Best Friends

My friend Jeff started life as a cat person.  I well remember Twotone from our growing-up years, and then M’hija, from Jeff’s young-adulthood with his wife Joan, first in NYC, then Virginia.  It wasn’t until the year 2000 that Jeff got his first dog.  (I’m not counting Dog and Friend, the two he had very briefly during his VISTA years in San Elizario, Texas.)  Toby, that first dog he got for his family, was a Bichon Frise, and a male — though I never could remember the latter.  To my eye, those cute, tiny, fluffy, snow-white French dogs look like they should only come in female.

In 2001, Carol and I drove down to visit Jeff and his family in Virginia, and we brought along Robby, who was eight at the time.  It should be noted that to Robby, as well as to our other two sons, Jeff was always referred to as “Dad’s Best Friend Jeff” — and that would eventually become the basis of a long-standing family joke.  Since I’m not one to keep in touch much with the guys I hung with in high school, or college, or later in life, for that matter, my sons think I don’t really have friends.  So when Carol mentions “Dad’s best friend Jeff,” the boys will chime in mockingly, “You mean Dad’s only friend Jeff.”

The point, though, of recalling the 2001 visit, is that Robby was so transfixed by Toby’s cuteness that he launched a relentless two-year campaign, asking at least twice a day for a dog of his own — which resulted, of course, in Ricky the Beagle.  (And in my becoming Beagle Man.)  Ricky was as stubborn as the day is long, and was food-driven to an insane degree, but oh my god, he was the most handsome and the most lovable beagle in the history of the

world.  He slept in Robby’s bed, they cuddled as they watched sports on TV together, and he was without a doubt Robby’s best friend.  When Ricky died in 2014 at age 11, prematurely, from a mysterious blood clot, Robby cried like a baby.  Losing a best friend isn’t easy.

Toby actually outlasted Ricky by three years, surviving until the ripe old age of 17.  He passed away in 2017.  Jeff recently wrote about Toby in a draft of a memoir he’s preparing:  “We loved Toby. He was the cutest dog you could imagine, he loved us back, and was easy to deal with . . . We really enjoyed having him with us and he was part of

the family.  It was sad when he got sick at the end of his life and we called it quits.”  Yes, sad.

My best/only friend Jeff is facing a very serious health challenge of his own right now.  As one of the most level-headed, thoughtful, sharing guys I’ve ever known, and will ever know, he’s starting to work on his “goodbyes” to his oldest friends and colleagues while he can still enjoy doing it.

Carol and I are planning to go down and see him in Virginia next week.  We both talked with him on the phone a few days ago, arranging the visit.  For most of the conversation, he addressed both of us together.  Then, in shining example of his insightful brand of humor, he said, just to me, with a twinkle in his voice, “Hank, you’re gonna have to find a new friend.”

It won’t be that easy, Jeff.  It won’t be that easy.

YOU CAN ALSO FOLLOW BEAGLE MAN, KEMBA, AND RICKY ON FACEBOOK AND INSTAGRAM.