Tributes

 Rainbow Bridge 

Angie

Sept 30 1986 – Apr 28 2004

A tribute by Mandy Jackson

Mum is Christine Mandy

I don’t remember the first time I saw her. I barely remember a time before her.

I can’t imagine my life without her.

Angie joined us on Remembrance Day in 1986. I was seven years old. I was not there when my Mum and brother picked her, but I’ve been told it was love at first sight. Geoffrey cried, Mum caved, Angie came home. Our beautiful puppy became a wonderful dog and an even better friend. She has surprised us many times, living longer than we ever could have hoped.  April 28, 2004 it was clear that it was time to say goodbye. There is a place for her under oaks and maples in Nan and Grandad’s yard, beside her pesky little cat.  In this throw-away culture it is rare that a relationship lasts as long as ours did.  We have been infinitely fortunate. Now comes a new time of Remembrance. 

  I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love,

If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles.

You will hardly know who I am or what I mean,

But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,

And filter and fibre your blood.

Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged.

Missing me one place search another,

I stop somewhere waiting for you.

From “Song of Myself”, Walt Whitman

We never knew exactly what Angie was. Part Sheltie, part Jack Russel Terrier. Some saw Beagle or even Corgi in her. She could jump, that's for sure, and once upon a time she could run like the wind, but she joined our lives way back in 1986. I was 7, my brother was 5 and Mum was a single mother. None of us had heard of agility. By the time Mum started training Chance, Angie was already 14. She sat on the sidelines with me, Chance would take a few obstacles and dash to the fence to make sure she saw him. He never did that when I watched alone. He was showing off for his number one girl.

Angie joined us on Remembrance Day. She was about 6 weeks old and very small. Her ears didn't line up quite right and whenever I saw her in a mirror it shocked me to see the crooked ear on the opposite side of her head. She was beautiful in the way that something you adore becomes beautiful to you.

She camped with us, and hated the water. You had to point her back at shore because she would swim in a straight line, and if you pointed her out to the middle of the lake she would have gone until she reached the other shore. As a young dog she hated motorcycles and went crazy over the wooden cut-out of a cow in front of Reid's Dairy. When my brother went to bed each night she would go with him. She usually slept under the blankets with her head on a pillow. She was a fussy eater, but she loved spaghetti. She hated peas and would spit them out in a ring around her bowl.

She endured the endless attention of an overly pushy cat. Rudy rarely gave her a moment's peace, though she largely ignored the rest of her family. In her mind they were best friends. I always got the impression that Angie was less than thrilled with the situation, but she was gentle and so very tolerant. Angie had her first full meal in 13 years the day Rudy died.

When Chance came along he was taught not to bother her, she was almost 14 after all. He never did much with her and became very protective of his little lady, showing his teeth to strangers who bent to scratch her old, grey ears. Once though, when Mum took him to the park to burn off some of his boundless puppy energy he grabbed her leash from Mum's hand and dragged her protesting across the park. She was wearing her snowsuit and the nylon legs rustled as she tried to keep up. Mum was laughing too hard to stop him. Every time he slowed down she would snap at his face and off he would dash again, Angie trailing behind, snarling and growling.

Eliot was a whole other story, as he tends to be. With Eliot, there was no holding back. Eliot joined us early in the year Angie was to turn 16. We tried to stop him, but to no avail. He would lay on his belly and shove his stuffed toys in her face until she played with him. We'd find them in the living room, Angie's tiny feet on Eliot's big head, chewing on his face with her stinky old teeth. I never understood what either of them got out of this. When she got so old that she got lost in the yard he would herd her back to the house with his nose, poking her across the yard, up the stairs and into the kitchen. She slept on the couch and his furry face was the first thing she saw most mornings. He used to run downstairs to find her when we got up and licked her face, "Good morning Ang!". He looked for her when she was gone, I wished that there had been some way to explain why she left us.

She stayed for such a long time. Even for a small dog 17 and a half is pretty impressive. Nothing major took her away, just simple old age. We kept hoping Mother Nature would spare us from a painful decision, but life is rarely that easy. I thought Mum's heart was going to break when we said goodbye. Whatever Angie was, she was our beloved dog.

Angie and Eliot July 2003

Our vet once described her to Mum and I as obviously being a good make a model, with sound parts and engineering. That just about summed her up. She was hardly sick a day for the first 16 years of her life and even after that she wasn't really sick, just very, very old. If dogs age 15 years in year one and small breeds about 5 every year after I guess she was about 98 when she died. I should be so lucky!

She could flick a biscuit off her nose and catch it, I taught her that when she was already an "old dog", and it's something Chance and Eliot have never been able to master...

Mandy.