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Tess

Pheebs

By Pheebs,
in Rainbow Bridge

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Pheebs

Pheebs

Posted
Posted (edited)

Apologies for the extremely lengthy tribute. I've found it quite cathartic.

Sinaway Jalapeno Jan “Jesse” (Tess)

27.05.1999 – 17.12.2010

I’ll never forget the day we came to meet you. We walked up the driveway to the property and, not unexpectedly I was given a pre-emptive warning from my Mother “Now we’re just here to meet her, you see. I’m not making any promises”. We rang the doorbell and you did one of your best guttural barks. The look Mum gave me was hysterical. Her eyes said it all – as if to say “Oh hell no, child – you’ve got to be kidding”. I grinned from ear to ear. After all, THAT was the sound a dog made. A proper dog. Don’t get me wrong – I loved our previous family dogs to bits but they had been pocket-sized and more importantly they weren’t MINE.

You greeted us at the door with your human parents and it was clear that they loved you so; and you served them dearly. They with all the best intentions had adopted you as a former show-dog – you were a stunning example of the breed but just a little bitty bit too small to make it in the show world. You, in the absence of their long grown-up children had served as a surrogate child and unfortunately for them – were just a little bit too demanding. My god were you demanding.

I didn’t care.

We would have spent a good hour just standing in their living room chatting with them about how they came to have you in their lives, and why they felt you needed more. Truth be told I have no idea what that conversation was about because I couldn’t stop looking at you and stroking your velvety-ears. I saw my mother cunningly whisper “Sit” mid-conversation. She was testing you. Why would she do that? Not that it matters because sit you did. We as a family could not help but ‘ooooh’ and ‘aaaahhh’ over you. Small things amusing small minds and all that jazz. Having come from the country where dog training was less than a priority (they served merely as companion pets after all) who could be anything other than impressed? This was the dog for me and I’m sure this was what sold the idea of an older dog to my Mother (that alongside hours of finely tuned pleading and whining on my part).

It was decided that I spend my afternoons with you after uni to determine our suitability together and ease the transition should I prove to be an appropriate guardian for you. We had a great time together and you introduced me to the world of dog parks, and throwing (and returning - who knew?) tennis balls together. You had a great time. That is, until they saw fit to leave us together one-on-one so we could bond. My god did you fret in their absence. You carried on like an absolute pork chop and I, being totally unprepared for this had to virtually drag your 34kg bum back to your home while you had chronic diarrhea from getting so worked up. This was all part of being a responsible dog owner, you see. Responsible dog owners picked up after their pets, but how? Oh how revolting – I didn’t sign up for this.

Your name. It wasn’t something I would have chosen for myself, but it rhymed with Jess which was the name that had been given to you, the name of their daughter and also the name of my sister so that would have been weird. Still, you responded to it and I knew that if you came to live with us we would undoubtedly give you a ridiculous nickname, anyway.

You came to live with us and I will never forget the way in which your then human dad carried himself – slouched shoulders, a lowered head and a very heavy heart. He handed me your lead and said “Have fun” and I’m pretty sure he scuttled out of there as quickly as he could without me seeing the tears well up in his eyes.

I was well prepared for your fretting given your display at the park – but you were absolutely fine. It was as if you knew you were instantly a part of the family. Despite the fact that you were the bounciest girl I’d ever come across, you avoided my grandmother like the plague (much to her dismay – she loved animals) but you instinctively knew that she was recovering from major heart surgery and this was one human who was a little bit delicate – you seemed to regulate your behaviour according to your audience and that was a gift you had until the very end.

It was a rental property, with a pets outside rule. So, naturally we snuck you inside every evening (mum included) and eventually my grandmother would come around to the idea too. It was my grandfather who would not have been impressed! As his physical health declined, you spent more and more time upstairs than ever as you had managed to climb the precarious stairs with side access to the house.

You spent your time poking your head through the upper barn-style windows into the dining room just to be ‘a part of it’ during family dining occasions. Your favourite sunny spot was on the tiled upstairs patio where I’m sure you spent much of the day when you weren’t overseeing food preparation in the kitchen by peeking through the window above the sink where my grandmother would prepare an evening meal.

I took you for walks and, being quite an introverted person I just had to get used to the fact that people stopped to talk to us and pat you. What a beautiful dog they would say and I was just so proud. Add to that the fact that you were a bit of a pick-up magnet, as well. That certainly didn’t hurt.

My boyfriend of many years at the time used to refer to you as ‘The competition’. That always seemed a hysterical term to me as unbeknownst to him there never was any. You would always win hands down. Every time.

You loved tennis balls, and whilst you somehow managed to forget how to bring them back you did love running around with them bellowing “Woo Woo!” while I chased you around like a lunatic. I know, I know – this only served to reinforce your never ever returning anything to me again but it was a whole lot of fun.

You would break into a box of Krispy Kreme donuts, steal one – but wait at the back step to be let out onto the porch so you could eat your prize. Never mind the fact that you had stolen our food, you knew you weren’t allowed to eat inside so were waiting for permission to do so. You had such character that way.

As my grandparents’ health declined, it was decided that they would move to a retirement village where they would have access to professional care. That left it to just Mum and myself. Mum, being on her own and me studying could not meet the financial requirements of a property that had a yard to accommodate you. Nothing in my life up until now compared to the heartbreak I would feel when faced with the prospect of being separated – and I certainly had my fair share of life events from which to choose. You made me fall in love with Weimaraners so much I started the Australian Weimaraner Rescue referral service. I would never in a million years have thought I would find myself in this position.

Against much of the advice of people on DOL, I selfishly decided to put you into foster care until I could figure out something - anything to get you back. I regret this so much in some respects as I know put you through absolute hell in this period, but as cliché as it sounds I could not imagine a life without you in it. You were shown the generosity and kind spirit of many people on this forum (Cordelia, Benson, Clicking Mad, Knobbles, Lil_Starr (I think? Sorry Kylie if you’re reading this and everyone else who's name escapes me right now) and for their help I will be eternally grateful. My god you were a nightmare with all of them though. It just didn’t make sense as to me you were the epitome of perfection in a dog. It took a while for me to realise that you were – but only when you were a part of our family. You just didn’t adjust like you had when you came to stay with me.

A bit over a year later - having graduated uni, found a job to save up to find somewhere to live and after one messy break-up with a boy who thought he stood a chance amongst the ‘competition’, my mother finally conceded defeat. I would start my life over and go back to study again and we would rent a house where we could have you again. I think my mother felt sorry for me feeling so displaced at this time. I will be forever grateful to her for uprooting her life yet again for my needs.

We had many happy years together in this home – you were still full of beans, but started to slow down bit by bit and sought refuge on your cushion in the living room. You hated the children next door and loved to put them in their place and quite frankly I was amazed that we never had an incident despite my many requests that they not jump our fence to retrieve their balls.

I moved to Melbourne to get my life on track and left you as guardian of my Mother for about 9 months. You drove her absolutely batty (in a house that I had made her move to before I bailed!) but I know she was comforted by the security of your company. She tells me that for weeks after you had moved to Melbourne, she could still hear you whining at the back door to be let in at all hours of the night. It was a kind of high-pitched shrill that just stayed in the memory.

You came to live with me and Alistair in Melbourne when Mum’s rental house was sold. We were living in an apartment and I will never forget the tone of voice when I told the real estate agent that we were breaking our lease as I wanted my dog back. She didn’t understand but I didn’t care.

We found a great place with a yard for you to tear around in, and coincided this with the arrival of Lucy, Great Dane Puppy who later would be aptly referred to as “Lucifer”. You were such a great Mum to her and my god did you display tolerance and patience on an hourly basis. She was a testing little blighter, wasn’t she? But she was fun and it gave you someone to boss around.

It became evident that perhaps she was a little too trying, so 6 months later came the arrival of Maggie - 18mth Boxer cross who we hoped and prayed would take some of the pressure off you. You and Maggie never really bonded or loved each other, but you were happy to coexist and in a pack of three bitches we were lucky and grateful as we knew it was always a risk.

You spent the last 11 months of your life being the ‘Fun Police’ – barking and trying to put them in their place when they were being too rambunctious and assumed your place reigning supreme high and mighty on the couch looking down upon your two canine minions.

I won’t get into the details of how your final weeks panned out. You knew - you were there, and you let us know when it was time. I’m so sorry I never got the chance to take you to the beach like we had planned and I’m kicking myself that we had a BBQ chicken in the fridge that I didn’t share with you before we took you to the vet. You did love the car ride on the way there and carried your infamous ‘Happy Tail’ until the very end.

I had so dearly wanted to have you cremated and to scatter your ashes at the beach but know that we made the right decision in donating your body to the university. It is my dearest wish that some students will learn from you and the understanding of canine neurological disease will grow and grow as a result. I am still not at ease with this decision, but I keep trying to remind myself that your body was merely a vessel for the crazy fun-loving girl that you were and you wouldn’t have wanted to take that lumpy, portly arthritic body with you anyway - you were not the svelte, glamorous girl that you had once been and that wouldn’t have been much fun.

Over the years you were different things to different people – Fattypants, Noodle, Noolene, Pumpkinhead, Tessypants, Tess of the D'urberhounds (what was that I was saying earlier about ridiculous nicknames?), Lumpyhead, Cranky Nanna, Pants, Tessy, Tessabella, Snotty and many more which escape me now.

Your inappropriate placement of your head when guests came to visit always made me laugh (it wasn’t your fault you were groin-height and after all, ear scratches were always worth it).

Your feet and belly always smelled of popcorn and you certainly knew how to snore. I will miss the way in which you used to bellow “Huwwow!” and wave your paw. I will certainly miss the way that you would usurp our bed and roll onto your back and gently kick us off (that is, when you weren’t inappropriately spooning us).

Tessypants we will miss you dearly but I thank you for the 7.5 years of love and laughs that were given to us.

Wait for me old chook.

tessy.jpg

Edited by Pheebs
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Loving my Oldies

Loving my Oldies

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Deepest condolences, Pheebs.

What an amazing tribute you have written. It is the story of a journey through life, really, and very very touching.

I had goose bumps several times, particularly your paragraph about leaving Tess's body to the University. How incredibly hard that must be, such a truly selfless decision. Dogs are known for their unconditional love and I think you have displayed that.

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