My dad quit school in the eighth grade to help his dad on the farm. They were sharecroppers in South Carolina in the 1930s.

My father picked cotton by hand for four years to help the family stay afloat. When he turned 18, he realized he had to move on because, in his words, picking cotton was “bull****”.

He joined the Air Force, and after basic training, he was stationed at Craig Air Force Base in Selma. I was born and bred in Selma, but my roots are in South Carolina. My parents lived outside of Anderson. My mom lived near Belton in a tiny community called Honea Path (pronounced “Honey Path”). I didn’t say that right until I was about 30. My dad is from just down the road in Possum Kingdom. You can’t make this up.

My first memory on this earth is of being at my grandmother’s house in Honea Path.

She lived in a little house with white panel siding and a cinder block base on a lot that can only be described as crooked. She lived next door to my great-uncle Clarence Lee, who robbed a bank in his hometown in the ’50s. That’s not the smartest idea I ever heard of.

The house had a concrete porch that was painted grey. You could tell because there was chipping that revealed it was once painted green. This house is just down the road from where they hold the weekly goat sale (true story). If you’ve never been, you should go.

I remember walking into that house and into the “No No” room: a formal living room that was reserved for funerals and naps. I would turn right and walk into the den and climb on the red velour couch with Lady.

Lady was an enormous German Shepard that would bite your face off. But not mine. I had zero fear of this dog. She loved me and I loved her. Every human I knew except for Nanny was deathly afraid of this dog. I recall my brother telling my uncle, “Don’t mess with Markie when he’s with that dog.”

My dad and brother were both scared of her. And with good reason.

I saw a man come into the yard one day and raise his voice to Nanny, and Lady systematically removed his pants from his body. Everyone was scared she was gonna kill him. I remember laughing.

If I was at Nanny’s house, Lady was going to be very close to, if not actually touching, me. I would lie on top of her and pull her ears, play with her big teeth and tongue, and run my fingers between her toepads. I recall her climbing onto the big red couch with me and laying her paws across my lap.

Her rough paws would scratch my skin, but I didn’t mind. To me, that was love. I welcomed that pain and missed it when I wasn’t there.

I would feed her popcorn, and I’m sure someone will tell me that popcorn is bad for dogs. But I saw this dog eat a whole pan of brownies, so I think she was OK with a little popcorn. I would sit down with a bowl of Nanny’s pan-fried popcorn and Lady would start drooling. She knew Markie was gonna give her 90% of it.

I remember sitting in my kitchen in Selma one day, and the yellow wall phone rang.

It was Nanny. Well, Momma and Nanny talked for a short time, and then Momma hung up, which I remember thinking was odd because they could yap for hours about nothing.

Momma came and pulled up a chair next to me and said, “Markie.”

There was a pause.

Long enough that I stopped what I was doing.

My mother was not attached to Lady, but she knew that I was. This was difficult for her.

She continued, “Lady passed away this morning.” I think this was the first time I cried without making a sound. Tears poured down my face as I stared blankly at my mother. I remember the feeling of my shirt being wet against my skin from crying. I couldn’t believe it. I had never known a world where Lady didn’t exist.

So long as Lady was alive, I knew there was somebody that loved me and would do anything to protect me. That spirit had left this world, and there was a void in my heart.

My grandfather had died several years earlier, but at that age, the only thought that came to my mind was “Who’s gonna give me Star Crunch cakes now???”

Now I was faced with true loss. I stayed home from school the next day. I haven’t thought about that dog in several years. Now that I do, it makes me smile. But why is my shirt wet?