Obituaries

The first time I saw Fay, she was in a pile of her littermates — four boys and one sister — scrambling toward their Mama for feeding time. After a moment or two of determined effort, the little tri-coat Beagle mix, who barely fit within the palm of my hand, slunk back as if to say, “forgettabout it … I’ll come back later.” It was the first and only time I ever saw Fay cede ground. …

Before bringing her home in January 2013, I picked up a special T-shirt for the occasion. It was black, with the image of a happy dog rolling on its back in the grass; the words underneath read, “Let the Good Times Roll.” I have pictures and pictures and pictures of her resting her little body against me wearing that shirt. I have many more of her rolling in the grass, playing soccer, catching Frisbees, barking orders, snubbing selfies with me … hundreds and hundreds of ways Fay found to “Let the Good Times Roll."

I dug out that T-shirt again last week. My prayer was that Fay would remember its feel, its scent, its safety as she rested in my arms before going where, as a friend recently quoted, “all good dogs go.”

I’m well aware that my FB page, probably more so during the pandemic, became my “Fay’sBook page.” And why not? I mean, she’s on Instagram (#fayzgotgame). Until Fay, I’d never known a dog with more human-like expressiveness. How could I NOT share the ball-drops behind my chair, letting me know it was time to sign off work and play ball? How could I NOT share her modeling her made-for-Fay Halloween costumes? How could I NOT share, with apologies to singer Donna Fargo, the adventures of the “Happiest Dog in the Whole U.S.A.” ? …

“Fayisms” came with the territory, leading with her special brand of soccer play. Fay lived to play ball. In her mind, so did I. When I got home, Fay would greet me with a ball in her mouth and a look in her eye that said, “Well, COME ON!” as she raced toward the back door. Once we’d start playing, though, she never quite understood she had to LET GO of the ball for me to throw it. What’s more, she’d bark her head off at me to “THROW IT” as she guarded the ball with her paws!

Leaving the house required a certain strategy, too. To her, the sound of her leash and my saying, “Let’s Go, Fay” signaled it was time for a stroll — by herself. She’d do her version of a little runway walk between rooms and then present herself for her harness and leash. I learned to leave time;) Mealtimes also had Fay-specific rituals. Before breakfast, she’d knock over one of her Kongs until the proper number of Cheerios was dispensed, then saunter over to her first meal of the day. Before dinner, she’d sit on the kitchen floor — face toward the pantry — awaiting her “appetizer.” As soon as she clenched it from my fingertips, she ran toward the front room to her favorite carpeted spot, enjoying her treat to the very end. Only until she was finished would she even consider the main course.

My sparkly, loving pup answered to many names: "Fay Fay," "Fay Fay Amour,” “Fay Wray,” and "Mrs. Dog" were the most popular at home. Faycare, known more formally as K9 Coach, also had a couple of names for her, I’ve learned: "Fay Fay Cray Cray" and "Ms. Barky Boss.” I believe those are self-explanatory;) Last Friday, they gave her one more: “Dog of the Month” — she leads K9 Coach’s June Newsletter.

I am utterly grateful for the almost 12 years with my sweet, loving, playful girl … but, God, do I want more. I had plans for more. Of every title I’ve ever held, my all-time favorite is, Fay’s Mom. I’m grateful for every “like” Fay’s antics generated here, for every teacher, caretaker, and fan she’s had from Oct. 21, 2012 to June 5, 2024. Lastly, I’m grateful for the friendship between Barb, Gregg, and Sherrie that led to visiting Charles Smithgall Humane Society in November 2012. I’ve not seen them since the Obama admin., but my thankfulness for their leading me to Fay endures all cycles, all seasons.

Until next time, Sweet Fay. I love you with all my heart, which is so much bigger, thanks to you.