Back in the spring of 2002 I was enduring one of the lowest and most arduous times of my life. My employer included me in a massive layoff, our family was disintegrating and my small publishing business was failing. I really needed something positive in my life. To keep my spirits up I would go for a jog around the neighborhood, and one afternoon I encountered something new when I detoured from my usual circuit.
A small mixed breed puppy met me in the middle of the block and I stopped to look at her. She was a fuzzy, light brown pup about three weeks old, looked like a Terrier, but seemed rather large for the breed. We liked each other on sight and I continued my jog at a slow pace to see if she'd follow me.
Sure enough, the pup scampered along, keeping up with me quite well. As we ran together I considered keeping her. I had not owned a dog since 1997 when we moved to the neighborhood and my soon to be ex-wife stridently insisted we didn't have space for our dog Tarcza and forced me to find her another home. As I had since separated from that wife, the possibility for another dog was open and appealing. I mulled these things over as we headed towards the house.
When we arrived I realized there was a formality to observe. I needed to ask permission of the head of the household to keep the puppy. With a wry smile I asked myself, "Please, may I keep the puppy? She's adorable and loves me! And it followed me home." I regarded myself with another wry smile and answered, "Yes, but on the condition that you take proper care of her."
It was a done deal in less time than it takes to write about it.
My daughters immediately loved her too, although there was the issue of position in the pack to establish. The puppy, though small, was of the dominant personality and immediately set about trying to put the girls in their place. A few nips and barks later she discovered that she was firmly at the bottom, just below the cats.
There were the usual issues of housebreaking, learning to walk on a leash (I dislike leashes but our city had leash laws) and learning tricks. Remarkably, we had few problems with chewing or late night barking. The final matter was to give the dog a name.
From the start, the puppy loved to explore and play. And very soon she discovered the particularly canine joys of sleeping, hunting and hiding in the thick patch of english ivy next to the back porch. Seeing her love for this plant, we dubbed her "Ivy." All agreed it was a fitting name and ever after she was affectionately called Ivy. Now, I don't subscribe to the common practice of giving a pet the family name. I believe you need to be properly in the family tree by birth or legal adoption to have that honor. In short, the family is all of the same species, though pets are welcome as household members, just not accorded all the rights and privileges as family, especially eating at the table.
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| As a puppy, Ivy loved to hide and sleep in a patch of ivy behind our house. |
Anyway, Ivy still needed some appellation to her forename. That became obvious as she grew and joined me on my runs around the neighborhood. Ivy loved to run. If her collar choked her when she pulled on the leash she showed no sign of it and would charge forward and run as hard and fast as she could before me. It was great exercise for me. My leisurely jogs turned into intense runs up and down hill, zipping along the sidewalks and roadways as long as my stamina held out. Ivy never tired before me unless we went by bicycle instead. Only then could I outlast her.
So, her official full name became "Ivy the Rocket Dog," for her love of speed.
That didn't mean she liked riding in the car - at least not at first. For about the first year, Ivy became quite carsick even on short trips. I was glad when that mini van she first rode in breathed its last and we could finally get a fresh car. By then Ivy had her "car legs" and didn't become ill anymore. For it wasn't possible to completely clean the carpeting in the vehicle from all traces of her accidents. After that, she loved to travel. She would happily jump in the car at the merest excuse for a trip. Eventually she traveled much of the Midwest with me. We went as far north as Nebraska and as far east a Kentucky. And she loved it all.
Ivy was a good mother. Before she had pups of her own, we raised some chicks the spring after we brought her into the home. She loved the little birds and would gently herd them about like a mother hen with her nose. She even slept with them to keep them warm. Ivy also looked after the children, guarding them as they played in the yard and even scolding them when she though them too boisterous. Later she had two litters of her own before we had her spayed. They were fine little pups, apparently from the same mixed breed father whom we never meet. I found homes for all of these, some in our neighborhood. We visited her progeny a few times and Ivy always was happy to see them and those I was able to check on did well.
During Ivy's time with us I had to work out of town a couple of times. First was in Houston where I had a wonderful landlady named Sally. Sally had another boarder with two dogs already so Ivy fit right in. Ivy was a good influence on those dogs too, since they had hitherto refused to learn to be housebroken. Ivy set the example and gradually the pack improved their manners. In gratitude for her hospitality and understanding, I installed a dog door for Sally who was delighted at not having to constantly let the pack in and out of the house. Later when I had to move to an apartment which didn't allow dogs, Sally took in Ivy for a couple years. At first she was reluctant to take on the responsibility, but they were fast friends and Ivy not only gave much comfort, but helped with security since the neighborhood was a little on the dangerous side.
And Ivy was very brave. I never saw her back down from another dog, no matter how large or fierce. More than once I was out for a walk with her and some huge canine was roaming about and charged us fiercely barking with jaws snapping. Ivy would plant herself firmly in its path and give back the same until the other dog backed off. I never saw her actually fight, but I'm sure she would have not retreated. She also loved to chase cats - not catch them, just chase them. She was raised with two tabbies and so learned not to do cats any harm. But she couldn't resist chasing them and any loose cat was fair game. She would tear after them as if determined to catch and kill them, but was always sporting enough to give them sufficient lead to escape, though often quite narrowly. It gave her much pleasure and since it kept the cats fit and alert while doing no real harm, I didn't interfere as long as it was fair and reasonable.
One of Ivy's great adventures was accompanying me to Louisville, KY where I worked for part of 2007. I had a little efficiency apartment there with a small back yard. It was cramped compared with her previous homes, but she adjusted well. Since the weather was cold there that winter, she preferred to be inside. Initially I didn’t know my fellow boarders well and there was no dog-door, so she had to wait all day for me to return from work. Though as an engineer I often had to work long hours, she was very good about not making a mess and waited faithfully for me to come home. It was also a tough neighborhood, and it is likely she kept the riffraff away since I never had any trouble though some of my neighbors did.
The highlight of our stay in Louisville for Ivy was snow. She saw her first real snowfall there and thoroughly loved it. It was a heavy snowfall too. It shut down the city that night and turned by typically 40 minute commute back home from work into an 11 hour ordeal. Thankfully by then I had made a trusted friend who would let her out when I was late and she happily frolicked in the new fallen snow when he let her out.
After Louisville, we moved to East Texas where Ivy found paradise. We rented a little house on an acre with fifteen more acres around us. It is a free range portion of the county, so Ivy was finally free of fences and chains and could roam about happily with no limitations. Again we bought some poultry and Ivy diligently guarded them day and night from the many varmints that were common in the area. One of the most notorious was a skunk that was like responsible for the disappearance of two geese, three ducks, six quail and about half a dozen chickens on the occasions when we had to be away with Ivy. It lived in an impenetrable brush pile in our neighbor's field and eluded capture for months.
Finally Ivy and I cut it off during one of its forays and flushed it into the open field where Ivy tore it to pieces. It was the fattest skunk I had ever seen. The poultry losses stopped abruptly until tragedy struck a couple months later. Later the neighbor removed the brush pile and we were much happier.
At about that time we also adopted temporarily a pregnant stray dog the neighborhood children euphemistically named "Cupcake." This dog had nothing to endear it to me, and only my adolescent daughter’s strident and persistent pleas moved me to take it in until its puppies were born. Ivy had her reservations about Cupcake, but kept peace with her out of professional courtesy.
It was early October when this was happening. On the ninth I came home from work to find Ivy lying dead in the ditch before our house. I was shocked, stunned and deeply grieved. She had no visible injuries, but had plainly been struck by some yahoo speeding on the road in front of our house. I knelt by her mortal remains and gathered her up in my arms ,carried her to the shed in the back yard and laid her where she would be undisturbed. Numbly I gathered my tools and some woods scraps. I could not discard this dear friend without ceremony and using the stoutest pierces of oak I had began to build her a small coffin.
In the following Sunday School class I shared my grief over Ivy's death and asked my classmates to pray for a dog to take Ivy's place to guard our flocks. That night both rain and bitter cold came, followed by the birth of Cupcake's ten puppies. Most of the litter did well, but despite our care and shelter, one didn't make it. (We suspect that Cupcake, not the best mother, accidentally smothered it.) So, I finished the coffin the next morning and laid both Ivy and the lost pup together. I shrouded her with an old towel, added a well chewed bone and a favorite toy, and then dug a grave in the east flower bed.
My daughter and I laid Ivy to rest with a simple ceremony of memories recalled and a prayer thanking God for her love and courage. It was difficult shoveling the cold earth into the grave as I said goodbye to Ivy for the last time. Later, my daughter brought out a candle in a jar and lit it. The tiny light said more eloquently than words that her memory and spirit still live. One tiny, fluffy puppy, it’s eyes still closed, would soon join our household as the next canine member, though briefly. That’s the story of Goldilocks and Baby Bear.
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