A little over 13 years ago, I received an email from Diana, a person at a dog rescue. They had a pet that they thought would be great for me. We already had a cat and a dog (Dave, a German Shepherd-Husky mix), but we were afraid that our busy schedule meant Dave was bored during the day, so we were seeking a friend for him.
That new friend was a 3-year-old rat terrier mix. On a visit to the family vet, his original owners were informed that he had heartworms. Being otherwise healthy, the vet informed his family of the (non-trivial) cost of treatment. They promptly said “No, thank you” and took the little man to a local dog shelter. In case it’s not obvious, dogs who enter a shelter with heartworms are nigh-immediately euthanized; treatment is slow and can be quite expensive. As he was an otherwise healthy dog, they decided to try to get him assistance. They called Diana and asked if her rescue org could afford to treat Skip for heartworms. She did, they did, and soon thereafter, I got the aforementioned email. A little while later Skip was our second dog. I don’t want to judge his original owners, but their abrogation of vaccination and medical treatment duties to their animals has been our gain.
He was, as terriers often are, a nervous little fellow. We DID have quite a few rats that skulked along the top of the back fence, but they terrified Skip. He would become nervous and appeared afraid if he saw them. Heaven forbid that the Possum King (apparently Possum QUEEN, but that’s another story) show its pointy face.
For that first year, it seemed he wasn’t going to be a ratter.
One day, there was a crash and a bang and a series of extremely happy barks from the backyard. Dave was super excited and Skip walked around with his chest puffed out. He had whacked his first Norwegian rat; and it was the first of many. Over the coming months, Skip proceeded to devastate the local rat population. They only had to avoid our back yard, but if they failed to learn the lesson of this, there was no do-over. If Skip was outside, he would pounce and they would die. He killed rats, mice, squirrels, chipmunks, and anything even approximately verminesque with the confines of the backyard. I once saw him streak across the backyard, kill a rat on the run, and without pausing continue to blaze onward to kill another rat; two kills in less than 15 sconds. We had to keep him from trying to kill the cat -- she is small and thin, and he had trouble not realizing she wasn’t a target. What he had no trouble with was answering the call of his ancestors. Skip had become a vicious killer and a certified badass. He even had a collar with skulls and crossbones so that everyone would know. According to Skip, the skull and crossbones collar is the universal sign that you’re a badass.
I started travelling full-time for work, and missed a lot of walks, naps, and playtime. My partner managed the critters while I was away. Even so, the animals were all very excited when I returned home. Skip would spin in circles as soon as he realized I was in the house. Another [twice-daily] circle-spinning event was the announcement of “puppy breffus” or “puppy suppers”. He knew when the kibble was about to arrive and was happy to dance his little Snoopy suppertime dance. Yet another fun story is how confused he was when he “killed” the Possum King. It was lying there, obviously “dead”, but its heart was beating so WHAT IS GOING ON, MR DADDY!?!?!? Skip was so obviously distraught, it was impossible not to laugh. Frequently, over the years, he would return to that spot in the yard and sniff around, wondering where his “victim” had gotten off to.
Skip has been a great companion, both at home and when we managed to travel with the dogs. Back when he was able, he would follow closely if Dave escaped from an open gate; they have never been very far apart. The only times they have not slept within 5 feet of each other was when one or the other overnighted at the vet. Thirteen years flew by far too fast.
Last year in the Spring, the vet told us we had maybe a few weeks left with him. That would have been almost exactly 12 years with us. I was devastated. But, as he held the undisputed title of Destroyer of Squirrels, Skip seems to have an arrangement with Death. He provided the reaper with vermin, so Death allows him to stay with us to keep me vaguely sane. He has remained with us towards the end of Summer.
But now it’s time. Skip has been blind for over 2 years. He has been unable to perform his daily ablutions without someone holding him steady for several months. For the last couple of months, he’s had great difficulty staying upright due to weakness in his forelegs. This required that he be generally confined to a soft puppy playpen {ahem} badass maximum security containment unit so that he isn’t forced to destroy the younger puppers for their insolence and disturbance of his sleeps.
His consistently eroding quality of life has forced upon me the task of adjusting to the idea of life without him. I won’t say I’m pleased to have taken this long, but I finally got there. I took longer than was appropriate. We don’t have kids -- we have dogs (and a 20 year old cat).
Today is the day. We’re going to take the little man in this afternoon for his final vet visit. It’ll be hard, but almost everyone I know has had to do this at one time or another, and this isn’t my first rodeo. These things are never easy, and I’m sure the next one won’t be easier. They always leave us too soon; I doubt we deserve them. Sometimes, platitudes are spot-on.
Pour one out for Skipdog “Teddy Roosevelt” Alvis (16+),
- Mr. Daddy’s Sweet Boi,
- Official Badass Emeritus,
- Majordomo of the House,
- Herald of Dave, the Lord Puppypants,
- and overall, great friend.
Skip is survived by his furball siblings:
- Stinkybutt Kitty (20)
- Dave (16)
- Charlie (5)
- Jack-Jack (5)
- and Bentley (3). He was and will remain loved, and he is missed.