My first fur baby bore the name of Snooks. I don’t know what kind of dog she was. Back in those days as a five-year-old, a dog was a dog and my dog was little and white with curly hair. She followed me around and made me laugh with the pleasure of her company. My sister, Lorraine, had a dark color dog named Doodles. The four of us ran around the yard and inside the house when our energy needed that release happily laughing and barking together. Snooks died because she ran after a car on our street. I remember lying in my bed sobbing because I hadn’t taken good care of my dog, and she got hit by a car.

My next pet joined me in my teenage years and was named Smokey. He was a chihuahua with a yappy little bark and a huge attitude. When my boyfriend came to visit, Smokey kept him in line and was like that even after I married and we lived together. My husband openly admits he didn’t like my dog and Smokey didn’t mind venting his feelings about this male infringement in his territory. When we moved into an apartment that didn’t allow pets, I had to leave Smokey with my parents and siblings. My husband didn’t mind that decision and Smokey didn’t seem all that friendly to me afterward.

As our children grew up, we had several family pets, but I never felt particularly close to those pets. They enjoyed the kids, and I was busy keeping up with schedules. About 25 years ago, my Dad gave me a black schnauzer I named Ebony. She was the catalyst that has hooked our entire family on that breed. She was sweet, a cuddler, and noisily voiced her appreciation and need for a daily walk. When I would show her a leash, she started running in circles barking at a high pitched level, wanting to get on the road nosing out all the wonderful scents on our route. I loved her and she happily welcomed me home every day. Ebony met her demise in the jaws of a much bigger dog. I was devastated and mourned for months.

I didn’t think I would ever get another dog. I was busy and didn’t feel I had the time to spend training an animal and didn’t want to become attached.  However, my family had other ideas. I had a conversation with one of my sons one day and said, “ ‘If’ I ever got another dog, it would be a white schnauzer, and I would name her Ivory.” My idea was certainly not original, but I loved the two names together.  A few weeks before Christmas 2005, the family gathered and said they wanted to give me an early Christmas present. I sat in my chair and they brought in a box. I was very curious about what could be inside. They sat it on my lap and within seconds, a little white furry head poked out of the top and looked directly at me. Her tail was wagging like crazy and it was evident that she wanted into my waiting arms. She was only seven weeks old and cuddled right into me with welcoming licks to my face which is something I didn’t normally appreciate. I said, “Oh my goodness, it’s Ivory.” Everyone laughed and then, of course, the grandkids piled closer to get their turn holding the newest member of our family.

Ivory became a true friend to me. She picked up where Ebony had left off. She loved walks every bit as much, she cuddled into my lap and slept, she didn’t mind my holding her in my arms like a baby. When she was about six months old, we went for a walk and my nine-year-old granddaughter accompanied us. As we were crossing Main Street in a pedestrian lane with the light, a pick-up truck making a left-hand turn didn’t see us and I got hit with a glancing blow. When I regained consciousness, I was lying on the road hearing the sounds of emergency vehicles and a police officer asking me questions. I inquired after my granddaughter. They said she was fine and sitting on the grass and that someone was with her keeping her company.  “What about my dog?” I said. “She ran off,” someone volunteered.  As it turned out, my Bishop from my church had seen the accident and said he would tell Lowell what had happened. Lowell, my husband, joined me in my transfer to the hospital by ambulance. He told me that Ivory had found her way home and he was trying to figure out why she was dragging her leash without Myla or me at the other end when our Bishop pulled up to tell him about our accident.

My hospital stay lasted a couple of weeks. I recall lying in my bed and hearing what sounded like fingernails tapping. The sound appeared to be getting closer, and I looked toward the door opening from the hallway. Rounding the corner into my room was Lowell holding a leash attached to Ivory. The hospital allowed him to bring my dog for a brief visit. When I saw her, I called her name and she leaped upon my bed. She sniffed up and down my entire body and settled herself on my chest with her face looking into mine. She never left my side during my recuperation.

Ivory shared our home and our hearts, the hearts of every member of the Davis family for the next twelve years. She died of natural causes a couple of years ago and my grief felt inconsolable for a very long time.

My next experience with a pet was not my pet, but I did care for him in the last year of his life.  His name was Skamp, another white schnauzer. He belonged to my daughter, Robyn. He was supposed to be a family pet, but he imprinted on Robyn and she loved him deeply. He was not a cuddler at all. He was slightly aloof and became more so as he aged. Robyn took him on runs and he loved that. He was a very gentle dog with a ferocious bark but never bit anyone. When Robyn died, Skamp was morose. He lay beneath her hospital bed while she languished near death, and he wandered around the house after we moved the bed. When Lowell and I left to return to our home in Utah, we brought Skamp with us and kept him. He was experiencing the twilight of his years as a 14-year-old dog and not always enjoying the playful antics of kids. I told his family I would gladly relinquish him when they were ready, but circumstances never got them to the point of being able to lay claim to him again, and he became my dog. We were both beyond the age of the running mentality he had grown up with, but he did enjoy a leisurely walk.

Skamp died a few days ago, not of old age, but because he fell in our pool and we didn’t know it. He had fallen in a couple of times before, and we always managed to get him out. He had become partially blind and quite deaf. Our pool was covered, but he might have been trying to get a drink of water and lost his balance. His water bowl and food bowl were both filled, but I suppose he decided the pool water looked inviting. I think it may have happened during the night. We have a doggie door and he freely used it.

I mourn now because he drowned, a death that has always haunted me as someone afraid of water. I mourn knowing that since he had fallen into the pool before and I knew he was blind, I should have had some measures in place to protect him. I mourn because his death comes weeks before the first anniversary of Robyn’s passing.

Roger sent me an audio of a song entitled, “Heart, Dog, and Butterfly.”  The cover picture for the song shows a blue butterfly mid-flight with a dog running along appearing to be chasing the butterfly. The blue butterfly has become a symbol in our family for Robyn and of course, though the dog in the picture looks nothing like Skamp, we’re thinking and hoping that the spirit of Robyn’s dog has found her. My granddaughter who is now all grown up and was the girl with Ivory and me when we had the accident, grew up with Skamp and considered him her dog too. When she was home for Christmas, she told me that before she left to go back home, she whispered to Skamp that if he died before she saw him again, he was to find her mom and keep her company till we all got there.

I do hope that our family units in the eternities will include our pets. I’ll look forward to welcoming Snooks, Smokey with an attitude, Ebony, Ivory and Skamp.  Rest in peace, our fur babies, one and all.