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Well, it's wanting to storm but instead the air is just growing thick with unshed rain, and I can't sleep. Tonight for some perverse reason I'm unable to stop thinking of my dear departed pets, my old buddies. They were the family I bought for myself as my life began to spiral out of control. They presided over the beginning of my adulthood, my first marriage, my first house, my daughter's birth, my pain, my divorce, and my new life. They were my constant friends, the one common denominator in a sea of change. I miss them so much, sometimes.
Claudia, you were always a lady so you go first. You were such a sweet, loving, gentle cat. You were soft and pastel-colored and you seemed just like a regal duchess in exile, presiding benignly over a court of adoring fools. You had such sweet grace, padding slowly and sedately around your varied homes. You'd walk right up to the dogs and kiss them with your nose, then calmly pad away. Even as a young cat, you had an old wise soul, and I still feel your piercing green eyes on me from time to time.
You were unintentionally funny, too. Your wisdom gave you an almost human sense of dry humor. I loved it when you'd sit in your water bowl in silent protest when one of the dogs had drained it, staring at me as if to say "I couldn't do this if I had WATER in my water bowl, you know". You hardly ever went outside, but I knew how much you loved the feel of the warm concrete on a sunny day, so on warm summer afternoons I'd carry you out and watch you roll in goofy ecstasy on the front steps. Once, Charlotte drew chalk flowers on the steps and you rolled in them. We all laughed at your long gray-cream fur with splashes of pink and blue, but really it suited you. Pastel kitty. You never seemed to mind being the joke; you had such dignity that even being colored like an Easter egg didn't ruffle you in the least.
Charlotte loved you so much. You loved her too; even before she was born you'd curl up on my pregnant tummy and purr and knead and love. When she came you were always near her, I was forever shooing you out of the nursery room, and I finally gave in and let you sleep with her in the crib once she'd grown (but of course you were too polite to do something as crass as smother the baby...you simply wanted to snuggle). I'll never forget the time you got ill and had to spend three days at the vet's office on an IV. We all worried, but Char worried the most. She cried for three days..."Clawa! Clawa!" and no one slept. When you came home, weak but alive, I put you in her crib and you two slept for a day and a half. I have so many pictures of you shadowing Charlotte, through the years. You were her furry little nanny, she was your funny hairless kitten.
You gave me a thousand smiles. You died purring in my arms, and that's all right.
You were unintentionally funny, too. Your wisdom gave you an almost human sense of dry humor. I loved it when you'd sit in your water bowl in silent protest when one of the dogs had drained it, staring at me as if to say "I couldn't do this if I had WATER in my water bowl, you know". You hardly ever went outside, but I knew how much you loved the feel of the warm concrete on a sunny day, so on warm summer afternoons I'd carry you out and watch you roll in goofy ecstasy on the front steps. Once, Charlotte drew chalk flowers on the steps and you rolled in them. We all laughed at your long gray-cream fur with splashes of pink and blue, but really it suited you. Pastel kitty. You never seemed to mind being the joke; you had such dignity that even being colored like an Easter egg didn't ruffle you in the least.
Charlotte loved you so much. You loved her too; even before she was born you'd curl up on my pregnant tummy and purr and knead and love. When she came you were always near her, I was forever shooing you out of the nursery room, and I finally gave in and let you sleep with her in the crib once she'd grown (but of course you were too polite to do something as crass as smother the baby...you simply wanted to snuggle). I'll never forget the time you got ill and had to spend three days at the vet's office on an IV. We all worried, but Char worried the most. She cried for three days..."Clawa! Clawa!" and no one slept. When you came home, weak but alive, I put you in her crib and you two slept for a day and a half. I have so many pictures of you shadowing Charlotte, through the years. You were her furry little nanny, she was your funny hairless kitten.
You gave me a thousand smiles. You died purring in my arms, and that's all right.
Oh Ruby, old Ruby. My strange Roobis-McBoobis. You were my good girl, my troubled quiet daughter. You were so timid and gruff, I used to have to warn people not to pet you when you rolled on your back for them. They thought you were offering a belly to be rubbed, but I understood you completely and knew you were silently surrendering (and if they were foolish enough not to see your eyes begging them to please leave you be, they'd scrub your chest anyway and get nipped for not reading you right). You mostly lived your life wanting to be left alone. You loved your peace.
You were so smart! A word was all you needed from me. I only had to show you something once and you knew it forever. I taught you to heel in five minutes, no leash, only correcting you with a soft "Ah!" every time you forged ahead. You were only ten weeks old. What a prodigy!
You were the model of quiet obedience, and you loved rules. A law-abiding girl, whenever your brother broke them (and he often did) you were always quick with a nip and a glare. How you hated playing with him! He never played fair. When I'd throw the ball for you two, it was a tag-team affair. He'd snatch it first and play keep away and drive us all crazy, and then I'd have to make him drop it so you could bring it back to me as if to say "See? I'm the only good one here who listens".
You loved playing alone, though, just you and me. I'm quite certain that you'd have been much happier as an only child (too bad for you, I love a house full of fur and feet!). Your manners were impeccable. You'd politely drop your ball or frisbee in the same place, right at my feet, every time. You knew special things too, like "drop it" meant place the toy at my feet, but "give it here" meant put it in my hand or on my lap (I was often lazy). How did you learn that? You knew so much it never occured to me to wonder how or when you learned it. By the time you were an old dog I remember speaking in complex sentences to you and you always followed my directions. You were more human than dog to me.
I remember, when you were young, how high you'd leap for your frisbee. I can't even remember how I taught you to catch it. I know that in the beginning I'd say "wait" and then "jump!" when it was in the right spot over your head, and you'd never miss. You made me so proud! I loved taking you to the park and showing off. We always drew a crowd when we played. It was the only time you seemed really happy and alive. Your furry ears, which you always kept neatly pressed back against your head, would suddenly perk and spread like butterfly wings when I'd ask "...Ready?" just before I threw that frisbee. It made me happy to watch you spring into the air and snatch it like a pro.
Poor old girl, you were already a crochety old lady when I brought Greg into your life. You two hit it off in such a funny, quiet way. He didn't understand dogs (never had one, really) and you didn't like dogs much yourself, so you two just doddered around doing your own thing. You sort of understood eachother, you both lived in your own private worlds. I loved it when he'd sing to you, and you'd stand there politely and listen;
"Roobis McBoobis, the crazy old dog!
Roobis-McBoobis, she pees in the yard!
Roobis-McBoobis, she's not very bright...
Roobis McBoobis, but that's all right!!"
...and you'd wiggle your tailless butt and grin as if you knew that song was just for you.
Good old girl. I hope your life was happy.
You were so smart! A word was all you needed from me. I only had to show you something once and you knew it forever. I taught you to heel in five minutes, no leash, only correcting you with a soft "Ah!" every time you forged ahead. You were only ten weeks old. What a prodigy!
You were the model of quiet obedience, and you loved rules. A law-abiding girl, whenever your brother broke them (and he often did) you were always quick with a nip and a glare. How you hated playing with him! He never played fair. When I'd throw the ball for you two, it was a tag-team affair. He'd snatch it first and play keep away and drive us all crazy, and then I'd have to make him drop it so you could bring it back to me as if to say "See? I'm the only good one here who listens".
You loved playing alone, though, just you and me. I'm quite certain that you'd have been much happier as an only child (too bad for you, I love a house full of fur and feet!). Your manners were impeccable. You'd politely drop your ball or frisbee in the same place, right at my feet, every time. You knew special things too, like "drop it" meant place the toy at my feet, but "give it here" meant put it in my hand or on my lap (I was often lazy). How did you learn that? You knew so much it never occured to me to wonder how or when you learned it. By the time you were an old dog I remember speaking in complex sentences to you and you always followed my directions. You were more human than dog to me.
I remember, when you were young, how high you'd leap for your frisbee. I can't even remember how I taught you to catch it. I know that in the beginning I'd say "wait" and then "jump!" when it was in the right spot over your head, and you'd never miss. You made me so proud! I loved taking you to the park and showing off. We always drew a crowd when we played. It was the only time you seemed really happy and alive. Your furry ears, which you always kept neatly pressed back against your head, would suddenly perk and spread like butterfly wings when I'd ask "...Ready?" just before I threw that frisbee. It made me happy to watch you spring into the air and snatch it like a pro.
Poor old girl, you were already a crochety old lady when I brought Greg into your life. You two hit it off in such a funny, quiet way. He didn't understand dogs (never had one, really) and you didn't like dogs much yourself, so you two just doddered around doing your own thing. You sort of understood eachother, you both lived in your own private worlds. I loved it when he'd sing to you, and you'd stand there politely and listen;
"Roobis McBoobis, the crazy old dog!
Roobis-McBoobis, she pees in the yard!
Roobis-McBoobis, she's not very bright...
Roobis McBoobis, but that's all right!!"
...and you'd wiggle your tailless butt and grin as if you knew that song was just for you.
Good old girl. I hope your life was happy.
...
Tucker. Shit, Tuck. I can't even think of you without crying. You were my best boy, my crazy hero dog that I'd always dreamed I'd have some day. You were a miscreant, you were a handfull. You were a clown and a pain in the ass and a liability, and your heart was huge. I knew you'd die for me without a second thought. When you slept at the foot of my bed, when you walked by my side, I knew I was safe. Ever since you died, I haven't felt safe like that. You protected me with a fierce loyalty that made me wonder what I'd done to deserve such single-minded dedication.
Right from the start you were the biggest, the loudest, the first, the best. Why the heck did I pick you out of all those other pups? I knew, just watching you in action, that you'd be trouble. I think I took you because I feared what would happen to you if I didn't (as I told you a hundred times, any other dog owner would have dropped you off at the pound in a month). The breeder almost put you down when you were two weeks old, you know. You had a lot of white on your head, and she thought you were "lethal white" (a condition in blue-merle Australian Shepherds that causes deafness and blindness when too much white is on the head). I argued that none of the white extended past your eyes or over your ears. She agreed to let you live if I'd take you...I paid sixty bucks for the best dog I ever will have in my life. I saved your life. Maybe somehow, you knew that.
What an outlaw. I remember our fights, our disagreements. As a teenager you were hostile, reckless, uncontrollable. You'd break out of the yard, launch yourself at the mailman, pester poor Ruby to distraction, and then show your teeth to me when I scolded you. Nothing worked. The soft approach I'd used on your older sister Ruby had no affect at all on you. I really thought you were going to end up having a short life.
I remember the day everything changed. I'd had enough. I'd read all the books and I knew you needed help, so instead of scolding you one day I snapped a lead on your collar and dragged you outside. I began drilling you, up and down the driveway "Heel, sit, stay, come, sit, down..." Over and over. No "Bad dog!" No yelling. Just drill drill drill. And your eyes grew sharp and focused. You loved it! "Down" and BAM you threw yourself right down. "Come" and you'd DASH and whirl and sit. "Stay" and you'd remain down, trembling, waiting, not moving a single muscle until I'd call you.
You weren't bad at all. You just needed a job.
So, we worked every day. We fit obedience into every part of your life. Everything was a game, and the game became "How can I please you today??? Give me an order, ANY order". You had such enthusiasm and joy for your training, there wasn't a thing you wouldn't do for me. You were still a bundle of energy, but at least you had focus. I remember the ASCA (Australian Shepherd Club of America...before the breed was recognized by the AKC) obedience trial we entered when you were three. You blew everyone away. You did everything faster, snappier, and better than every other dog there. When I recalled you after a long down/stay, your dash and whirl and sit at my heel made everyone gasp. You know, a gentleman offered me a lot of money for you after that trial, but I wouldn't have accepted a million bucks for you. You were MY dog.
And SO handsome. I see the AKC Aussies that people are breeding today and not one can hold a candle to you, Tuck. You had a big fat head and such an amazing thick white ruff, it really looked like a mane. Your crazy blue eyes (matched blue, so rare) were freaky and hard to read, and everyone who saw you said "...those eyes!" because they were so disconcerting. Your paws were huge, you were a giant Aussie, seventy-five pounds of solid muscle and fur. Everyone who saw you had to comment on your beauty. Your head was always up and you were always ready for whatever came next. My brother called you "Hero dog" and it fit.
You were my champion. When I lived in poverty, in a terrible neighborhood, you kept me safe. You protected me a dozen times from my ex, who had a terrible temper (your only physical flaw was the way one ear drooped slightly because of the kick he aimed at your head). In a place full of crime, our yard was only once breached, our house never broken into. The night you roared like a lion in the driveway I ran out to see three men running as FAST as they could, with you standing square shouldered in the road, staring as they raced off swearing. You never left the yard to go after them, you stayed to protect me. After that, when I was left alone in that house, I was never afraid because I knew you'd never let anything happen to me. If I heard something and said "What's that?" you'd go still and watchful, and when you'd relax I'd relax. You patrolled the yard like a Marine on duty, always. Even after we moved to this quiet little house in this quiet suburb, you still trotted up and down the fenceline tirelessly, smartly, right until the day you died.
I still can't think about it. The day you suddenly collapsed in the driveway was the worst day of my life. You were such a force of nature, I almost thought you'd never die. I am devastated to this day.
I remember holding your head, watching your eyes lose their fire, and all I could do was whisper "What a good dog. What a brave good strong boy. I'll never never ever have such a good boy ever again...you're my best boy."
And you always will be. I miss you Tuck. Most of all.
Tucker. Shit, Tuck. I can't even think of you without crying. You were my best boy, my crazy hero dog that I'd always dreamed I'd have some day. You were a miscreant, you were a handfull. You were a clown and a pain in the ass and a liability, and your heart was huge. I knew you'd die for me without a second thought. When you slept at the foot of my bed, when you walked by my side, I knew I was safe. Ever since you died, I haven't felt safe like that. You protected me with a fierce loyalty that made me wonder what I'd done to deserve such single-minded dedication.
Right from the start you were the biggest, the loudest, the first, the best. Why the heck did I pick you out of all those other pups? I knew, just watching you in action, that you'd be trouble. I think I took you because I feared what would happen to you if I didn't (as I told you a hundred times, any other dog owner would have dropped you off at the pound in a month). The breeder almost put you down when you were two weeks old, you know. You had a lot of white on your head, and she thought you were "lethal white" (a condition in blue-merle Australian Shepherds that causes deafness and blindness when too much white is on the head). I argued that none of the white extended past your eyes or over your ears. She agreed to let you live if I'd take you...I paid sixty bucks for the best dog I ever will have in my life. I saved your life. Maybe somehow, you knew that.
What an outlaw. I remember our fights, our disagreements. As a teenager you were hostile, reckless, uncontrollable. You'd break out of the yard, launch yourself at the mailman, pester poor Ruby to distraction, and then show your teeth to me when I scolded you. Nothing worked. The soft approach I'd used on your older sister Ruby had no affect at all on you. I really thought you were going to end up having a short life.
I remember the day everything changed. I'd had enough. I'd read all the books and I knew you needed help, so instead of scolding you one day I snapped a lead on your collar and dragged you outside. I began drilling you, up and down the driveway "Heel, sit, stay, come, sit, down..." Over and over. No "Bad dog!" No yelling. Just drill drill drill. And your eyes grew sharp and focused. You loved it! "Down" and BAM you threw yourself right down. "Come" and you'd DASH and whirl and sit. "Stay" and you'd remain down, trembling, waiting, not moving a single muscle until I'd call you.
You weren't bad at all. You just needed a job.
So, we worked every day. We fit obedience into every part of your life. Everything was a game, and the game became "How can I please you today??? Give me an order, ANY order". You had such enthusiasm and joy for your training, there wasn't a thing you wouldn't do for me. You were still a bundle of energy, but at least you had focus. I remember the ASCA (Australian Shepherd Club of America...before the breed was recognized by the AKC) obedience trial we entered when you were three. You blew everyone away. You did everything faster, snappier, and better than every other dog there. When I recalled you after a long down/stay, your dash and whirl and sit at my heel made everyone gasp. You know, a gentleman offered me a lot of money for you after that trial, but I wouldn't have accepted a million bucks for you. You were MY dog.
And SO handsome. I see the AKC Aussies that people are breeding today and not one can hold a candle to you, Tuck. You had a big fat head and such an amazing thick white ruff, it really looked like a mane. Your crazy blue eyes (matched blue, so rare) were freaky and hard to read, and everyone who saw you said "...those eyes!" because they were so disconcerting. Your paws were huge, you were a giant Aussie, seventy-five pounds of solid muscle and fur. Everyone who saw you had to comment on your beauty. Your head was always up and you were always ready for whatever came next. My brother called you "Hero dog" and it fit.
You were my champion. When I lived in poverty, in a terrible neighborhood, you kept me safe. You protected me a dozen times from my ex, who had a terrible temper (your only physical flaw was the way one ear drooped slightly because of the kick he aimed at your head). In a place full of crime, our yard was only once breached, our house never broken into. The night you roared like a lion in the driveway I ran out to see three men running as FAST as they could, with you standing square shouldered in the road, staring as they raced off swearing. You never left the yard to go after them, you stayed to protect me. After that, when I was left alone in that house, I was never afraid because I knew you'd never let anything happen to me. If I heard something and said "What's that?" you'd go still and watchful, and when you'd relax I'd relax. You patrolled the yard like a Marine on duty, always. Even after we moved to this quiet little house in this quiet suburb, you still trotted up and down the fenceline tirelessly, smartly, right until the day you died.
I still can't think about it. The day you suddenly collapsed in the driveway was the worst day of my life. You were such a force of nature, I almost thought you'd never die. I am devastated to this day.
I remember holding your head, watching your eyes lose their fire, and all I could do was whisper "What a good dog. What a brave good strong boy. I'll never never ever have such a good boy ever again...you're my best boy."
And you always will be. I miss you Tuck. Most of all.
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Since I can't, you'll have to settle for cyber-huggles.
You've had some amazing presences in your life, and I can see that you know that. Wow. You had a few angels watching over you, yes you did.
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I agree with Empath up there. I want to cuddle you SO MUCH right now. *shnugs*
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