Memories of a Good Dog

IMG_1267In the Spring of 2010, while I was away at college in St. Cloud, Minnesota, my mom got a dog. His name was Casey, and when I came home for Spring Break he stole my heart, but little did I know that just a few years later, someone would steal him. He was a goldendoodle and was the most playful dog that I’d ever been around. We spent countless hours running around the house, me chasing him, and he chasing me. Through the kitchen I would run, ducking down behind the island, causing him to be unsure from which side I would emerge. He never met a ball he would not chase, or a person he wouldn’t jump up on, placing his paws on their shoulders as if wanting to dance, and sometimes I obliged, waltzing around the living room to the music on my iPod.

I loved taking him on walks around the lake, night or day it didn’t matter, he was always up for it, usually pulling me along at a faster pace than I wanted to go, but it was his world, I was just living in it. Casey would lie beside me watching TV; Seinfeld was our favorite show. I would stroke his beautiful golden fur that never fell out, a man and his dog, with no cares in the world. Sometimes when he wanted my attention he would reach over and gently slap me with his paw, then turn his head in the other direction, pretending that it wasn’t him that did it at all. That was my favorite thing about Casey; his slaps are what I miss most of all. No matter how long I was gone, whether at college or when I moved to Florida, he always remembered me when I came back home, always excited to see me. Like old friends, we picked up right where we left off, going for walks or playing fetch in the yard.

The last time I saw him was in December of 2012 when I went to Little Rock for Christmas. It snowed Christmas night, knocking the power out of the house for several days. It was great watching Casey run through the snow, his legs completely buried as he sprinted around the pasture in front of my grandparents house, the happiest dog in the world. Before I saw him again, somebody took him from that same pasture, ripping my favorite dog in the world from my life forever. There isn’t much hope that we will ever see him again, now that my mom and grandmother moved from that house, but hopefully wherever he is, he is happy and enjoying life. Maybe, just maybe wherever he is, his new owners allow him to have internet access and he will stumble across my blog one day and he will get in touch with me so I can rescue him and we can be reunited at last. Casey, if you’re out there reading this, just send me an email, let me know how you’re doing and where you are, and I will come get you immediately. You are not forgotten.


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