The day I lost my best friend. All of my older siblings had clamed territorial ownership of at least one of the family pets. For Mags it was our black and white dog Chippy; for David it was our rainbow lorikeet Joey; for Helen it was our sheep dog Muffy. Now Tuffy, a bitsa mongrel, was the pet I claimed as mine. I think more as a default than by choice. He came into the family about the same time as I was studding for my senior matriculation. It would be fair to say that he was not the brightest of our family pets, which is why I guess he was so attracted to me. He had the silliest of grins. Yes folks, sometime he was so excited he would grin. He also had a fowl habit of rolling in anything smelly, which is why mum banned him from ever coming inside the house. Still, every night without fail, as I did my studies in the back ironing room, I was sidetracked by the scraping of paws on the outside fly screen. It was Tuffys signal for me to let him in. He knew he was not allowed in but he also knew that I did not have the heart leave him out in the cold. So, I would open the outside door and he would rush under my study table like a child hiding from the parent for doing something bad. There he would stay the whole evening at my feet, contented in the fact that he was inside and benefiting from the occasionally stroking by my toes. In that time we formed the closest of bonds. We gave each other the comfort of belonging and the happiness that comes with acceptance. The way he would look up at me with tail wagging furiously, ears pinned back in total submission and moth open and panting with excitement, told me of his total devotion. We went everywhere together, but only if I called and let him come. If I said to stay then he would stay at home. But oh the joy when I would say come on Tuffy and pat my thighs in welcoming anticipation. If you wanted an example of happiness personified in any living thing, then it was there – right at that moment. So it was with these fateful words, I called to Tuffy on the day that he drowned. I could so easily have said to stay but I didn’t. I was off on an adventure and I knew that he wanted to be there with me also. Tom has described too well the moments that lead to his death. You know, he had already swum down about 2 meters in search of an opening in the submerged logs. He drowned in the gap between the two last logs. Had he swum just 30cm more he would have come safely through to the other side. I know this because that is how I got his body out through those submerged logs. Holding something so precious in your arms, in the torrents of that swollen creek, made me totally oblivious to the dangers that I too was facing. All I could think of was the fact that there would be no more times of shared joys. I carried Tuffy’s limp body through the rapids to a dry stony clearing. I placed him down and then just ran off with tears streaming down my cheeks. I did not stop running until I got home some 10 minutes later and told Mum of Tuffy’s plight. What happened after that is pretty much a blur. The only thing clear and piercing to me even now is that, on this day, I lost my best friend.
See also related story by [Tom] [Pip]
