Tip O'Tail Rinker March 1995-Dec. 18, 2006

My best dog

When I first saw Tip, he was playing with some of his brothers and sisters at the old animal shelter.
He came from a litter of 10 puppies whose parents were a border collie and a German shepherd.
He was a roly-poly ball of black and white fuzz. “Babe,” the movie about the pig that learned to herd like a border collie, had come out earlier that year and everyone was entranced by the beautiful, intense dogs.
I had learned that working border collies had short names (one of the border collies in the movie was Fly) because it made it easier to give commands.
So my dog became Tip. His full name was Tip O’Tail because he had a white tip on the very end of his tail.(I thought I was being original, but turns out another of his siblings who went to live at Bryce was named Tip as well.)
I thought Tip was the answer for my broken heart.
A month earlier, I had to put down my English Springer Spaniel, Coalie. He was the first dog I had ever owned. I loved that dog so much. He was beautiful and smart and when he looked in my eyes, I felt like he knew what I was thinking.
Losing him hurt so badly. I vowed I would never have another dog - the pain of losing one was too great.
Turns out, the emptiness of my home was greater still.
And while I immediately liked Tip, I knew I would never love him the way I loved Coalie.
Well, the fuzz ball grew into this tall, lanky dog that resembled more of his shepherd heritage than the border collie. His black and white coloring was that of a border collie and his legs were speckled and slender, but his head was magnificently shepherd, with the long nose and pointed ears. And his tail had gone from tiny to a thick, dramatic curl still accented by the white tip.
Tip and I did everything together. I was working at the newspaper when I got Tip and he was a frequent visitor in my office. He was a fast learner, quickly mastering obedience class and learning a few extra “tricks.”
After the vigor of youth mellowed a little and we established our relationship, I realized one day that my prediction that I could never love another dog was entirely wrong.
He wasn’t flashy like my Coalie was – everyone always ooo’d and ahh’d over him. People were a little intimidated by Tip immediately because he was a big, tall dog. But he won them over quickly with his charm and intelligence.
My mom started calling him the “gentleman” dog and that was a description that fit him to a T.
Tip knew instantly when I was upset or troubled. He would sit beside me and put his head on my knee and look up at me. I can’t tell you how many tears I shed on that dog. When I had to deal with the death of my grandmother, Tip was my comfort. When work got me down, Tip and I would hit the road. I put hundreds of miles on that dog who was always up for a walk.
I got a second dog when Tip was about 3. It was the only time Tip and I quarreled. The first night I had Major at the house, I let Tip outside and when I went to let him back in, he was gone.
I called and called and he would not come.
Finally, I got in my car and started driving around the neighborhood. It was pitch black and I could see nothing beyond the street lights.
I was sobbing, driving in the cold of November with the windows down yelling for him, when I spotted that white tip on his tail. I got him in the car and threw my arms around his neck and begged him never to do anything like that again.
He never did. Not even when I moved down the street and introduced him to a home that had another big dog, Brownie, and three cats to boot.
In the past year, Tip started slowing down. Almost 12 years old, he was getting stiff and he wasn’t that interested in chasing balls, but he still looked for squirrels in the trees and would chew on a stick or two.
He slowed down considerably in the last two months - to the point that he needed help getting up and eventually walking. We didn’t think twice about doing these things for our “big dog.”
Eventually, our lives were shaped by taking care of Tip. It became very clear that he would not make it to his 12th birthday in March. I prayed and prayed that he would go in his sleep. I did not want to have to make this decision again.
Unfortunately, he had a stroke and his condition worsened. I really wanted him to make it through Christmas, but it became clear to me that I was giving my desire to hang onto him greater consideration than ending his life in a dignified manner befitting such a good, noble dog.
We made the decision on a Sunday and we met the vet at Marty’s farm the next day. I couldn’t stand the thought of taking Tip to the vet and leaving him there. I wanted him to have a proper place to rest in peace.
Tip enjoyed going to the farm. In the spring, we had all four dogs out there as a treat. Someplace where they could run without leashes and not get into trouble. It was fun to watch the town dogs turn country.
I held my best dog while the vet administered the shot and Tip quietly slipped away from me.
When Coalie had to be put down, I ran away. I couldn’t be there for his last moments. I can’t say I regretted that, but this time I needed to be there for Tip. To make sure he wasn’t scared.
I couldn’t understand why God wouldn’t answer my daily pleas to take Tip and keep me from having to make this decision again. I think maybe there was a lesson to learn.
On Tuesday, I went to work like usual. I had emailed my workmates and asked them not say anything to me about Tip. I am an emotional person and I knew it would take nothing to start the waterfall of tears that I had been shedding for two days straight.
When I went home at lunch to let the dogs out, which I normally do, I cried because there was not big black and white dog waiting for me, but I felt something different – some shift in my grief.
The Ump and I spent a quiet evening at home together. Talking, but not talking. And before we went to bed I told him that I realized that while I still miss (and always will) my best dog, I felt at peace with what had to be done. Though the sadness remained, the sting of his death was gone.
Maybe that was the lesson. I was looking at the situation as if death was the worst possible outcome. It was not.
I was watching a show on TV about heaven the other night and one woman they interviewed who had had a near death experience said that she saw a staircase that was lined with playful, happy dogs and cats. That would be heaven for me. To imagine Tip and Coalie at the feet of my beloved Grandmom is the sweetest heaven I can imagine.
Goodbye, Mr. Tip O’ Tail. You were a great companion, a compassionate heart and my best friend for nearly 12 years.
March 1995-Dec. 18, 2006.

Holiday hurricane

Valley Words 12-10
cle rinker

(sorry for the delay - it's hard to hit even self-imposed deadlines this time of year. expect spotty delivery of columns until we are through with the holidays...)


Fa-la-la-la-la. La-la. La. La.
I sing while I live in the eye of the holiday hurricane.
The initial stage of holiday preparation – dragging decorations from the basement, attic and anywhere else I stuck stuff last year – is over. I survived the forward edge of the holiday hurricane. The Ump even helped somewhat.
He is not a holiday elf. Since we have married, I my attitude about the holiday season has changed somewhat.
When my friend Richard lived here, we did it up. His house, my house, the newspaper office. No door was left unswagged. No window uncandled. Christmas music rolled down every hallway and invaded each open ear within caroling distance.
We watched every Christmas movie at least once and some – Merry Christmas, Charlie Brown and How the Grinch Stole Christmas, for example – we watched over and over. Holiday Inn, Christmas in Connecticut, White Christmas, A Christmas Story…
I usually watched A Christmas Carol alone because I enjoy the black and white version from the 1930s which is closer to the Dickens’ tale than the more recent versions like Scrooged with Bill Murray. As far as Richard was concerned, the campier the better. More lights, more ornaments. More merry.
He moved away in August of 1991 and that Christmas I was unable to put up a Christmas tree in my home. It was too depressing. I went to Richard’s apartment in Charlottesville and helped him decorate his tree, but I was miserable.
The next year brought a solution for my holiday blues. I threw my first Christmas party. Richard came from Charlottesville and I got over my holiday malaise. The tradition of my holiday party was born then and continues to this day.
Initially, the guest list was confined pretty much to workmates. Then some church people started coming and then neighbors. Now it is “our” party and the guest list that once featured about a dozen people has now grown to dozens of people.
The Ump still struggles with his inner Scrooge this time of year, but he has embraced the holiday party – inviting all the people he works with as well as some friends.
I conquered my biggest challenge so far this season.
I just didn’t want to put up a Christmas tree. Not because I am depressed, but because I was feeling limited by the traditional tree. Normally, I put up one real one and three or four fake ones with different themes and ornaments.
For weeks I struggled to find a different centerpiece for my holiday cheer. On a cold Saturday morning, I stopped at Fort Valley Nursery to buy some pine roping and I talked to Terry about my desire to do something different. While we were talking I spied this large pot full of what looked like tall, thin, bright red sticks.
“What’s that?” I asked, and Terry told me the barren bush was a Red Twig Dogwood. In the spring and summer, the bush has leaves like a dogwood some sort of compound flower. In the winter, after the leaves have all dropped off and the weather gets cold, the twigs turn bright red.
I was inspired by this bucket of red twigs. It wasn’t quite a Charlie Brown moment, but close. It took some trial and error before I decided how to make this purchase the center of my decorations. The best aspect is that after the holidays, we can dig a hole and plant it.
I’m not sure what the Ump thought initially. I didn’t let him see the twigs until I figured out how to decorate it. He never liked all the different trees all over the house anyway, so I think Christmas twigs fit his holiday spirit much better.
The other side of the holiday hurricane is about ready to hit. First the party. Then more gift shopping. Then packing for his home and my home. Oh yeah, the other side is going to hit.
Until then, however, I will continue caroling in the eye of the storm.
“Oh, Christmas twigs. Oh, Christmas twigs. How lovely are your branches…”