My What a Big Tongue You Have

Here's definitely a case where a picture says a 1000 words. These are photos of my friend Joan's pug Soup, who came to visit Alfie and me the other day. As Soup has aged her tongue has begun to hang out more and more. She also has interesting markings on her one side from when she sat against a heater as a young puppy and burned herself. Her markings have earned her some interesting nicknames -- Racing Stripe, Moccassin. Even Soup isn't her real name. Originally, she was named after Moses' wife in the Bible, Zipporah and for a very brief time, Zip. Soup evolved from that.

Painting the Gnome

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My friend, Joan, has been after me to paint her garden gnome for a year. It is an important project to her. Charlie, her gnome, named after Charlie, her late husband, has sat in her driveway for years, guarding over the place. Now, she is moving. Only down the road, but symbolically it is a big move. Gnomes were her husband, Charlie's, love. The house she is leaving, she shared with him. This is a big move, sifting through her memories and possessions deciding what she can throw or give away and what she absolutely must hold onto. Charlie, the gnome, is making the move down the road with her and to celebrate their new chapter, Charlie is getting a coat of paint. Joan chose the colors carefully, consulting me, the encyclopedia of gnomes, the man at the hardware store and I got to painting. We had to repair Charlie's hand in the process as it fell off moving him, which meant some epoxy. He is too heavy for us to lift, so his move thus far was to a new stump. He still has to make it down the road aways. He is not finished, but it's a start. Sometimes creating a new life is a matter of baby steps, just like painting a gnome.

...And, in the End...

Yesterday, I picked up Vader's ashes. Today, I visited a pet crematorium for an article I am writing. At first, I thought about turning down the assignment, but then I realized I wanted to do it. I was curious. I visited the web site and saw that the place looked friendly, the owner had even created a wooded path for the communal remains of the pets whose owners couldn't claim them. When I arrived for the interview, I was greeted by two dogs, a five-year-old black Lab and it's 9-week-old yellow lab sibling. They danced around my car, fought over a bone, worked on establishing a pecking order. I talked to the owner about Vader, saw the inside of the crematorium and watched the dogs enjoying life.

A Stuffed Dog

I adopted Vader from a longtime pug lover, Joan Foster. A year before I met her, her husband Charlie, a gregarious man, well-loved by everyone, died. The two used to raise and show pugs together and after Charlie's death, Joan began to take in more rescues and befriend many more people with other breeds of dogs. As the years went by and many of the pugs whom Charlie had raised died, we would comfort ourselves by saying "there goes another one to be with Charlie," or "I guess he's with Charlie now."

As more years passed and the rescues and her friends' dogs died, we would laugh by saying "Wonder what Charlie thinks of that one? He's probably saying, 'a poodle, Joaner, really a poodle?" Or when Ginger, the beagle-basset hound-pug mix passed, "Oh my, what do you think Charlie thinks of Ginger? I bet he's saying, 'Joaner, what have you gone and done now?'"

So you can imagine the smile amidst the tears, when my friend Norma called me up and reassured me that Vader was now with Charlie and when, after a pause, she asked, "Can you imagine what he thinks of Humpie Doggie? This tops it all.  He's probably saying 'Joaner, what have you gone and done now? A stuffed dog, Joaner, a stuffed dog?'"

Lifelong Companions-PG13

When Vader was a wee pup I bought him a stuffed dog to snuggle with because my other pug at the time, Buffy, would not tolerate him cozing up to her. When Vader grew older and his hormones kicked in, this big, fluffy dog turned from mere plaything to sexual object and earned her name -- "Humpie" Doggie. Vader, always a gentleman, would court her by licking her, leaving her snacks, cuddling her and then of course, having his way with her. Buffy liked it because she would later come by and eat the snacks Vader left for Humpie. Years later, after Buffy died, I found a pile of bones under Humpie's head and began to sneak them away so Vader wouldn't be disappointed. I really believe he thought she was for real.

When Vader grew old and lost the use of his legs, his yellow girlfriend became his pillow -- a means to prop him up as he fell over on his side. You could still find him licking her and cleaning her. Yesterday, when I took him to the vet for the last time, Humpie came with him and he passed away with his head on her neck. The vet informed me that if I wanted Humpie Doggie could be cremated with Vader and that's exactly what I did. After all, they were lifelong companions.

Waltham's Zag Vaderman

Vader died today, but now he runs in fields of grass and swims in pools of water like he did when he was small. He cavorts with playmates like a wild puppy, stopping to catch his breath by a leafy green tree where his companion, a yellow stuffed dog sits. And, though he likes to lick her and toss her around he has no memory of the hours he spent in his old age propped up against her unable to move. Instead, he knows what it feels like to have four legs beneath him and to dash among the dandelions. He does pause briefly, however, when I call his name. He remembers nothing now of pain or sadness, but my voice he knows. He always comes when I call and though I seem distant now, he stops and listens then resumes running -- young again.