My own dog Skip
by Tina Hodge
I know most people say their dog was the best dog in the whole world and as any normal and avid dog lover I have to agree, except it wasn't until he passed on that I truly realized what that meant. I loved my boy, he was my childhood friend, savior, protector and comforter. For eight years from early 2005 until 2012 he was there for me. I dared to enter him in 4-H obedience show and my special boy showed up every dog there even though he was terrified of the judge. He didn't let me down that down, nor ever. JRT's are supposed to live forever, hardy, quirky, personality filled, my boy should still be here. He was a dog that knew what I was thinking before I thought of it, he was always one step ahead of me. I never had to ask of him, he just did it, and his reasoning was because he did it for me. He endured all my childish ideas, my dressing him up, my poor and awkward training moments, he endured my bad days and my good,and still he loved me. He was a dog that I can fondly call an old man. Unlike the ususal golden retrievers and labs and mixes that always graced my childhood home, he was an exception. He ruled the house, he was mature, smart and very protective and like any grumpy old man, he displayed that character to an art form. He always had something to say in a gravelly voice, but it just made me love him even more. He truly
was my own dog Skip like the book and movie. And the ending of those stories was the same in my own life. I grew up, he grew older, I went off to college and he died second year in. A freak accident, a broken neck from falling out of a chair and then playing too hard, within two days my beautiful boy became crippled, paralyzed and then met death at its door. I drove 4 1/2 hours home from college to say goodbye and took a week off afterwards. My boy waited till I got home, laying there so still, unable to move and say hello himself, but his eyes shone with trust and love that told me it was time to say goodbye, and that everything would be okay. We took him to the vets and in seconds, he was gone, no more pain for him, but for me years of emptiness and sorrow. I never realized how much I loved him and how much of my heart he held, till it was too late and he was gone. He was a dog that was always there, I took advantage of it I guess you could say. He was my special boy, my first dog, my childhood hero and playmate, my companion. He was my gluten and dairy intolerant, claustrophobic, grumpy dog who hated people who smoked or smelled of sheep, yet despite his funny quirks and habits, he was mine, he was my dog. Yet I never really owned him, because he owned me. My own dog Skip only by the name of Pistol.