My friends are often surprised to learn that I'm not really an animal person, but it's the truth. In all honesty, I have not really had a mutually satisfying relationship with an animal since I murdered my pet duck, Butterball.
My Daddy gifted me with the little bit of yellow fluff as an Easter present when I was 6 years old. And I literally loved that duck to death. I held him (her?) so much that he/she died from it. I was devastated beyond belief.
To try and console me, my family gathered together in our backyard to give Butterball a proper send-off. He/she was lovingly placed in a brightly decorated shoebox lined with fluffy cotton and buried in a shallow grave marked with a pitiful cross made of twigs.
The following day, I remember wishing I was brave enough to exhume Butterball's casket for a quick peek inside to ensure he/she had found his/her way to heaven. But I just couldn't bring myself to do it. I kept remembering how my brother Dale had made the mistake of digging up a bird we had buried in similar fashion. When he opened up the shoebox, the bird was still there. Dale went crying to Mom, who told him that God was just very busy and had not had time to pick up the dead bird. So my brother carefully reburied the bird, waited a more respectable amount of time, and dug it up once again. This time the shoebox was empty. [I've always figured my Mom was somehow in cahoots with God on that deal. I'm just smart that way.]
So even though I determined at a very early age not to give my heart away to anything that had more than two legs, there has always been a steady stream of four-legged beasts coming in and out of my life.
The first dog I can remember Daddy bringing home was Tar Baby. She was an enormous, sad-faced basset hound who produced copious amounts of saliva and ate our neighbor's chickens. I steered clear of Tar Baby and was admittedly relieved when she went to live on a farm with some chicken-less friends.
My memories of Lightnin' the Wienie Dog are brief. Months after coming into our home, she lived up to her name and disappeared - quick as that - into the West Texas mesquites, never to be seen again.
Shortly after we moved to Borger, my sweet Daddy walked into the house with a fat little Dachshund named Sugar. I don't know if Daddy just had a broken picker when it came to dogs, but with Sugar he hit an all time low. That sassy hound turned out to be the neighborhood slut and a pathetic mother, to boot. I don't remember exactly what happened to Sugar, but I'm pretty sure my Mom sent her off to a doggie convent to find salvation.
Then there was Tuffy. Apparently Daddy had finally reached his limit with dysfunctonal b*tches (so to speak) and shelled out good money for a beautiful, sinewy, testosterone-laden Boston Bull Terrier. My Dad and brothers loved Tuffy. Mom and I merely endured him. I swear this dog was hell-bent on embarrassing me. Not only did he fart around my male suitors (silent, toxic ones that made everyone in the room shift uncomfortably and avoid eye contact with each other), he also loved to chew the crotch out of my panties. Nothing mortified me more than coming home from a nice romantic date, only to find my favorite panties laying in shreds on the front porch. Needless to say, Tuffy lived fast and died young.
For my 18th birthday, my parents gave me my Very Own Dog. A precious little fur ball named Bo. She was a teacup poodle, and I really did my best to bond with her. I would hide her in my shoulder bag and sneak her into class with me at Frank Phillips College. But as Bo got bigger, my attention span for her grew smaller. Before I knew it, Bo and my Daddy had fallen deeply in love. So had I. I got married a few years later, and left Daddy and Bo behind.
And then I discovered babies. Baby boys, to be exact. Two of them.
Just like dogs, they needed to be fed daily and produced ridiculous amounts of poop. But they were oh so much more fun to take care of. I had absolutely no hesitation in giving my heart away to these wonderful creatures.
Funny thing about boys...they go together with dogs like the Lone Ranger & Tonto, Mario & Luigi, Donny & Marie. As my sons grew bigger, their requests for a puppy dog became more frequent, as did my constant refusals.
While I felt somewhat capable of keeping two small boys and a goldfish alive, the thought of having to be responsible for One More Thing held little appeal for me. Even if it was something that didn't require stretch marks.
But with their Dad's help, they finally wore me down.
We decided to get Lucas a rescue puppy for his 9th birthday, thinking that it would help to teach him responsibility. He picked out a beautiful dog and named him Max. Two days after we brought Max home, I discovered deep scratches all over Luke's arms. After changing his story several times, he finally admitted the wounds were from Max. When Dickie took Max to get his shots, the vet expressed concern to learn we had gotten the dog for our son's pet. It was our turn for concern when we were informed that Max was half Siberian Husky and half Doberman. Not exactly the warm and fuzzy lap dog we had envisioned.
Max was given to a friend who later used him as a ferocious guard dog. We returned to the dog shelter and adopted Sam, a sweet mix of Dachshund and Beagle.
Sam, I learned to love. We all did. She was sweet and loyal and brave. And though Sam definitely favored Dickie and the boys over me, she and I had our moments of shared estrogenal awareness. I, alone, understood why Sam would bury a perfectly fine piece of pizza in the back yard. Some things can only be explained by PMS.
We had Sam for 17 years. When it came time to put her down, I was the one who took her to the vet. I did it because I thought I would be able to handle it better than my tender-hearted guys. Boy, was I wrong.
Telling her goodbye...looking into her sweet,trusting brown eyes for the last time...absolutely gutted me. I came home and cried for two days. Nobody was more surprised than me to learn just how much of my heart Sam had managed to take with her when she left.
Because of Sam, I understand why it's so hard to let our favorite dogs go.
The reason is simple: it's because of the way they love us unconditionally. Even if we're tired, even when we're cranky, their love for us never changes. It is a rare love, almost impossible to replicate in human form. We could learn a lot from our dogs.
Because of Sam, I was able to understand my friend's pain when her dog became critically ill, right before we planned to leave together on a cruise.
My Daddy gifted me with the little bit of yellow fluff as an Easter present when I was 6 years old. And I literally loved that duck to death. I held him (her?) so much that he/she died from it. I was devastated beyond belief.
To try and console me, my family gathered together in our backyard to give Butterball a proper send-off. He/she was lovingly placed in a brightly decorated shoebox lined with fluffy cotton and buried in a shallow grave marked with a pitiful cross made of twigs.
The following day, I remember wishing I was brave enough to exhume Butterball's casket for a quick peek inside to ensure he/she had found his/her way to heaven. But I just couldn't bring myself to do it. I kept remembering how my brother Dale had made the mistake of digging up a bird we had buried in similar fashion. When he opened up the shoebox, the bird was still there. Dale went crying to Mom, who told him that God was just very busy and had not had time to pick up the dead bird. So my brother carefully reburied the bird, waited a more respectable amount of time, and dug it up once again. This time the shoebox was empty. [I've always figured my Mom was somehow in cahoots with God on that deal. I'm just smart that way.]
So even though I determined at a very early age not to give my heart away to anything that had more than two legs, there has always been a steady stream of four-legged beasts coming in and out of my life.
The first dog I can remember Daddy bringing home was Tar Baby. She was an enormous, sad-faced basset hound who produced copious amounts of saliva and ate our neighbor's chickens. I steered clear of Tar Baby and was admittedly relieved when she went to live on a farm with some chicken-less friends.
My memories of Lightnin' the Wienie Dog are brief. Months after coming into our home, she lived up to her name and disappeared - quick as that - into the West Texas mesquites, never to be seen again.
Shortly after we moved to Borger, my sweet Daddy walked into the house with a fat little Dachshund named Sugar. I don't know if Daddy just had a broken picker when it came to dogs, but with Sugar he hit an all time low. That sassy hound turned out to be the neighborhood slut and a pathetic mother, to boot. I don't remember exactly what happened to Sugar, but I'm pretty sure my Mom sent her off to a doggie convent to find salvation.
Then there was Tuffy. Apparently Daddy had finally reached his limit with dysfunctonal b*tches (so to speak) and shelled out good money for a beautiful, sinewy, testosterone-laden Boston Bull Terrier. My Dad and brothers loved Tuffy. Mom and I merely endured him. I swear this dog was hell-bent on embarrassing me. Not only did he fart around my male suitors (silent, toxic ones that made everyone in the room shift uncomfortably and avoid eye contact with each other), he also loved to chew the crotch out of my panties. Nothing mortified me more than coming home from a nice romantic date, only to find my favorite panties laying in shreds on the front porch. Needless to say, Tuffy lived fast and died young.
For my 18th birthday, my parents gave me my Very Own Dog. A precious little fur ball named Bo. She was a teacup poodle, and I really did my best to bond with her. I would hide her in my shoulder bag and sneak her into class with me at Frank Phillips College. But as Bo got bigger, my attention span for her grew smaller. Before I knew it, Bo and my Daddy had fallen deeply in love. So had I. I got married a few years later, and left Daddy and Bo behind.
And then I discovered babies. Baby boys, to be exact. Two of them.
Just like dogs, they needed to be fed daily and produced ridiculous amounts of poop. But they were oh so much more fun to take care of. I had absolutely no hesitation in giving my heart away to these wonderful creatures.
Funny thing about boys...they go together with dogs like the Lone Ranger & Tonto, Mario & Luigi, Donny & Marie. As my sons grew bigger, their requests for a puppy dog became more frequent, as did my constant refusals.
While I felt somewhat capable of keeping two small boys and a goldfish alive, the thought of having to be responsible for One More Thing held little appeal for me. Even if it was something that didn't require stretch marks.
But with their Dad's help, they finally wore me down.
We decided to get Lucas a rescue puppy for his 9th birthday, thinking that it would help to teach him responsibility. He picked out a beautiful dog and named him Max. Two days after we brought Max home, I discovered deep scratches all over Luke's arms. After changing his story several times, he finally admitted the wounds were from Max. When Dickie took Max to get his shots, the vet expressed concern to learn we had gotten the dog for our son's pet. It was our turn for concern when we were informed that Max was half Siberian Husky and half Doberman. Not exactly the warm and fuzzy lap dog we had envisioned.
Max was given to a friend who later used him as a ferocious guard dog. We returned to the dog shelter and adopted Sam, a sweet mix of Dachshund and Beagle.
Sam, I learned to love. We all did. She was sweet and loyal and brave. And though Sam definitely favored Dickie and the boys over me, she and I had our moments of shared estrogenal awareness. I, alone, understood why Sam would bury a perfectly fine piece of pizza in the back yard. Some things can only be explained by PMS.
We had Sam for 17 years. When it came time to put her down, I was the one who took her to the vet. I did it because I thought I would be able to handle it better than my tender-hearted guys. Boy, was I wrong.
Telling her goodbye...looking into her sweet,trusting brown eyes for the last time...absolutely gutted me. I came home and cried for two days. Nobody was more surprised than me to learn just how much of my heart Sam had managed to take with her when she left.
Because of Sam, I understand why it's so hard to let our favorite dogs go.
The reason is simple: it's because of the way they love us unconditionally. Even if we're tired, even when we're cranky, their love for us never changes. It is a rare love, almost impossible to replicate in human form. We could learn a lot from our dogs.
Because of Sam, I was able to understand my friend's pain when her dog became critically ill, right before we planned to leave together on a cruise.
**********
Oddly enough, Vicki was never was much of an animal person either.
Although extremely loving and giving, Vicki's Circle of Trust is very limited. She lost her Daddy when she was only sixteen, learning too young how much it hurts to love someone and have them leave you behind.
It took me by surprise when I visited her about 15 years ago and found her to be completely smitten by a four-legged creature named Bailey. Vicki, the OCD housekeeper. Vickie the Ice Princess. Her heart had been melted by a mere rag-a-muffin of a dog.
Although extremely loving and giving, Vicki's Circle of Trust is very limited. She lost her Daddy when she was only sixteen, learning too young how much it hurts to love someone and have them leave you behind.
It took me by surprise when I visited her about 15 years ago and found her to be completely smitten by a four-legged creature named Bailey. Vicki, the OCD housekeeper. Vickie the Ice Princess. Her heart had been melted by a mere rag-a-muffin of a dog.
**********
Vicki and I met in Florida on Friday to leave for our cruise and she sadly told me about Bailey's illness.
“I almost didn't come. My Bailey Boo-Boo is dying...I don't know if she will be there when I get home.”
“She will wait for you,” I said, hoping to encourage my my friend, feeling more thankful than guilty that she had chosen me over Bailey.
As soon as she got up Saturday morning, she called home to check on Bailey. Her husband reported that the little dog was in constant pain and had stopped eating. He told Vicki he couldn't stand to watch her suffer and was going to take her to the vet to be put down.
Vicki understood, but was devastated to realize that her dog would not be at home to greet her when she returned. I hugged her tightly, this woman who had asked for so little in life, who had fought so hard for what she did have. And because she has been a part of me for as long as I remember...I truly felt her pain in my heart. We cried together for the little dog that had been her companion for 15 years.
“I wanted to be there for her. I needed be the last person she saw before she died, so she would know how much I loved her.”
I understood. There was a part of me that felt bad for taking Vicki away from her last moments with her beloved Bailey Boo Boo. But because I've learned not to believe in coincidence, I truly felt that Vicki was exactly where she needed to be.
I listened as my heartbroken friend gave final instructions to her sweet husband. “...please make sure you wrap her up in the blue blanket...that one was her favorite.”
“I almost didn't come. My Bailey Boo-Boo is dying...I don't know if she will be there when I get home.”
“She will wait for you,” I said, hoping to encourage my my friend, feeling more thankful than guilty that she had chosen me over Bailey.
As soon as she got up Saturday morning, she called home to check on Bailey. Her husband reported that the little dog was in constant pain and had stopped eating. He told Vicki he couldn't stand to watch her suffer and was going to take her to the vet to be put down.
Vicki understood, but was devastated to realize that her dog would not be at home to greet her when she returned. I hugged her tightly, this woman who had asked for so little in life, who had fought so hard for what she did have. And because she has been a part of me for as long as I remember...I truly felt her pain in my heart. We cried together for the little dog that had been her companion for 15 years.
“I wanted to be there for her. I needed be the last person she saw before she died, so she would know how much I loved her.”
I understood. There was a part of me that felt bad for taking Vicki away from her last moments with her beloved Bailey Boo Boo. But because I've learned not to believe in coincidence, I truly felt that Vicki was exactly where she needed to be.
I listened as my heartbroken friend gave final instructions to her sweet husband. “...please make sure you wrap her up in the blue blanket...that one was her favorite.”
**********
Now, Bailey Boo...I know you can't read. Even so, I just wanted to write and tell you thanks. I know that you could've gone straight to heaven on that Saturday in January, but you didn't. Instead of heading 'up', you detoured east to spend a few more days with your girl, Vicki.
You were there in every miraculous Caribbean sunset. You were watching hungrily as Vicki cleaned the meat off those ribs at the island barbecue.
I know you had to laugh the day you saw her come really close to paying big bucks for a pair of diamond earrings, only to see her get pissed off at being charged fifty cents to use the restroom.
And just so you know, it was totally my fault that she went postal on that party bus in Aruba.
Seriously, how much did you smile your little doggie smile when you caught your 'straight-laced' mistress on the dance floor shaking her groove thang with me, or River Dancing down the hall to our cabin, or taking pictures of our fugly feet?
But when it really mattered --- on those misty mornings when Vicki sat alone on the balcony grieving for you, remembering you as she gazed towards the endless sea --- I know she felt your presence out there, somewhere.
Bailey Boo, I'm sure by now you've happily bounded your way through that golden doggie door in the sky. But I just wanted you to know how much it meant to our girl that you stopped to say goodbye.
Catch you on the other side...
You were there in every miraculous Caribbean sunset. You were watching hungrily as Vicki cleaned the meat off those ribs at the island barbecue.
I know you had to laugh the day you saw her come really close to paying big bucks for a pair of diamond earrings, only to see her get pissed off at being charged fifty cents to use the restroom.
And just so you know, it was totally my fault that she went postal on that party bus in Aruba.
Seriously, how much did you smile your little doggie smile when you caught your 'straight-laced' mistress on the dance floor shaking her groove thang with me, or River Dancing down the hall to our cabin, or taking pictures of our fugly feet?
But when it really mattered --- on those misty mornings when Vicki sat alone on the balcony grieving for you, remembering you as she gazed towards the endless sea --- I know she felt your presence out there, somewhere.
Bailey Boo, I'm sure by now you've happily bounded your way through that golden doggie door in the sky. But I just wanted you to know how much it meant to our girl that you stopped to say goodbye.
Catch you on the other side...
Bailey Latham 1-21-12
For the soul of every living thing is in the hand of God ~ Job 12:10
FB isn't letting me write in the comments section (?) so I must tell you, Robin, how much I appreciate your piece "All Dogs Go To Heaven ..." and how I feel for your friend Vicki. Although it was my kitty for me, I am still and ever will be devastated by the loss of my best little friend and alter ego.
ReplyDeleteEllen F.
I know you will always miss your Monkey. I read somewhere that we live longer than our pets because it takes us so much more time to learn how to love unconditionally.
DeleteLooking forward to hearing about your new memories with Malcolm!
Thanks, Miz Ellen <3