Tasha and Terry

Some bonds don’t form loudly. They grow in small, steady ways - quiet as late-autumn light settling across the yard. That’s how it was with Terry and Tasha.

We found her; or maybe she found us, on a day when our hearts were pulled by a radio announcement about older dogs who might not have much time left. Nina was the one we intended to meet. But when we arrived, she stayed tucked away in her corner, withdrawn from the world in a way that broke something soft inside me. And then, out of nowhere, her sister Tasha came charging toward us as if she had been waiting her whole life for someone to show up.

Eight years old, abandoned, and somehow still hopeful.

We came home with Tasha that day. Later we learned Nina was adopted too, which felt like a small mercy the world got right.

Tasha chose Terry almost instantly. I didn’t mind. I was the one working long hours, drifting in and out like a passing cloud. Terry was home. Solid. Patient. Calm. They fell into a rhythm of companionship that made perfect sense. He took her to the park, where she built a social life far more exciting than mine. Every week, a local woman would take Tasha on mountain hikes with a little pack of neighborhood dogs. They would come back dusty and proud, tails high as if returning from some noble expedition. Terry would wait in our silver Subaru, door open, ready to bring her home.

And then came the Subaru incident.

Terry was waiting in our silver Subaru - one of thousands in town, it seemed - door wide open, ready to collect his girl. Tasha returned from the hike, saw a silver Subaru, and thought, “Close enough.” She hopped right into a stranger’s car. She sat in the back seat looking around in full confusion, as if evaluating her life choices.

Then she spotted Terry.

He said her expression went from “Where am I?” to “Oh no… wrong Subaru!” in an instant. She leapt out and dashed to him, wagging so hard she nearly apologized with her whole body. Terry laughed about that moment for years. He used to say, “If someone reported a missing silver Subaru in this town, they’d never find the right one.”

Tasha stayed with us until she was fifteen, slowing down, softening, still choosing him every day.

I like remembering them that way:
Terry waiting by an open car door,
Tasha trotting toward the right Subaru at last,
both of them quietly happy
to belong to each other.