My Mindy Girl
9/1994 – 1/2005
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I remember…..
when Janet knocked on our front door with a
scruffy, so ugly it was cute, black & white puppy in
her arms and handed it to us to “watch” for a couple
of hours.
When she was put down on the ground how she
lay on her back, front paws held close to her chest
and squirmed in submission.
How bad she felt when she had her first
accident on our bed.
The first time she came to the name she
liked the best, Mindy.
How Maggie used to ignore her and how hard
she tried to play with Maggie.
How car sick Mindy was the first time we
took her to Mary & Jim’s (Vet).
Teaching her how to walk on a leash and how
The first time she met “Mr. T.” our
tortoise, when he came out of hibernation that first
spring.
How she used to love the rain and would play
outside, run inside, soaking wet and jump on the bed
smiling, ready to do it again.
How Sean & Rachael would jump on the bed
with her.
How she would bounce, chasing the water
coming out of the hose, when I watered the backyard.
How she would “hunt” the squirrels and birds
sitting under the tree with such patients and remain
perfectly still.
Coming home from work at lunch time everyday
just to see Maggie and Mindy.
Catching her chewing my work shoes,
repeatedly, and how I could never punish her because
she would apologize right away.
How she used to wash my tears away, licking
my entire face, when I grieved for my Mother and stand
over me when I was lying down, gazing down into my
eyes with what I can only call compassion. I remember
the last time she did this to me.
How Mindy taught me how to love the spring
and summer again and enjoy the birds, squirrels and
crows. She taught me how to play again and showed me
my love for gardening again.
Her sunbaths in the hot hot sun and how she
would zero in on a bug in the grass.
How she used to dig holes out of
frustration, or maybe there was really something down
there?
Studying her face and thinking how special
she is and if she could only speak English. I remember wondering if she had been human or if she was
going to become human.
I remember when I first
realized I understood her body language.
The first time she howled with the kids.
How she used to let Rachael dress her up.
That she was a volunteer in a magic show
video that Dusty and Rachael made.
How she would help Sean bug hunt and how she
would keep him company when he went outside to think.
How she would crawl into Sean’s laundry
basket and take a nap.
How Brillo used to walk underneath her
tummy, tail up, then tail conforming to the shape of
belly, then tail up with a twitch. I wonder what that
word “the twitch” would be in Human Speak.
The way she would look at Brillo sometimes,
like he was a strange creature.
How Maggie would get into the trash and
Mindy would submissively take the blame. She took the
blame when anyone got in trouble here at our house.
How Mindy would tell me that Janet was
“almost here” for our morning walks.
How excited she would get when she could
hear the loud low thump of a car stereo boom box,
hoping it meant her Scotti-Boy coming to visit. I never got tired of watching the loving way they would
greet each other outside so she would not pee on the
floor with excitement.
How she loved to play with her stuffed,
squeaky skunk.
When Chelsea’s puppies tried to nurse her,
or was that Sadie’s puppies? and thinking what a great
Mother she would have made.
Her play bark.
Her mail-man bark.
Her gardener bark.
Her pool-man bark.
How she would sometimes stand outside
Rachael’s window and bark and howl and how she would
sometimes go into the kids rooms at night and try to
talk to them while they were sleeping.
How her body felt next to mine when we would
take our naps in the bedroom in spring and summer,
with the window open, listening to the birds and
squirrels.
When she came in one night to tell me that
there was an intruder trying to break in next door and
how I helped her scare him away.
When Shelly would come to groom and when
Mindy’s turn would come, she would Howl and Sing in
protest in her van.
When she first met Jake and how good she was with him. She taught him how to use the dogie door
and tried to patiently teach him to hunt birds and
squirrels lying side by side under the tree. Jake
could never stay as still as she.
How she would lick the handles of the
extenda-leashes, hanging by the front door, until
they would tap against the wall, getting my attention,
when she wanted to go on a walk.
How she would jump for joy, all 4 paws off
the ground, when I finally decided it was time for a
walk.
How she would nudge me with her black wet
nose or grab me with her long front toes and toenails
and look into my eyes with her soft brown eyes like
she had something important to tell me.
How sensitive her toes were and how she
carried on when someone tried to cut her nails.
Every single special spot she loved to have
me brush.
How she hated the slicker brush and how Sean
and Rachael and she made a silly “I am gonna get you
with the brush” game and her funny woof-bark she had
for this game.
How she invented the vacuum cleaner game and
taught it to all the other dogs.
How fast and graceful she could run and how
she could turn on a dime and sometimes get Maggie to
chase her and always get Jakes’ “Goat” and out
maneuver him. Delilah was the only one who was fast
enough to catch her.
The day Rachael set up a jump/obstacle
course in the back yard and trained her to go over and
threw it.
The day I looked outside and saw her going
over the course by herself.
When Maggie’s’ time to leave us came and how
sick she was the night before, she spent the night
outside fighting her stomach trouble and right beside
her were Mindy and Jake, worrying over her…I have
never seen, what I can only call, such compassion
between dogs.
Mindy’s’ elephant tail and her Moe-Hawk.
The sound of her ears flapping as she shook
the rain and cold air off of her body and how it
seemed to be an expression of well-being.
How Sean and Rachael used to walk her on
their roller skates.
How she used to walk across Nana’s’ black
marble table, by the window with all of my rocks on
top, negotiating each step.
How she used to lay at the sliding glass
door waiting for the crows or squirrels to come to the
backyard so she could chase them up into the trees.
How she would run at them, then jump and
bark at them when they were treed.
How the crows and squirrels would argue back
down at her.
I remember, when her time came to leave us, how
broken-hearted I was and how desperately I missed her
and wondered how I could live without her.
She was my happiness and
joy in my everything of my everyday.