Dear Tammy,

Good old dog.

You were the only dog I really ever knew, you were the only dog I really ever loved.

Every time we pulled up to grandma and grandpa’s white corner house with red trim, I knew you were just steps away. As I pulled open the rickety-kind-of door that always slammed shut behind me, there you were, eagerly waiting at my feet.

You followed me around the kitchen as I snacked on saltines topped with butter and cookies from the cookie jar. You lay in the corner of the kitchen by my feet as I dined on fried eggs and bacon, pickled pimiento loaf sandwiches, grandpa’s homemade vegetable beef soup, beef loin, and vanilla ice cream topped with cantaloupe.

I’ll never forget the click clack of your paws tracking across the plastic mat laid at the entrance to the living room. When I swiveled around in the chair on the other side of the kitchen sink, you sat by my feet. When a Christmas tree was there instead of the chair, it was all the same to you, you were still there. And when I ran my hands across the brown and white ridged wall that surrounded the fireplace, you were one step away, ready to play.

You were brown, you were fluffy, and let’s be honest, you always smelled a little. But I didn’t really care. Because I was a kid. I loved you for who you were – an irreplaceable part of the memorable experience known as grandma and grandpa’s house.

Thank you Tammy for being the dog I never had,

Amy

*If you’d like to read more from my #31Days Letters to the Unthanked series, click here for the landing page where all the letters are listed and linked!