So, just as Blurt eventually adopted a string of kittens, I too was blessed with a long-term furry friend. It took a move to the country, and some few years of growing, but one day my mother was ready to stop by the Mennonites large blue house which we always passed on our way home. The sign read “Puppies $5 a piece” and I was allowed to pick anyone I wanted. Well, I hadn’t had much time to think about this, so I ran through my list of requirements for my new puppy: 1) must be the best puppy in the world, 2) must be a boy. After explaining this to the woman in the white dress who wore a white cage-like thing over the bun in her hair, she told that there was only one male puppy left. She pointed to the bushes that ran along the side of the house and told me he was hiding in them. Sure enough, cowering below the branches was a cute little boy who also, it turned out, was the best puppy in the world.

His name was Chip, (sister’s recommendation, and a nice continuation of the food theme) and he was part Spitz and part Border Collie. This means that he grew to be a medium sized dog with a predominantly black coat of hair on top which was complimented by the white hair on his undersides. His face had little tan spots under his eyes and a white line down the nose, and his tail was a gorgeous, shaggy spiral of black with white stripe in the spirit of Pepe Le Pew.

That bushy tail was his trademark, his calling card, and the reason he was often mistaken for a skunk.

Chip pranced like a deer and snuffed like a bloodhound. He played frisbee, and tag, and slept in my tent whenever I decided to camp out in the backyard. Because he was foreced to live outside on our farm, he canvased the countryside looking for adventure. As the years passed, Chip proved himself to be the best dog in the world.

And just like his human counterpart (me), Chip began to grow restless on the farm. He began to take weeklong trips, fathering countless bastard children (sorry Bob Barker!), and worrying me to death. But he always came back. I would see his beautiful tail running through the field, and then he’d pounce up into my arms and lick my face for hours.

Then one day he didn’t return. His food bowl was left untouched. And for the second time in my life a dog broke my heart.

Four years later Chip showed up, pouncing and licking. But he had no tail. Just a stub, flapping in excitement. I spent the night sleeping next to him on the grass, searching his face for a clue as to what happened. The only thing he could tell me was that the world was too big to stay in one place. And that it isn’t good to be too attached to things. In the morning he left, never to return.