Teddi

A heartwarming, funny story about a dog, a family and fish farts.

When I was a kid, my mom would take me and my sister to Alexander's on Fordham Avenue in the Bronx every Christmas time to sit on Santa's lap, which required me to give Santa an affirmative if I've been a good boy all year, guaranteeing a toy for myself, and for mom, a happy son who wasn't whining all the way back to the apartment. One year, I received a plastic tool kit. My incessant banging with the toy hammer, led my mom to believe I had the skills to become a drummer. For my next birthday, she surprised me with a kid sized drum kit, which after a month of banging, led the downstairs and upstairs neighbors to form a coordinated percussion unit banging on the pipes to stop me from ruining their lives. I found out when I was much older, this was the reason we moved from the Bronx to the NY suburbs. Though the minute I settled into my own bedroom, the desire to play drums disappeared. But, it was too late now to move back. The die was cast. I was quickly becoming a suburban boy, with woods in the backyard to play "war games," baseball fields in walking distance at the nearby elementary school, a dead end in front of our house to play kickball, ride bikes, etc. We were also in range of our mothers booming voices screaming our names from the front door, letting us know it's time to come home as dinner was being served. On my block, there were also two other Howard's, so all three of us would run home simultaneously after hearing one of our mom's shout out our name, as it echoed throughout the neighborhood. At least two of us Howard’s always got screwed out of playtime outside, every time. I never forgave the other parents for giving their sons my name. To this day, wherever I am, whenever I hear someone call out to another Howard, my instincts are to drop everything and run home. In fact, I once sprinted home for 25 miles only to find out when I arrived, that my parents sold the house twenty years ago. Embarrassing, but at least it proved I could run a marathon faster than Usain Bolt.

Eventually, my parents got us a dog which we named Teddi. Her hair was grey and white much like my grandmother's bun. She was the sweetest, unless the mailman or a squirrel was in sight. Sometimes if we were away all day visiting family in Long Island, she'd make a poop on the living room carpet, which in her mind substituted for grass. We'd come home knowing something was up when she didn't greet us at the door. About a minute later the smell would hit us like an ICBM. Farshtunkener! Time to open the windows and spray Lysol! Of course, I was always elected to clean it up and throw it out into the woods. I had the shitiest fastball on the block. Teddi was family. She was comforting, loving and shed her hair everywhere. If I played with her, the hair would sometimes get on my head. Friend's thought I was prematurely going grey. Teddi wouldn't move for my mother's vacuuming, so my mom would vacuum her too. Teddi wasn't dumb, she loved it. More than likely it removed the ticks from her body so it was a win-win all around, not only for her, and us as those Hartz Mountain Flea and Tick Collars weren't cheap.

Teddi bonded with my grandmother from the start, though it took my grandmother time to warm up to her. Eventually, whenever she visited, they were inseparable, even if she couldn’t physically get down on the floor to play with her. If my grandmother went to use the bathroom, Teddi would follow, waiting outside the door faithfully, until grandma came out. It was sweet. The only time Teddi ever showed her teeth to us was after we gave her a steak bone to gnaw on. She acted as if she just gave birth to pups. Eventually she'd have to get up from the floor to drink from her water bowl. That was the moment when we bolted to pick it up before she'd realize it was gone. No matter what, she’d never snap at us. G-d forbid she did or that steak bone would be her last. Smart dog. She was easy to care for. In fact, we almost never needed a leash when we took her out to make along the side of the ballfield. She liked the german shepherd across the street, named Pal. They sniffed each other's butts endlessly like my daughter does to scented candles in Bath and Body Works.

For me and my sister, Teddi was like our best friend. She would keep our secrets as long as we fed her Milk Bones, cheese and chopped liver. We once experimented by giving her pickled herring, when we broke the Yom Kippur fast, but quickly we discovered dog fish farts aren't pleasant, as well as having to contend with an unexpected wicked case of doggy diarrhea. To say my parents weren't happy with us is an understatement. We were both grounded for one week, with no TV or radio. At least Teddi was forgiving and kept us company. Truly man's best friend no matter what you do to their digestive system.

One year we took her on vacation with us to Harrisburg, PA, as we toured the Amish country. Many motels weren't friendly to families with dogs and finding a place to stay overnight was a challenge. She never saw a horse until then, barking her ass off every time we passed a horse and buggy. In response, the horses just crapped as we passed them. That's telling her off! Unless it was a day trip to visit relatives, Teddi went everywhere with us. The only time she was scared to get into the car was the annual visit to the vet. Somehow she knew. She'd shake. Poor thing. But she was a good girl at the vet; a real trooper. I used to point out to her a spider on the floor. My sister would tell me "Don't do that!" knowing Teddi would instantly lick it up. Must have been a real treat, I thought. What did I know? I was a precocious kid looking for cheap laughs as well as a long "Ewwwwwwwwww! from my sister.

As she aged, Teddi became slower, yet more affectionate. She passed away on Memorial Day weekend while I was in Florida celebrating my upcoming high school graduation. My grandmother, who was living with us at that time, passed away three weeks later. During those last years they were even more inseparable. The joy my grandmother received from Teddi while she was ill, certainly helped keep her outlook positive and we're sure, prolonged her life. She was a therapy dog before there was such a classification. Losing both at nearly the same time was inconceivable, and deeply hurt. It was a double whammy.

Sure, life can feel unfair many times, but it's the sweet memories that outweigh, outshine and outpace the bad. If you've ever owned a dog, you know what I mean.

Miss you Teddi.