Jorgy and Taffy

Perhaps you are familiar with a man named Jorgy. Perhaps you are also familiar with a yellow dog named Taffy. If you are familiar with Jorgy than you know he died a few years ago: three? Four? And it was some years (two, three?) before his death that he was healthy enough to walk the roads and trails near Echo Lake. In those days when Jorgy was alive and walking, Taffy and I used to walk with him pretty regularly and Jorgy would praise and pet Taffy. But then he would tell me that Taffy was getting old and that I would have to be brave and put her down someday – someday in the not so distant future. He would go on about how putting Misty down was one of the hardest Goddamn things he had ever done. I would listen because he was the wise, old man of Echo Lake. I did not bother arguing that she was only five or six years old, etc. As of this writing, Taffy is still alive and healthy and Jorgy has been dead for something like thirty dog years. Jorgy was one of my favorite Lakers; right up there with you. I enjoyed listening to his stories of the Sierra Nevada in the 40s and 50s, and his advice on killing trout (do it quickly by breaking their necks.) But, six or seven years later, I am glad I have not yet taken Jorgy’s advice and killed my dog. Wow, that’s 49 dog years!