One morning during COVID, I went for a morning walk with my dog, Farfel. I saw three dogs, five birds, two rabbits, eight snails, and two fish. I am not making this up! I live on a pond in the middle of Tucson.
It was a relief and a joy to see living creatures. My husband had died several months earlier from chronic health issues, and I was left with my grief in the midst of the pandemic.
But I was not alone. I had a companion: my Yorkshire Terrier, Farfel. All eight pounds of her! She was a living being to be fed, nurtured, cuddled, walked, spoken to, and taken care of. She was funny; she was affectionate; she was demanding. “She has a little soul,” my husband used to say.
When Shelby was sick, Farfel somehow knew it and would sit beside him and keep him company. “She sits beside me,” he said, “but her eyes are on you. “ It was true: I fed her, walked her, and took care of all her needs. Still, she loved him and sat beside him as if daring death to take him.
But death did take him, and I was left trying to deal with widowhood and COVID simultaneously. During those difficult days, Farfel was a gift from the gods.
But Farfel was confused. In addition to missing Shelby, her life had changed. Because of COVID, she could no longer romp with her neighborhood pals.
Sniffing and dog camaraderie were out. Our 4:30 group walk with neighbors and dogs had ended. Farfel’s friends, Willy and Chica, were rarely to be seen. Or if seen, it was a brief wave and a shout out to old friends, but no interaction for me or for her.
But somehow we made it through together.
Today, as always,
Farfel makes me smile
Farfel makes me laugh
Farfel inspires me to get off the couch and take her for a walk.
Farfel greets me every morning with twirls and leaps, and other antics, burying her head in the bed covers and playing hide and seek. Then she turns over on her back to await the morning cuddle.
She is such a joy in my life.
I marvel at her sensitivity. She knows my moods and can recognize when I am preparing to go out or getting ready for bed. And she can express her own needs for food, potty, or affection using small sounds or by standing next to me until I acknowledge her.
The most important thing for me is that I am never alone. I can talk to her all day if I like. I don’t think I would be surprised if she answered me in English one day. For now, she cocks her head or looks at me with concentration, trying to understand what I’m saying to her. She is not a licker, but when she does express herself in that way, I thank her.
When I leave the house, she looks resigned, but when I return home, and she hears me drive into the garage, she waits for me on the couch in my office or runs to the door with her tail wagging. I never return to an empty house. She is my companion, my friend, the child who never left home. She is a blessing.
Judith Manelis is a writer, editor, and journalist whose work has appeared in American Jewish newspapers and magazines. Her book “This Shall Tell All Ages: Art, Music and Writings of the Holocaust” was published by United Jewish Appeal.
