artsy

artsy

Sunday, May 19, 2013

A Good Dog - Ode to a Westie


When I was in fourth grade, I became a little dog-crazy. "Please, please please can we have a dog?" I'd ask my mom, promising to clean up after it and train it and play with it all the time. I'd done my research and figured out that the perfect dog for us was a West Highland White Terrier. I even carried around a book I'd bought describing all the details about these white dogs famous for hunting small rodents in Scotland. 

One day at the grocery store, Westie book in hand (for a few months it seemed to be glued to my hand, probably so I could flip it open at a moment's notice to expound on the merits of the breed), I even came up with the perfect name. As I glanced at the candy bar rack in the checkout lane, I spied several candy bars. "Snickers...that might be a good name...OOH!" I spotted a white pack of Tic Tac mints. "Tic Tac would be the PERFECT name for a Westie!!"

Christmas morning several months later, my brother and I excitedly woke up and opened presents with our family. My dad seemed more tired than usual, but I figured he had been up late wrapping presents. Towards the end of the present-opening extravaganza, I heard a tiny yip form the laundry room. Grant and I bolted to the back of the house, where we found the cutest, tiniest, floppy-eared ball of white fur. 

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Tic Tac joined our family over 17 years ago, and ever since, he's been a constant companion of the Bell household. Whether he was sprinting back and forth in the upstairs hall chasing a ball, practicing his tricks for treats, or flopping down next to you for a lick and a scratch, he never failed to involve himself in the daily goings-on in our lives. 

One day my dad had been working in the garage and my mom nicely prepared a lunch for him. Setting the ham and cheese sandwich on the table, she went out to the garage to get him. When they came back in they found Tic Tac walking away, licking his chops, with the two pieces of bread lying face down on the floor. The ham and cheese didn't even stand a chance. 

When my sister came along as a wonderful surprise, Tic Tac assumed his new job title as Protector-in-Chief, and would constantly be in her room or under her crib, never too far away from his new little sister. 

He and my brother always seemed to share a sense of calmness and wisdom. I believe that Grant and Tic Tac were true brothers at heart, always able to bring peace and quiet knowledge to the situation. 

I had a wonderful time training Tic Tac, and I still remember taking him to puppy preschool and learning all the commands that we would later practice at home. Tic Tac was the most patient dog; letting me dress him up in my doll clothes and wheel him around in my doll stroller. He was also a great source of comfort in my teen years when I had too much angst for the rest of the family to handle. He'd curl up on my bed and let me scratch his head while I vented my feelings to him. 

But more than anything, I think that Tic Tac belonged, forever and always, to my Mom. Technically, my name was on his owner and vet records, but everyone in the family knew that he was a true momma's boy. Many nights he would end up at my mom's feet on my parent's bed, curled up beside her. She was always the first one up in the mornings, and Tic Tac was right there with her. My mom loved him, calling him a "English gentleman" next to the "Cockney street rat" that was Toto. She loved his carrot of a tail and his soft eyes. And he loved her very much - you could tell in the way that he hopped up on the couch with her or assumed a protective guard stance near her chair. 

All this to say that Tic Tac truly was a good dog, a great comfort, and champion friend to our family, and our lives won't be the same without him. 


Steelers buddies


Wise ones


Always protective


JMU fan


Big brother


Toto's companion and best friend


Soft eyes


Our furry sibling


Always watching out for his little sis


Happy goofball


My little white Tic Tac


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"Look, Pa. Look at Jack," Laura said. She bent and scratched his smooth head. The fine hairs were gray now. First his nose had been gray and then his jaws, and now even his ears were no longer brown. He leaned his hear against her and sighed.

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Laura knelt down and hugged him as she used to do when she was a young girl. "Jack! Jack! We're going west! Don't you want to go west again, Jack?"


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Now he only leaned against Laura and nudged his nose under her hand to ask her to pet him gently. She stroked his gray head and smoothed his ears, and she could feel how very tired he was. 

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"I didn't mean it Jack," Laura told him. He understood: they had always understood each other. He had taken care of her when she was little, and he had helped her take care of Carrie when Carrie was the baby. Whenever Pa had gone away, Jack had always stayed with Laura to take care of her and the family. He was especially Laura's own dog. 

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She stroked his head where the fine gray hairs were, and she thought of how good he had always been. She had always been safe from wolves or Indians because Jack was there. 

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"Good Jack, good dog," she told him. He turned his head to touch her hand with the tip of his tongue. Then he let his nose sink onto his paws and he sighed and closed his eyes. He wanted to sleep now. 

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They buried him on the low slope above the wheat field, by the path he used to run down so gaily when he was going with Laura to bring in the cows. Pa spread the earth over the box and made the mound smooth. 

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"Don't cry, Laura," Pa said. "He has gone to the Happy Hunting Grounds."
"Truly, Pa?" Laura managed to ask.
""Good dogs have their reward, Laura," Pa told her. 

I love you Tic Tac. 

~A