Man's Best Friend

Like most animals (and people, for that matter), our family dog was quite an individual. And, of course, with all marks of great individuality also come the marks of eccentricity. Noel (or, as my friend Susan, and only my friend Susan knows him - Snowflake) liked to terrorize the troop of yorkies that live next door to my parents at the lake. (And, by "terrorize," I mean bark incessantly at them until a few of the sassy lap dogs would saunter over to confront him in all of their coifed and pink-ribboned glory, and he would run away.) He never warmed up to my grandmother, even though he saw her a few times a week, every week, for almost 14 years. He was fine with anyone who sun bathed by the pool, but he didn't like anyone to actually swim in it, and he would let you know his displeasure by barking at you every time your head bobbed above the surface of the water. Noel was smart enough to know that my mother used a plastic pitcher to water her garden plants, and when he was thirsty, he would follow her around the yard until she gave him some water, too. And, I couldn't have been prouder than the day I taught him to play dead after I pointed by finger at him and yelled "bang!" (This trick was slightly more successful than the time my middle sister, Rachael, tried to teach Noel how to read. Although, I guarantee you it was not for lack of trying. She sat the dog down in front of her little chalkboard on many afternoons.) And, also like people, Noel became more particular as he aged. He took longer naps. He avoided the stairs. He didn't like to sleep by himself. And, whenever Noel was around my younger dog, Cassidy, I was convinced that the word "whippersnapper" existed in both human and dog speak. But, all of this was pretty good for a family that wasn't supposed to have a dog to begin with. After my father's Bassett hound passed when my sisters and I were very little, there was never much talk of another dog in the Mills house. Lucky for me, when I was 12, my parents decided to buy a house that I hated. Of course, at first I couldn't believe that my vote wasn't equal to both of theirs in the whole process. After all, what kind of crazy parents buy a house without making sure their pre-teen thinks it's the best one on the market? Hadn't they seen the two story with the tennis court out back? Or, what about the one that would have put me closer to my friend so that when we got our licenses 4 years later, it would be easier to carpool? And, none of that even touched on all of the lovely houses I saw in the free real estate magazines at the front of the Piggly Wiggly. Yes, they were making a poor decision indeed. So, like any 12 year old who doesn't get their way, I started crying every day at the grave injustice of it all. At one point, I even refused to move. And, while I'm sure that the new family buying our old house would have loved that addendum to the contract, my parents said that I still had to go with them. (Tyrants, I tell you...) One afternoon, my parents' real estate agent and family friend approached me while I was crying (yet again) and asked if there was absolutely anything that would make this move bearable for me. "Anything?" I asked. "Anything," she said. And, this is when my brilliant idea to have a dog was born. After all, as I pointed out, our new house not only had a fenced in yard, but a separate dog run with a built-in dog house as well. It was like the house was asking me to bring it a dog (although not in a creepy Jack Nicholson from The Shining kind of way). I knew it must be some kind of fate. Getting my sisters on board was easy enough, and when faced with how difficult I could make a move, or getting a dog, my parents agreed to the puppy. But, as my mother pointed out again and again, we were only getting "an outside dog." In the next couple of months, we looked at every kind of purebred there was. I wanted a German Shepard after we saw "Radio Flyer." My sister wanted a Bassett hound. My dad thought labs would be easy to train. Without ever reaching a majority decision at the home of breeder after breeder, we went to the pound where my sisters and I immediately fell in love with the runt from a litter of mutts. We took him home to begin his life in that great, wide dog run in the backyard. But, it was December, and my sisters and I thought it was too cold outside for a puppy, so we convinced my mother to keep him in the laundry room at night. After all, it's pretty hard to turn down 3 girls holding a puppy - especially when they're a little bit teary. (Just ask my father, he's been trying for years.) A few weeks later, it was still winter and Noel was too big for the laundry room, so we thought he should probably just stay in the kitchen. And, by the time Spring came around, at bedtime he was usually at the foot of my or my sister's bed. Noel was the best purebred, outdoor dog a girl could ever ask for. Throughout the coming years, there were times the only "person" I wanted to talk to was Noel - when tests didn't go well, when boys didn't call, when colleges said no. And after going off to one of those colleges that said yes, visits home also meant that I couldn't wait to get my lost time in with Noel too. I loved that dog. And, so, this is my tribute to Noel, who passed away on Friday. And, I also think of this as a tribute to the Peppers, Dodgers, Mollys, and Sinbads of the world. I can't help but think they take a little bit of our childhood with them when they go. But, they sure made it fun when they were around.