Two events have bookended a decade in our lives. The first, that cold February night in 2000 when we brought home a little chocolate dog whose tags at the shelter said pit-bull mix and an similar cold February night in 2010 when that same little dog left our house never to return.
The time in between were some of the very best of our lives. Most of you know that we considered Talley our child and treated her like one. We tried to take her everywhere.
Of course her favorite thing to do was run alongside us as we pedaled through the single-track of Jim Thorpe, Allamuchy, Camelback and many other places. Those were truly the most incredible times as she seemed born to be a mountain bike dog . Moving gracefully through the woods over fallen logs, rock gardens, steep climbs and fast descents, she was so agile as she finessed her way through all kinds of terrain. Often she was faster than us. How she would wait patiently for us to catch up - her signature paw in the air.
The memories still flood my brain: The rest stops where she would gingerly step into a stream - and beg for a piece of your cliff bar. When she would stop abruptly to check out a scent - often T-boning whoever was behind her. The sheer joy in her face as she looked up with mouth open in a big smile at Brian Hahl as we rode the canal path one summer night long ago. How back in the truck after a ride she would curl up into an exhausted sleep.
There are countless other memories too. Many of you experienced her craziness. She was insistent that anyone who stopped by the house throw (over and over) one of her big plastic balls with the handles she eventually chewed off. She definitely got too carried away in protecting the house, nipping in the ass any roadie who had the misfortune to miss the start of the ride.
But she was so loving too. In the past few years of her life - as we awakened she would wag her tail furiously as if so happy that we were awake. She would then crawl up between us to beg (verbally) for pats.
Her separation anxiety was a difficult issue that we could never quite resolve, which as many of you know led to a lot of anguish about what to do with her while we were at work. As she became sicker, having only energy to eat and sleep, we were able to leave her at home for the first time in years.
Within the past two weeks it what was soon clear that what was first diagnosed as Cushing's Disease was something far more serious: a frontal load brain tumor with a very poor prognosis.
Words just can't express the pain Joe and I feel knowing that each new moment is one in which she is no longer in our lives. The grief right now is completely unbearable. I know it may sound stupid to those who do not understand- but a dog like Talley just becomes part of your soul - and now that she is gone - a whole part of who we are seems gone too.
I'm not sure how to end this except to say thank you to all of you who have shown Talley kindness during her too short life. Thank you Kris for taking my frantic phone calls and being so supportive. Thank you Eric and Janna and Greg and Judy for allowing Talley in your home. And Curt for letting her walk into your shop just like anyone else. Thank you Scott and George for always playing with her before the Tuesday night rides. Thank you Karen for letting Talley on your expert women's ride at IMBA fest 2008 (and helping me find her when she got lost from the group looking for me). Thank you Rich and Sadie for riding the Urinal with us one summer not long ago.
I don't know if she really thought of herself as just a dog because she had so many family and friends who cared for her.
If you made it this far - thank you for reading. Expressing some of what I'm feeling does help a little.
With love,
Cindy