As I walk down the stairs, I notice my dog Dally is following me. Dally has been my best friend since I moved from Dallas. You’re probably thinking I named her after Dallas, Texas. Well, you’re right.
When I was younger, my Mom and I moved to a small house in Dallas after my Dad passed away from cancer, and we both wanted a golden retriever because my Dad reminded Mom and me of a golden retriever. He was outgoing and kind. When you were sad, you could tell him what was making you feel that way even if he was the cause. When I turned 18, I got a full-time job. I knew when Dad passed I would have to take care of Mom, help her, and comfort her in hard times. I also knew that I couldn’t see my Mom hurt, so I tried my hardest to forget his death, but not his legacy.
After moving, we wanted another kind soul around. We went to our local pet store and looked for the right dog. We headed home empty-handed, but on the way, we saw a sign at a stop light, “Puppies and rescue dogs for sale!” and a phone number. Mom dialed the number.
“Hello?” an old lady said.
“Hi there, I’m calling about puppies for sale,” my Mom replied.
“Oh yes! I have a few left. Would you like to come and see if you like any?”
“Yes, that would be wonderful.”
The woman gave Mom the address. Mom turned on the radio and heard my Dad’s favorite song, “Welcome To The Jungle” by Guns N’ Roses. I was five when I first heard this song. Dad and I were in the car on the way to my dance class. While the song was playing, I started dancing and so did Dad. We made it our thing. Every time he took me to dance lessons, we listened to that song. As I grew older, we would listen to it on the way to softball, soccer, and volleyball. If Mom tagged along, she would laugh and take videos. I would get mad if she took videos and pictures, but now I’m glad she did so I can see my favorite memories of Dad.
We arrived at a gloomy gray and black house and knocked on the door. An older woman opened the door and greeted us with a warm smile and a sweet “Hello!” As we walked inside, I noticed many family photos, probably her children and grandchildren, and colorful trinkets lining shelves. The inside of the house was quite the opposite of the outside. The lady offered tea or water and sat us down to talk.
“So how are you girls doing?” she started.
“Just fine, how about yourself?” Mom replied.
“I’m good as well. Let’s go take a look at the bundles of joy shall we?”
We followed her down the hallway into a sunroom. There were not only puppies but shelves filled to the brim with books, making it feel like a library, and she had a book nook behind one of the many windows. The sun’s rays shined on the puppies as they slept tucked into their blankets cuddled up to one another. The woman opened the dogpen, and the puppies awoke and one stood out to me. This puppy had a black spot on its face and its feet were white, but the rest of it was golden, a unique coat for a golden retriever. The puppy looked up at me, almost as if asking for me to take her home. I picked her up and held her close. As I did, I felt a familiar soul.
I never knew why this dog chose me. Dally has been with me through a lot. Dogs can’t say they love you, but you know by the way they look at you and the way they jump around and get excited when you get home from work or school. Even when you’re crying they stay close. Dally may remind me of my Dad, but that’s not why I love her. I love her because even though she can’t say it, I know she loves me back.
Photo by Mark Zamora on Unsplash
