We once had two dogs and they were the light of our lives.
Our first we rescued as a puppy from the pound. She was a little ball of quivering fur - a cream colored cock-a-poo we named Brandy. She was the docile one; preferring to always lay on the sofa or the recliner and just watch the action - not necessarily partake in it. When she wanted to she would take charge. She was stubborn, opinionated, a bully, hated rain, refused to get wet - period, and we loved her dearly.
The second we rescued from a busy city street. Shivering, running helter-skelter across parking lots - we opened the car door and gave a whistle. She came flying - hitting me in the chest, curling there, terrified. I could feel her little heart about to burst. She was a tiny ball of black fur, a toy poodle someone had lost. We never found her original owner. We named her Mitzi. She was the hyper one, always on the go - whether chasing a ball across the floor or a squirrel across the yard - she never seemed to slow down. She captured my heart and never let go.
They became the children we never had. We spoiled them with treats, gave them gifts at Christmas and took them with us on vacation. We never went anywhere without them -never would have ever thought of it. They slept with us, ate with us, watched TV with us, and grew old with us.
Mitzi adopted me as hers. I was the one she seemed to protect, wanted to play with, to curl up with when she wanted to sleep. Whether lying on the beach or the floor, I was the one that got the three quick licks from her as she galloped by, on the way to another interesting scent.
One day, Mitzi began to shake violently and could not get up. An anxious trip to the emergency room confirmed the worst. She was starting to have seizures, a sign that age was beginning to take its' toll. We estimated her age at 15. She had been with us thirteen years.
Over a period of several weeks, more seizures occurred and no amount of medication was going to help. The last night was hell. She knew something was wrong. She couldn't stand straight and walked at an angle. I think she sensed that the end was near. She never slept at all that night; instead she struggled to get to her feet and wandered around the house, as if taking one last look. The next morning, she collapsed again. It was time.
I took her to the vet. As she lay upon that cold steel table, totally helpless, I held her as the vet inserted the needle. He squeezed the plunger in and spoke in a low voice that it would only take a moment. Mitzi turned her head to look at me, and giving my hand one last lick -as if to say, "It's okay… I love you. I'm ready to go" she lay down her head and died.
We had son a month later. A big, strong, strapping son we named Jeremy. Brandy lasted for three years after he was born. She was his. And he was hers.
Brandy went quickly. And I again found myself at the cold steel table in the vets' office.
As the years past, I missed those two terribly. Then, late one night about five years after Mitzi died, I heard scratching at the back door, just like the dogs did when they wanted in. Half asleep, I crept slowly out of bed and went downstairs to the sliding door in the kitchen and stared out into the darkness. Nothing. I turned to go back to bed and heard it again, distinctly coming from the back deck. This time I turned on the deck lights and opened the door to look around. Nothing but shadows and leaves. I closed the door and was reaching to turn the light off when I saw it. Just my imagination, I thought. It can't be what I thought it was. A shadow, about the size of Mitzi, was slowly making its' way up the steps toward the top of the deck. I starred, dumbfounded at the sight. Slowly the shadow grew until I could see what was causing it. A dog. A black dog with eyes lit up by the light reflecting from the porch light.
It stopped about five feet away and watched to see what I was going to do. I didn't know what I was going to do - have a heart attack I think now. It was Mitzi. I was absolutely sure of it. "Mitzi?" I gasped in shallow breath. "Is that you, girl?" The dog licked her lips and whined a small, soulful sound. It was, I knew it. She had come back. I tried to get her to come in the house but she refused to even come closer to the circle of light, instead continuing to whine and prance about. Finally I turned off the light and went out on the deck, closing the door behind me. I went and sat in one of the patio chairs, facing her.
She seemed much more comfortable with the dark and with a burst of speed that took me totally by surprise, bounded across the deck like a rocket, jumping up and into my chest like she had done so many times in the past. You can't be here, I thought as I hugged her so hard I thought I would hurt her. When I felt the three quick licks on my face, I knew for sure. Oh, My God, I thought. It's not possible.
She sat quietly in my lap for a few minutes as I rubbed her, letting me rub her with my fingers, then bound across the deck and down the steps into the darkness of the yard. I could tell she was out there even though I couldn't see her. I could sense her. She was wandering around the edge of the yard, her nose to the bottom of the fence as if remembering smells long ago passed. After my eyes adjusted to the dark and I could see her. I just watched as she trotted from smell to smell. She stayed about ten minutes.
She stopped suddenly and looked at me. "It's time for me to go." Came the thought. NO! Come, girl! I pleaded, but to no avail. She stood there in the darkness of the back yard ignoring the plea, saying "I have to go."
PLEASE!! I cried, in tears.
"I'll be back…" I heard.
Even though I walked every inch of that back yard a dozen times, I found no trace of her.
I woke up the next morning with dirty feet and a strange dream.
I began to regale our son with the exploits of dogs - their playfulness, their fighting. He remembered Brandy, but only barely. He's six and wants a dog. "Never again." Says his mother. I am saddened by that.
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I hear the scratching again. It's been a year, but the sound is distinct. I slip downstairs to welcome her home.
She has brought a friend. Brandy. My God - Brandy. But Brandy is different. She's afraid and keeps acting as if she has been caught wetting the floor. I keep the light off and go out into the yard with them. Mitzi bounces hard against me and demands that I pick her up. I do and get my three quick licks in payment. ”I love you." I hear in my head. I love you too, I reply. She's off and bounding after Brandy. I can hear Brandy too, but it's jumbled. She is very afraid of being here. She wants to be here and is happy to be home, but wants to go… now. Mitzi ignores her, instead playing by racing through my legs and bounding up the steps and back down again. I try to catch her but can't.
They both go racing out into the darkness of the back yard. I can sense them racing toward the side fence. Racing . . . racing . . . then . . . nothing. No sense of them. They are gone. No goodbye. No "I will return." Nothing. I go back to bed and cry in anguish. The next morning my wife asks if the squirrels playing on the deck last night bothered me. I tell her "No."
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It's been two years since the visit. "I want a dog." I tell my wife. "I want a dog, too!" says our son. "Maybe." She says.
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I hear the scratching and am up in a flash. I throw open the door, but I don't see them. One of them is here, I can sense her. What's wrong? I ask. Why don't you come out and play? Why can't I see you?
Mitzi appears out of the shadows. She walks slowly over to me and gives my hand one solitary lick. It reminds me of the last single lick she gave me and I break down in tears.
You're leaving, aren't you? I cry out. You're not coming back! I'm never going to see you or hold you again! Why?? Why! Did I do something wrong?
"It is time." I hear. "Time." Please! I cry. Please come back! But she's fading into the shadows. "We are never gone….never gone…" I hear echoed off the deck. "Good-bye!" I hear Mitzi shout. "Good-bye!" I hear Brandy. "Good-bye…" I whisper. “Good-bye…”
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My wife phones that she has found the perfect one. We all bundle up and go visit the lady that advertised in the paper. The pups are only four weeks old. Some still have yet to open their eyes. There are six of them, five males and one female. But she is a fighter, that one. She lets the boys know she will not be treated unfairly. Indeed, she is aggressive, pushing and shoving for her place in the feeding order. She will not be denied. My son is drawn to her immediately. "That one!" he exclaims excitedly. "Can I see that one!!?" She is lifted away from the others in the litter and placed on the floor. She sits for a few seconds, eyes examining her new surroundings, and then running unsteadily on big paws, sets her sights on my son's shoestring. He is enthralled. "This is the one." He says. My wife eyes me.
The pup suddenly glimpses a shiny object across the floor and off it goes to explore. But before it passes me by, it stops, gives me three quick licks, and continues its’ quest. I can still feel the heat of its' rough tongue on my hand. "It is the one." I reply.
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Its' been five years now and Mitzi and Brandy have not again scratched upon our door. They really don't have to. We bought that little four week old black ball of fur on the spot. We had to wait until she was weaned at age nine weeks to take her home, but when we did, oh joy. While that little toy poodle was just barely big enough to sit in my hand, she filled a huge hole in our lives. Today she is as lively as any puppy, her tail wagging proudly as she chases a ball or squirrel across the yard or races my son up the stairs to his room. She is equally as comfortable just lying next to my wife in bed, watching TV. She hates the rain and refuses to go outside in it except for walks or one particular area out front. She loves to go with us and gets mad when she doesn't. Her name is MISSY.
<img src="http://idisk.mac.com/kykurnal/public/missy.jpg" align="left" width="96" height="162" hspace="10" vspace="1" />
Mitzi and Brandy are home. I know. I don't miss them anymore. I can't. Missy is lying here beside me - licking my hand. I can't get that dog to stop licking.
