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On 30 March 1998, Jadie writes:
"Her name was Essie Marie.
"I was an idealistic teacher of 25 when she entered our family, my youngest brother a rebellious 15. Fifteen years later she slipped quietly away without fanfare sometime late last night on what we have always celebrated as her
birthday, March 29, 1998. I'm a sadder but wiser 40 years old.
"As she finished her grocery shopping one September morning in 1983, Joan (my mom) saw this sheepdog-sprite running playfully from shopper to shopper in the Kroger parking lot. No one wanted to play with the sprite, so Joan brought her home, hoping to locate the owner via newspaper ad. Her long fluffy coat hid myriad fleas and sharp, protruding bones. The ragged rope collar gave no clue as to her past, yet she evidenced no fear as would an abused pup. She began to endear herself to us and we began to pray as a family over dinner that 'God would give her the best home possible'. God *does* have a sense of humor.
"She became ours when we bathed, de-flea'd, clippered, and immunized her. She looked to be about six months old with a tail as long as her body. So long that she'd have trouble not cracking it as she slid out the dog doors. It was a rather ugly rat tail, but like any ugly duckling she grew into that tail and became a well-proportioned white/grey sheepdog mix, voted 'Miss Conviviality' by the obedience instructor because she was more eager to befriend two- and
four-legged critters than she was in heeling.
"We took votes on naming her. First it was Essie, then Essie Marie. Her name was as uniquely hers as her personality. There are dozens of 'Peppers'
and 'Shadows' in my vet's computer, but I loved the fact that there was only one Essie Marie. She alone defined her name In the early years, she garnered nicknames - all facets of her sweet disposition: Pookha, Roto-Router, Squeakie Box, Wooly Worm, Bitie-bug, Wee-Beastie, Truffle Hound, and Twinkle
Toes. In her waning years she was Essie MA-ri, Happy Tail, and Little Old Lady.
"Early on she decided my brother was ONETOBEWORSHIPPED. When he was surly and
uncommunicative, my teen brother made time to take Essie for car rides and walks in the park. Years passed and the car rides grew fewer and fewer -- he was busy commuting to school. Still she adored him. Her loyalty never
deviated. Many waking hours and all of her beauty sleep were spent keeping watch over 'her boy's' room. Last night she died in his room, probably of a heart attack. Waiting for the boy.
"She never asked for more than crumbs. Unlike the demanding, mouthy Airedales, she rarely barked. If she wanted our attention, she'd dance with her feet in
such a way that her collar tags would jingle. If we accidentally locked her in a room, she'd quietly wait until we found her. It was enough for her just to wiggle in between Mums and me as we watched tv; she'd flatten herself out, wedged tightly between us looking ever so much like a fuzzy grey caterpillar.
"Because she asked for so little, it was easy to take her for granted. I meant to give her a special doggie treat on her birthday, but I was fighting a sinus infection and feeling lousy and recall thinking, 'I'll do it tomorrow.' But tomorrow never came. I wish I had caressed her grey little head and told her I loved her one last time (even though she was stone deaf). I'm painfully
reminded not only of my shortcomings but of how necessary it is to take time to show kindness to the Essie Marie-types who love so quietly.
"Was she fiery and extroverted like the Airedales? No. But she was characteristically gentle. An unobtrusive little soul -- quietly slipping in the computer room and pawing my leg until I removed my shoes, so she could massage my feet with her warm, loving tongue.
"Essie Marie was the ultimate object lesson of how to grow old gracefully. Stone deaf. Milky eyes. Ubiquitous warts. Thinning hair. Crippling arthritis. Yet her temper was never anything but even and sweet. Vets and technicians who had to push on aching bones or coax blood from her thin veins
need not fear being bitten. If Zak playbowed to her, she'd briefly make an attempt to play. Her only murmers came when tangles had to be brushed or cut away.
"Just as in life she was no bother, so in death. She ate her Last Supper with gusto, begged a few extra bitsies from Neph's dinner, trotted up and down 14 stairsteps several times, and then retired for the night. Her heart failure
spared us the grief of losing her to some painful, lingering disease. But it was a shock. The end of an era.
"What, I wonder, will be the prevailing flavor of my life when I breathe my last? I pray it will be the gentle devotion of our 'Happy Tail.'
"Her name was Essie Marie.
"(March 29, 1983 - March 29, 1998)"
Dogs' lives are too short. Their only fault, really.
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Sushi, the box turtle hatchling, was born in captivity, and takes his name "from a book on turtles in which the narrator said that raccoons love eating baby turtles, considering them to be a real delicacy like sushi."
Sushi also wins the prize as "Most-Unusual-Playmate-for-Airedales".
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Nepher: Good-Bye, Sweet Prince
On 2 November 1998, Jadie writes:
"'Break, break, break,
"As I retraced my steps to the car, alone, I threw the now-empty leash in the backseat. Tears streaming down my face, I found my heart filled with thanksgiving. I am thankful to have known my Nepher for not quite eight
years. In Hebraic thinking, the number 7 is perfect and if one wants to accentuate the superlative, one ups the number to 8. How fitting. My darling Nephi was the perfect friend. I am thankful I could send him back to his Creator. His body rigid with pain relaxed in my arms as Larry helped me send him to his rest. Another reason to be thankful: Larry my vet has worked with me above and beyond the call of duty.
"I loved the soft weight of Neph in my arms; it had been several months since I could embrace him with ease. I kissed him good-bye, confident I will see him once again on the other side of the grave. He taught me how to live well, suffer with dignity, and die quietly.
"Finally, I am thankful as well for all on the ADT list who have comforted and encouraged me due to your many prayers during this difficult period in my life. I am confident that I am not bitter today at Neph's premature death
because of your prayers and examples to me.
"Shalom, Jadie
"Stone Ridge Nephi
"'In His hand is the nephesh of every creature.'"
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A DOG'S WISH
And, beloved master, should the great Master see fit to deprive me of my health or sight, do not turn me away from you. Rather hold me gently in your arms as skilled hands grant me the merciful boon of eternal rest - and I will leave you knowing with the last breath I drew, my fate was ever safest in your hands.
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Jadie writes on this photo: "October 23, 1998. Jadie & Nephesh. We had five more days of autumn together after this photo was taken . . . And then winter came."
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In 1999, the Airedale Rescue Quilt Plan was born. Forty-eight squares were created. Here is one of Judy Dwiggin's squares, depicting Nephish.
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On 10 January 1999, Jadie writes:
"My tabula rasa
"She was 10 weeks old in early December 1998. Rakish face with black left ear and checkered right lends her an asymmetrical coloring. 'Who are you?' I wondered as I held her in my arms and spoke to the breeder. Inquiring after the sire and bitch extracted dubious information, the mommy having been hit and killed by a car, the daddy roaming the countryside, his good looks diminished by the mud clots and grime hanging from his woolly coat. His one
redeeming feature seemed to be that importuning paw which kept reaching out to us strangers, cornering us to shake hands.
"The only place she felt safe our first day together was sequestered behind the porch stairs, peeking her head out from between the steps and eyeing us uprights askance. 'Who are you?' she seemed to be asking. In her own little way, she mourned the loss of her familiars, pacing restlessly indoors as though the walls gave her agoraphobia. Keening in an eerie minor key at nightfall.
"In the intervening five weeks we have shared space, Tassie has negated the idea of being a tabula rasa, i.e., a blank tablet upon which circumstances write her fate. Instead, she manifests an active will with all that that
implies: preferences, aversions, likes and dislikes. She most definitely does NOT like herbal capsules hidden in raw hamburger (for roundworms). Nor does she favor crating at bedtime. She practices aerodynamic listening skills when
told to 'let go' of the upright's snowy boot or 'off!!' of the furniture. She pops out the dog door in a heartbeat when big brother Zak precedes her;
otherwise she bops the wooden door KER-POP, KER-POP, KER-POP as though practicing her own Morse code. Why? She's tapping out a loud reminder for her uprights to accompany her outdoors where we must play in the snow together. (Uprights are a bit dense in her book and need many cues.)
"When her battery (briefly) runs low, she has anointed a small anteroom as HER place of retreat. She has made it HER sanctuary; the uprights had nothing to do with that preference. She likes roly-poly edible objects such as grapes and carrot coins as props for her ballet performances. She alone creates games with inanimate things. There is the element of pretending in her actions: stalking, pouncing, mouthing, swatting, batting, 'killing' the roly- polys. Another of her likes is to 'anchor' herself physically to one of us by plopping her bear butt down in our laps. She may run after a ball we toss or
competitively reach for a squeakie Zak hasn't seen, but always she returns to once again sit, recline, lean, prop herself against the warmth of her human pack.
"Who are you, sheepie dear? I hope I have many years to find out. But in the end, I know when I look into your eyes (and you gaze into mine), we are mysteries to one another. Yet, I take heart: we are creatures who both seem
to realize that eyes are the windows to each other's soul."
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"Tassie at 10 weeks, one day after we brought her home. She weighed 12.9 pounds."
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"Tassie at 13 weeks and 20 pounds, bedeviling Zak (almost eight years, 80 pounds). Zak glowered at and shunned Tassie for two weeks before deciding she wasn't going away and he'd best call a truce."
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"The Blizzard of '99. Tassie at 14 weeks L-O-V-E-S the 15" of white stuff. She leapfrogs about like a silly otter; at other times in the dusk she reminds me of a tailess piggy or a pink-eyed opposum (not very complimentary, huh?). She makes angel - er - demon wings, tunnels, pounces on a snowball, etc. Quite entertaining."
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CONTINUE WITH THE SAGA OF THE DAVIS PACK HERE
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