My dog, Tully, walked away from home last Thursday night. Almost exactly eight years ago to the day, he walked into our lives with the same love for life that probably caused him to leave us last week. In 2004 we found him at the Bellevue Humane Society where he stole our hearts. He loved nearly everyone he met with an enthusiasm we humans could learn from. He was playful and smart and loyal and lovable. He really was nearly the perfect canine companion for our family.
Tully was cared for by my parents for the last two years to help out my family as we were in the middle of the extended move. Mom and Dad needed a dog in their lives, and Tully took his duty as lovable pet very seriously. Other family members have also taken care of him on occasion. I have heard time and again how great a pet he was for them.
Tully has been a loyal companion to me. By night, he lies next to me on my bedroom floor. By day, he is usually within inches and always within feet of me. When I move, he moves with me. One of his few faults is that he likes to roam the Charlotte Hall neighborhood in the evenings if he can sneak away. Even then, he usually returnes within a couple of hours. Sometimes he smells like skunk; always, he returns smiling and eager to tell of his adventures.
Last week, he didn’t return.
I have searched the area roads around our house, reported him missing to several local authorities, and I have longingly stared out the back porch hoping to see him romping back home. Thinking anything could have happened to him in the vast woods adjacent to our property, I searched the area with my nephew. We found no evidence of Tully. I shudder to think of the possibilities, so I try not to. Instead, I hope that either someone took him in, or he suffered a quick end.
I miss your unconditional love and your yips while you dream. I miss your smiling face and your warm greetings for everyone you ever met. I miss the only dog I’ve had in my life since I was four. Please, Tully, come home. You are loved and you are missed.