The Secret
E.
Katie Gammill
©
TheDogPlace
April 2009
- The years are catching up with me. The basement
steps seem steeper. I’m more cautious as I grow
older. It’s 5:30 P.M. and I open the crate doors
of my eight Sheltie companions. While I work,
they are safely tucked in the basement for their
safety and comfort. They snooze in the cool
darkness.
Upon return, I turn them loose and they rush up
the stairs. Their joyous barks of freedom fill
my heart with happiness. They dash through the
garage, entering their fenced yard. I count
furry bodies on my fingers. One is missing.
 Closing the basement door, I notice my
fifteen-year-old matriarch standing at the foot
of the stairs. She responds to my call, placing
her soft paws on the step. She bravely lunges
forward. Tumbling backwards, her eyes hold a
silent plea. She tries again, just for me. Her
old bones refuse to cooperate.
Our eyes meet in silent understanding. I quietly
walk back down the stairs and pick her up in my
arms. Tiki turns her head and rests her muzzle
on my shoulder in apology. Embracing her, I make
a silent pledge. This will be our secret. She
will not be embarrassed by old age. Her kennel
mates will never know.
When I sit her down, Tiki shakes her glorious
red coat and rushes into the yard as though
nothing is amiss. My dowager’s beauty is
undeniable, the coat only more magnificent with
age.
Tiki is alpha-bitch. I don’t remember awarding
her this position, but not one kennel mate
denies her the honor. She must have assumed her
importance when my head was turned. It’s she who
establishes a pecking order. Her trick of
wrinkling her nose to her eyebrows and shutting
off her air passage triggers a snake-like
hissing. Flagging her tail like a banner, she
walks stiffly, establishing hierarchy. A puppy
can be knocked backwards by her invisible power.
Tiki isn’t capable of enforcing this
intimidation, but it’s our secret. In her
younger years, she never had to. Her direct eye
contact said it all and covered every situation.
 In a round about way, Tiki taught me to pick
puppies. Strangely enough, I missed her at six
weeks of age. I learned this after she returned
home with a broken leg. The new owner wasn’t
able to keep her due to circumstances beyond her
control at that time. Over the phone, it was
suggested Tiki be put to sleep, but a wise vet
said she could be fixed. Oh, the joys missed had
he said that.
Capturing my heart upon her return, we put on a
second cast on her leg due to her fast growth.
With courage, she overcame her hobbling gait.
Given time, the limp was gone and she finished
her Championship.
Tiki is the product of an initial purchase of a
lovely bitch with the sweetest face in the
world. Her soft eyes and lovely natural ears and
brilliant red coat have melted through
generations. Tiki’s mother held my heart in her
paws. Tiki does no less.
She never lets me down. Invaluable for setting
type in my kennel, she blends structure and
movement with beauty. Through her, I learn to
expect good temperaments. Her keen intelligence
convinces me I would settle for nothing less.
Lying in the yard, her jaunt completed earlier
than her kennel mates, she watches their
activities. An occasional car brings her to her
feet for a short chase. Limping back to her
position under the shade tree, her youthful
flash back causes pain.
We’ve weathered one tornado together. Even today
when it storms we must cover Tike in a crate. We
share miles, disappointments, thrills,
admiration, friendships, and heartbreak. Tiki
taught me a championship is secondary;
companionship comes first.
 Tiki is always there, placing her head under my
hand for affection. Her soft paw touching my
knee suggests it is time for attention. Being a
negotiator, she usually gets her way. Always an
eager breeder, my intentions were over-ruled
when she arranged her own breeding at age nine.
A C-section, and spay was arranged and I allowed
a final fling at motherhood. The result was a
masculine version of herself, who in time became
as important to his people as Tiki was to me.
As years pass, I progressed to judging. Tiki
changed from a busy body to a couch mouse.
Subtly, she slid into the phase of “selective
hearing”. The easiest way to penetrate this
barrier of in-attention is to gently lift the
lid off the ceramic cookie jar. Strangely
enough, she springs to her feet from three rooms
away, her tongue lolling and eyes full of
anticipation. Pushing through the others, the
gray muzzle and missing front teeth never fail
to make me smile. I secretly break her pieces a
little smaller.
At night she has her own sound. Shuffling across
the floor, the backward toenail form an old
injury makes a clicking sound. Sighing with
contentment, her snores whisper throughout the
house.
Breeding quality generations deep is a
privilege. Finding my lovely foundation bitch so
wistful and beautiful peering at me from the
litter box overflows my heart with love.
Together we enjoyed the playful years. Now we
have more quiet times. The weight of her body
presses my leg. She places her head on weary
paws and snoozes while I scratch her ears.
Oftentimes I drop off myself. Tears fill my
eyes as I stroke her beloved head. She peeks at
me, and then snuggles deeper in the carpet. The
soft carpet’s warmth lessens her pain.
We live for today. Taking a final walk under the
stars before bedtime, I wait as duties are
completed. Fortunate to share this new phase of
our lives, Tiki asks for nothing except love. I
can give no less. In the morning, we will
repeat our daily routing. I will once again feel
the rush of pleasure as the dogs burst through
into the yard. Once they are gone, I go quietly
down to the basement and shake Tiki awake. She
sleeps as only old dogs can. Time has little
meaning.
Tiki’s warmth and understanding will continue to
surround me when she no longer walks beside me.
She will never truly be gone, as I will find joy
in her offspring. Our yesterday’s memories will
be forever found in tomorrow’s sunrise as it
creeps over the trees by the pond where she is
buried. I can only hope when I am old, there is
someone who will love me enough, to keep my
secrets.
http://www.thedogplace.org/Articles/Breeder/09042-Secret_Gammill.htm
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