Tracy
When I was born, my ma and pa already had their own pet; a well-trained German Shepherd. Her name was "Tracy."
Turns out, my dad had spent a lot of time and energy training Tracy and she was a dang great dog. She came from police dog stock, and most of her first litter of pups were also raised to be police dogs. I don't know how my dad got her, but he was good at scoring interesting things.
I don't think I've got any photos of her laying around her anywhere, but Tracy would let me climb all over her, stepping on her head, paws and even nose, and she'd not bite me at all.
When strangers would come over, she'd get between them and our family. I loved her fiercely.
As I grew older, Tracy developed hip dyspasia, a fairly common ailment for this breed of dog. At first she just limped a little, but as she got older, she could hardly walk at all. Once one of my friends tried to ride her like a horse, and I knocked him off of her before he knew what hit him. I still feel bad that he did that to her. Little punk.
When I was in about 3rd grade, somebody stole Tracy out of our back yard. I rode my bike all over the place trying to find her, and eventually, we did. I don't think that there was any epic confrontation or anything, I think that they just let her go. Who wants a dog that doesn't want you? (And one that couldn't really walk?)
By the time I was in fourth grade, my family had to put Tracy down. I'm pretty sure that they lied to me and said that she ran away or was stolen again, or something. I, like all children facing their first loss, was pretty devastated. She was my best friend, since birth.
I'm going to ask my ma what really happened the next time we talk.
- Daniel
