Fifteen and a half years ago, a wide-eyed, goofy fifth-grader (in conjunction with his older sister) talked his father into shelling out twenty bucks for a funny-looking and equally goofy little mutt. Today, that still funny-looking old dog went to sleep.
I think it’s safe to claim that Bailey was mine from the start. Yeah, it was a team effort with my sister to convince our parents that a dog would be a good addition to the family (our previous experience had yielded a giant of a beast that might have come from Greek mythology), but being a fifth-grader, I had lots of spare time with which to play with a new puppy…we both became attached.
Bailey and I (in my shaggier days) go sledding
She became my alarm clock…my mom used to bring her in and set her on my bed when she woke me up for school. A little later, she started sleeping next to my bed, my arm dangling down to pet her in the night. When I left for college, my parents told me that she would sit at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for me to come down. I used to say (partly joking) that I missed my dog more than I missed my mother (sorry Mom).
At fifteen and a half years, Bailey was a part of our family for more than half of my life, but even more, she was that quintessential “boyhood dog.” She lived a good long life, filled with adventures, fetching sticks, catching frisbees, and eating dead carcasses…everything a dog could want. I’ll miss you, Bailey. Good dog.