sense all of our emotions, even reading our minds sometimes! Akin to a therapist, he was ready and waiting just when we needed him. 

TJ was named for his birthplace Tzfat, and January, the month of his birth. He was always available for a cuddle, a walk, a hike, a car ride, or a swim. And he did all of the above - plus more. Running with him was another matter altogether as he was obsessed with smelling every flower and peeing on every tree. As he was extra strong when his olfactory sense went into overdrive, he pulled me into many a bush on our running forays. 

Like most puppies, he was a terror during puppyhood, chewing shoes, hats, and table legs. One day we came home to a row of single shoes. He had gone into our bedrooms to select shoes, then lined them up in a row and chewed each one. And at the very end of the neat row was my favorite straw hat with a large bite in it. This was TJ's way of saying “I miss you guys.” 

We would get angry with him and he would give us his guilty look with a goofy smile, refusing to look at us, as if this could make him vanish. He would hide under the table shaking, but his tail would still be wagging.

It was hard to be mad at him for too long. He left his puppy antics behind and grew into a beautiful, well-behaved, athletic dog. When we took up hiking the Israel Trail, TJ came along with us Ra’anana Hikers.

TJ soon became our hiking mascot, grinning in every photo we took. By paw, he has seen more of this country than the average Israeli; he hiked down the Hermon mountain, swam in the Jordan River, ran along the Mediterranean beach, and walked through the desert. We even hoisted him down canyons using a harness.  

He never fussed – he simply wanted to be with us, always. In fact, such loyalty was to TJ's detriment. Once, he doggie paddled way out into the Kinneret to reach my husband who was swimming. He was either panicked because Amir, his beloved alpha, was gone; or he thought Amir needed TJ the super dog to rescue him. Who knows what goes through a dog’s mind. 

So out swam TJ. He paddled out farther and farther. We stood on the beach watching and soon realized that TJ was dawg-gone in deep water. We whistled to TJ and waved to Amir but to no avail. TJ was losing stamina but his nose was still pointed right to Amir. Finally, Amir turned around and swam to him, bringing home a wet, tired, and relieved golden.

Another time, we were hiking a canyon in the desert with friends. I decided to turn around with TJ and head back to our campsite, but Amir wanted to continue on. Whenever there was such a separation between TJ and his Alpha Amir, it meant trouble. We would hold TJ on a leash and pull. TJ would dig in his four paws and resist. He was strong and stubborn. 

This time, TJ pulled out of his leash and ran in Amir’s direction. Except Amir had scrambled down the rungs of a sheer cliff. We watched TJ run to the cliff at full speed and thought this was it. As he was about to free fall down the canyon, someone grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, averting his demise.

He loved most of our adventures, especially camping, when he could be chief champion guard dog of the deep, dark, and starry desert night. There were lots of nocturnal animals to keep him busy and when he was tired, he would crawl into our tent and snuggle against our sleeping bag. 

The one activity he did hate, though, was visiting the Dead Sea. He put his paw in the smelly water, then turned away, wondering why his crazy owners would want to go in such foul water. 

He was with us for many house moves, lying on the floor and raising one eyebrow as he watched us pack up boxes and move furniture. After a few exhausting moves, I secretly wished he would catch on and help shlep, even if it were his food bowl. But no, his domain was to be cute, to hike, and to be there for a ‘cute thing’ tummy tickle, for which he would lie on his back waiting with his legs in the air.

When the moving truck came, he would jump in our car and then happily stake out his territory in a new city or neighborhood. He was easy going to say the least.

We made our final move (or so I hope) last August. TJ was already ancient by then, past 15, which is old for his breed. Our mountain hikes in Amirim were getting to be too much for him, but he always came along, following us slowly. Stairs were hard for him and we had to start carrying him up to our room where he insisted on sleeping.

We hoped he would make it in health to our new home where there is a huge garden to roam in, no stairs to get inside the house and just three stairs up to our room. He made this move, learned his way around the place and the garden, and even barked at the neighborhood cats even though his bark was weak and hoarse. 

He then lost his hearing – or maybe he had selective hearing – as the word ‘treat’ still seemed to perk him up. He still came on walks with us but we sometimes had to sneak out without him as longer hikes became too exhausting. 

Every Friday night, we would do kiddush on wine, then wash and say a blessing over the challot. TJ knew the weekly custom and would eagerly wait at the table to eat the heel of the challah. Except one Friday, he did not get up from the carpet. He slept that night  in the living room, refused to eat, and by morning, could not walk.

We stayed by his side all day Saturday, stroking him, feeding him water with a dropper, and talking to him. He looked up at us with those big brown eyes and long blond eyelashes, then slept, until the moment when he did not wake up. 

His space beside the bed is empty, his favorite spot on the carpet is vacant, and our hearts are desolate. For a dog’s life, he had a mighty good one. We miss you, buddy. You were truly a best friend.