The 4th Year

For 4 years I have commemorated Missy's death on this blog.  Today is the last time.  

                                                           

Today marks the 4th anniversary of Missy's passing.   Four years ago Brendan and I put her in the truck for her final trip to a vet in Aledo.  He was home on leave,  and I was and still am grateful for his help that day. I probably waited too long.  Next time I'll know better.  I knew the inevitable for awhile.  She had had surgery to remove a growth on her tummy, but it was not successful.  When it reappeared her regular vet said that she probably wouldn't make it.  These things happen, of course.  

The above picture is her on a couple levels.  First she always honed in on my truck whenever I arrived, and I'm sure when I left as well.  I can see her still at the window shaking (well, her tail was shaking and the rest of her followed).  Secondly, her hearing was about shot by now and I had somehow left the truck and entered the house without her noticing.  Here she is watching the truck and anticipating my arrival, but I was right behind her and took a picture.  

She was a heck of a dog.  Never needed obedience training.  And I miss her still.  I make forages out often to local pounds in hopes that, finally, my next best friend will find me, but so far, I am still alone.  This is the 4th anniversary of Missy's death.  In a way, I died a little, too.   

The following is a repost of Missy's death:

Missy wasn't much of a dog.  She was ungainly when running.  It wasn't so much a run as a lopsided chugging.  She also wasn't much of a looker.  She had these tufts of hair coming out of her paws that made her look like some kind of canine leprechaun and her coat was a sprinkling of gray on black mixed with brown.  Her tail and butt had a wispy mane that had to be cut every so often that made her look downright ridiculous. 

Her character also had some flaws.  Her idea of adventure was a long nap.  If asked to do something outside the routine she would handle the stress by relieving herself.  Riding in the truck was a major emotional pull from her normalcy that evoked shivers and nervous salivating.  She was a veritable spigot.  I always used a towel for her to ride on, not to catch the hair but to sop all the drool.  

12 years ago or so, did I mention she was a mutt of unknown origin or species, she wormed her way into our lives.  And I mean literally.  But I digress.  Nancy and I (mostly me) had wanted a dog.  With two small kids and a big house I wanted one for pleasure and company.  Nancy wanted one for security and protection.  We tried a couple dogs but generally our search was unsuccessful.  One got off the leash and was run over (no one seemed really disturbed by it).  One was so wild and dumb we took it back after a week or so.  OK, we tried, did our best, and decided to forget the whole thing.  

That is until Mackenzie wanted one.  My previous attempts pretty much did me in:  too much work, and trouble.  Guess I got that out of my system so I decided: no more mutts.  Kenze was around 11 or 12 and started working on her mother.  Smart girl.  Nancy could never say no to the kids, so one day,  

Kenzie got her Mother to go with her to the pound.  I didn't know it yet, but we would soon be getting a new member of the family.  It was Saturday if I remember correctly.  I gave them both pleading reminders that I would NOT be the sole feeder/walker/poop cleaner of anything they brought home.    I 

think I also gave them a final desperate “command” NOT to do what they were Hell-bent on doing.  As they were pulling out of the driveway I was on the front steps, and according to family lore, weeping in defeat. 

When the car pulled up after rescuing this prize, out bounded this year old scrawny Aussie Shepherd mutt with worms, irritable bowels and a seemingly skittish fright of large male humans. OK, so it didn't like me, that's OK because I didn't want you either.  After we got the ground rules laid out with the ladies, such as who will feed it (Mackenzie said “I will.”), pick up after it (Mackenzie said “I will.”), bath it (Mackenzie said “I will.) and take it to the vets (Nancy said “I will”), I decided that my role in this will be minimal.  That was akin to Captain Smith saying, “...what can that little iceberg do to  this  unsinkable ship?”  Oh, and she had worms...bad.  

This pathetic excuse for a dog was named “Missy” and it wasn't long before I was spending an awful lot of time with this mutt.  I thought the name was too prissy.  I envisioned this dog as a mighty hunter, a fierce defender of the family, a majestic reminder of the truly great dogs of history like Lassie, Rin-Tin-Tin and Old Yeller.  She was de-wormed and began to display a good appetite, a trait that she sustained all of her life.  It soon became apparent that we didn't own a hunter, defender or majestic Lassie.  What we had was a very very nice dog who barked, or rather yodeled, at something and then came running to me for protection.  Her motto was, “When In Doubt...Pee”.  She didn't like car rides, adventure, or the mailman.  Oh yes, she barked at the doorbell, strangers and the moon, but for the most part she was a peace-loving mutt who preferred food, naps and walks.

She was never put in dog-obedience because she didn't need it.  Rarely straying from her yard she was self-taught and self-trained to stay close to home.  Occasionally neighbors would tempt her with fish  or other scrumptious canine cuisine, and off we would go trying to find her but for the most part she did her business and then sat on the front porch waiting to be let in.  

People ask where the time goes.  I know where it goes.  Each day we get up and begin navigating  the  the course of the day to get the maximum pleasure while obeying all the rules of job, family and  life's necessary obligations. If we are lucky we go to bed at night having won the fight with as few scars as possible.  One day after another, fighting the small battles and usually navigating around the icebergs that float in our way.  There is no big plan, no master scheme...just small everyday things that either give pleasure, or give pain.  Missy was one of the small things that came into our lives and gave me pleasure.  Her big brown soulful eyes, her herding me away from the others so she wouldn't have to share, her constant companionship and loyalty that made her pretty darn majestic after all.