Skipper

I didn’t understand what was happening, but then humans have always been a puzzle to me. I knew, though, when the man stooped down to lift me off the floor next to the chesterfield and wrapped a blanket around me, this was not an ordinary moment.

It was my blanket, I knew immediately from the scent, but it usually stayed in my bed in the cellar and never came upstairs. Sometimes the woman tossed it into that big white thing in the basement that whirled and roared and when she took my blanket out, I had to roll around in it to get my scent back on it.

The man – we called him Pop around our house – held me gently to his chest. Normally, I didn’t take kindly to people picking me up or touching my belly. Never did, but I can’t remember why. This time it seemed okay though. As he held me close, I could feel his heart beating fast and his normal scent seemed different, almost frightened.

My hearing wasn’t as good as it used to be, but when someone stepped through the back door and called out, I recognized the voice immediately. It was the human we called Uncle Everett. The one who always played with me and tossed a ball to me, and called me “poor old dog” while he scratched behind my ears. The tone of his voice always told me he was kind and apart from my own pack, he was my favourite human.

This time Uncle Everett didn’t seem interested in playing, but then I didn’t much feel like it either. I was tired, and I hurt all over. I especially hurt when I had to go outside to do my business. Something under my tail, a lump, really made it hurt, so much that I just didn’t want to think about going.

Pop gently carried me in the blanket and Uncle Everett led us to the back door, then outside and down the porch steps to his car. I’d been down those steps so many times, usually after someone had snapped the chain onto my collar so I could go out in the yard to do my business. I wasn’t used to being carried down those steps; it all seemed so odd. What had gotten into these humans?

Uncle Everett opened the car door and Pop slid in, still holding me in his arms. I looked inquiringly up into his face and he seemed sad, unable to look back at me. He touched my snout tenderly. Where are we going, Pop?

Pop and I had never been very close. Oh, he was kind in his own way, just a bit gruff, but the bond I’d had with Mom and with the boy was something Pop and I had never shared. Now, I was comforted by his scent and by the compassion he showed.

Uncle Everett got into the other side of the car and started it up and took us away. This was very unusual. What was happening?

I hurt so much. Just wanted to sleep, but the pain wouldn’t let me, so I tried to snuggle into the blanket, into Pop’s comforting arms. I couldn’t imagine what was happening as the car sped away. Where were the boy and the girl? Gary and Shari? They’d been at the house not long ago and when they went out the door Gary patted me on the head and scratched behind my ears and said, “see ya later, Skipper.” I managed to thump my tail on the floor but not very hard. It hurt too.

The car took us someplace I’d never been, and after Uncle Everett opened the door for Pop, he gathered me up in the blanket and carried me inside a building. What was this place? When we walked through a door the smells were so unfamiliar. Dog smells, cat smells. Rabbits too? And humans I didn’t know. And other quite new, sharp smells that made my nose twitch with discomfort.

Pop went up to a counter and a lady said in a quiet voice, “yes, we’ve been expecting you. Come in.” What were we doing? This didn’t seem right.

We went into a room and there was calm, soothing music playing, like the music Mom enjoyed at home. I thought of her and it made me feel less anxious. Another lady led us to a table and said in a gentle, kind way, “hello, Skipper. How are you?” She said to Pop, “just sit him down on the table. Pull up a chair. You’ll stay, won’t you? They like that.” I looked at Pop and he hesitated a moment, then nodded. What was wrong with his eyes?

The woman turned to Uncle Everett and said, “there’s room for you too,” but he said, “no, I don’t think I’ll stay.” He turned and left the room. I was sad to see him go.

When the lady looked down at me, my ears fell back flat against my head in warning. She didn’t seem to be a threat to any of us but you never knew. If I needed to protect Pop, I would do so.

As I listened to her voice, though, my wariness eased. She spoke calmly, tenderly touching me on the head and down my back. It felt good. Then she lifted my tail and I hoped so much she wouldn’t touch me there. It hurt so. She looked across the table at Pop and said, “yes, it’s bad. At his age I wouldn’t recommend putting him through an operation. I don’t imagine it would help him and it would be so traumatic.”

Pop said something to the lady but I didn’t hear what, he was speaking in such a low voice. I have to admit my old hearing isn’t what it used to be. The lady went to a cabinet, took something out and came back to stand by me and Pop. “Hold him gently,” she said, and she placed the thing against my hind quarters. I felt a quick, sharp prick. Normally I would have barked and probably nipped at her, but I just didn’t feel like it. I was so tired and I hurt so much.

Almost immediately I felt a warm rush through my body and suddenly it was as though I was someplace else entirely. There was no pain and I found myself huddled among half a dozen little fur-balls, whimpering and cuddling together. I looked up, smelled the air and I couldn’t believe it: there was my mother, her warm, rough tongue licking at me and the others, soothing us. I took my place next to one of her teats and suckled. Her warm milk tasted so good.

Then I remember us all being snatched away from her by a pair of rough hands and tossed into a box. I was frightened and cold. The box was carted away and all of us were thrown down some steps and into the outdoors, into a pile of snow, and the Bad Man with the rough hands held up something big and ugly and slammed it down on us.

I was shoved into the snow and I remember the crying of a half dozen little fur-balls as we tried to skitter away from the Bad Man. The awful thing in his hand came down, again and again, and one by one we were silenced, our tiny bodies broken and torn. Only I survived, somehow, I think because I was pressed beneath the body of one of the others. Finally the Bad Man went away.

I was alone. I was cold. And I was frightened.

I remember sometime later another pair of hands came and lifted me out of the snow. They placed me inside their coat and warmed me from the warmth of their body. Don’t really recall what happened next until there was someone feeding me milk from a tiny bottle. I found myself in a cage, surrounded by barking and howling. The scent of dogs everywhere. I lay there, quiet, as all those around me barked and growled and howled their fear and their unhappiness at being caged. Me, I didn’t care, so I lay there, silent.

Every day that passed seemed just like the day before. Someone would come to feed me from a small bottle. After a few days they came to put water in a bowl for me, and drop something to eat in another bowl, and occasionally clean up any mess I’d made.

I was so sad. I wondered what had happened to my mother and to the other little balls of fur. For a moment I’d been happy and warm next to them, cuddling and squirming around to make sure I had a spot to take my dinner. But now all I saw was a cage and all I felt was loss. What was I doing here and what would happen to me? I was so bewildered.

Sometimes someone would come and take one of the dogs out of their cage and lead them away. They’d be barking and jumping with happiness. No one ever picked me, though. I just sat there, quiet, uncaring, staring into nothingness.

One day a man and a woman came with a little boy. They peered in to each of the cages along the alleyway and looked at us all. They stopped at my cage and the little boy stared right into my eyes. I could tell he wanted me, but I didn’t really care. I was too sad to care.

The man said to the woman, “maybe we should come back another day” and the woman looked at me and said, “this one’s so quiet. Maybe him?”

The man said, “no, not him. Another day.”

The man and the woman began to walk away but the little boy stayed. He reached down between the bars of my cage and passed something inside. He held it up to my mouth so what else was I to do but take it? It was soft and warm from his hand and as I nibbled at it, a sweetness leaked out and made my mouth feel tingly. I’d never had anything like it.

The boy and I looked into one another’s eyes again and something happened. Something connected. The boy said, “but I want this one.”

“Come on now, Gary,” said the woman. “Not today.”

Ah, so this is Gary. A nice name. Gary had tears in his eyes. “I want him,” he insisted in a low but distinct voice.

Next thing I knew, my cage was being opened and someone was putting a collar around my neck. They snapped a leash on me and led me out and down the alleyway. Where were we going? What was going to happen to me?

The man who took care of us told the man and woman and Gary, “he’s about six months old. We think he was abused because he was so scared when they brought him in. But he seems gentle and quiet. He’s a cross between a wire-haired terrier and a dachshund.”

Even though the boy fascinated me, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to go with these people. My only experience with other humans had been a bad one, of being frozen and hit and abandoned. But the boy seemed kind and he seemed to want me. And I guess I wanted him too. So reluctantly at first, I agreed to accompany them to their car. I trotted politely alongside the boy. it was good to be out of that cage.

The boy and I sat in the back seat and he hugged me all the way home. My new home. I knew I was falling in love with his special human scent.

My first experience in my new home was when they showed me the stairs I had to go down to get to my new bed. My only experience with stairs had been when the Bad Man had tossed me and the other fur-balls into the cold snow. It was a thought that came to me immediately and I cringed, cowering from the steps.

The man kindly picked me up and carried me down and they showed me my own spot, a wooden box the man said he had built just for me. It was filled with clean, fresh, warm blankets. They put me in it and I circled around and scratched the cloth up into a comfortable nest, then settled myself in. I looked up at my new family’s smiling faces. I was home. My new home. I liked it here.

In the coming days, I learned my name was to be Skipper. The boy and I would run and play in the yard and make up our own games. One of my favourite games was with the man, Pop, I learned he was called. Pop would grab me and toss me over onto my side and I’d jump up and tear around the side of the house, imagining Pop was right behind me. I’d run right around the house and come back to Pop and jump up and down, wanting some more. We’d do this till either Pop or I was too tired to do it anymore. I loved how the boy, Gary, laughed.

I became particularly close to the woman, Mom, and saved my dreamiest, most loving gaze for her. She was the kindest, sweetest person I had ever known in my short life. I knew she adored me and every night after supper when Mom sat down in her favourite chair to knit or crochet or watch TV, I’d curl up at her feet and go to sleep. It was my favourite time of day. I was so happy with my new family, they were just the best thing ever. I was one lucky pup.

Over time I was introduced to other friends and family. Mom’s friend, Kay, Pop’s brother, Uncle Everett, Gary’s friends. And one day another family member appeared, a girl named Shari. I instinctively understood that as a member of this pack, it was my job to protect Gary and Shari and whenever anyone came near them in what I interpreted as a threatening manner, I’d growl and snap at them. No one was ever going to harm either one of them, not while old Skipper was on duty.

I realized that as a dog’s life goes, I had it pretty darned good. Nice meals, an occasional bone to gnaw, and sometimes a sweet that would be quietly dropped by my side for me to gobble up. I realized then that’s what Gary had done that day when they came to see me and take me home.

I took my duties seriously. A big dog up the street, Spud, would wander past the house and it was my job to run to the front door and bark and growl at him. Squirrels were a particular menace and required being chased back up the trees they came from. And cats…well, cats were creatures that were not to be even considered in polite company.

Sometimes the boy would go to the closet and rattle my leash. That was the signal we were to go for a walk around the block. He never had to say anything, all it took was a rattle of that leash and I knew what was coming.

Some days, Nana would come over and she always had a treat for me. Once in a while we’d get a visit from an older couple named Grandma and Grandpa. Everyone who came to the house said hello to me and patted me on the head. Most times I enjoyed these visits, although I do remember a friend of Kay’s came one day and tweaked me on what she called my “dimples” – a little brown spot on each cheek – and said wasn’t I the cutest thing. Geeze, that was embarrassing.

It didn’t take long before I was looking forward to Uncle Everett’s visits. “Poor old dog,” he’d say when he arrived and handed me a treat. It was the tone in his voice I really loved. Almost like Mom’s. Uncle Everett was special. We understood one another and I loved his scent.

All of those memories came to me as I lay on that table, my mind drifting away, past the pain, past the years I’d lived. I thought about Pop and me and the game we used to play. I looked up into his eyes and tried to wag my tail, to let him know how much I appreciated him being there. He made me less afraid.

I wondered where Mom was. Shouldn’t she be here? I missed her. Where was Gary? And why had Uncle Everett not stayed? Only Pop was here and I’d never loved him more than in that moment.

He placed his hand on my paw and talked calmly to me. Something about what a good dog I’d been, how I’d shared 15 years with the family and now it was time to say farewell. Even though I was lying down, I still managed to tilt my head. What did he mean? Where was I going? I had no idea, but I was glad Pop was with me, to share this moment and send me on my way. We’d never been all that close, but now I loved him and appreciated so much he was there with me. Thanks, Pop, this whole thing would have been scary without you.

My eyes lost their focus and I drifted, thoughts charging through my old dog head, memories, scents. Chasing squirrels, protecting the boy and the girl, greeting visitors, growling at the postman. Pop’s kind words began to fade and echo. Then silence.

Yes, I’d had a good life…