The Continuing Adventures of a Very Small Warden
A few weeks ago, I said goodbye to my little Chihuahua, Allie.
At fourteen years old, she had been my writing companion, supervisor, schedule keeper, occasional employer, and friend for a very long time.
Like many good dogs, she occupied far more space in a life than her small size would ever suggest.
As with many small doges, Allie seemed to have 120 pounds of heart, adventure, and spirit all crammed into a little 12 pound body. It is always amazing how a creature so small can leave such a large space behind and oversized hole in your heart.
It has taken me a few days to come back to this.
Not out of reluctance . . . . but out of respect, I think.
Some things do not ask to be written right away.
They ask to be sat with first — quietly — until the edges soften just enough to be held without breaking.
My little Chihuahua companion, Allie, and I had a rhythm, you see.
Nothing remarkable on the outside — just the ordinary things that fill a day.
Walks in the early morning, followed by more walks at certain times during the day. Meals, of course. Covering her up for a nap — yes, she insisted on that several times during a day. (I was informed early on that “nap covering” fell squarely within my duties.) Evening routines, then our “Last Call Walk” before going to bed at night. Lights out.
Simple things.
But simple things, done every day, become something more than routine, don’t they? They become the shape of your life.
And when they are suddenly gone . . . .
the day feels a little unmoored.
Dogs are only a part of our lives.
But we are their whole world.
They trust us with everything — not just the easy days, but the hard ones too.
Perhaps especially the hard ones.
To let go.
To do the right thing when it is time.
And as difficult as it is to accept . . . .
they do seem to have a way of letting us know when it is time.
Not in words. Never in words.
But in a look.
A quietness.
A change one feels in the shape of things.
A kind of understanding that passes between you whether you are ready for it or not.
It is never easy.
It certainly was not this time either.
These past few days, I have found myself moving through the hours a little differently.
There are no scheduled walks to get up for.
No breakfast waiting to be prepared under close supervision.
No evening dinner accompanied by excited dancing in the kitchen.
No small bundle to tuck in and cover just so thru the day.
And I will admit — it has felt a bit like stepping into open space.
Unsupervised.
Unstructured.
A little like a free-fall at times.
Have you ever found yourself there?
Where something that once filled your day so completely is suddenly . . . . absent?
But here is the thing I am beginning to understand.
That rhythm we shared — those small, steady duties — they did not disappear.
They changed.
They left their imprint.
And now it is my turn to carry that forward in a different way.
A few weeks ago, during one of those days when the walls around me seemed a little closer than usual and closing in, I found myself looking down at Allie while preparing her breakfast and wondering if she might have a few complaints about her own living arrangements.
The more I thought about it, the funnier it became, and found myself laughing out loud.
She slept in a crate at night behind barred doors.
Her meals arrived without menu choices on a strict schedule of someone else’s choosing.
She was escorted to the “yard” on leash and under supervision.
And every evening she was returned to her quarters and locked in for the night.
By the time I was finished with the idea, I had nearly convinced myself that Allie was living the life of a “Canine Jailbird” and was well into a humorous Op-Ed piece from her perspective to expose the whole operation to the world.
As it turned out, life had other plans.
Before I ever finished the piece, Allie became ill. Progressively so.
The funny little story was set aside while more important things took its place.
Walks became slower.
Schedules became less important.
Meals went untouched.
Time together became more important.
And before long, we found ourselves traveling a road all too familiar to many who have loved a good dog or pet and wished they could keep them forever.
But sadly, that’s not the way, is it?
I never did get around to publishing Allie’s expose on the conditions inside her alleged correctional facility.
Which is probably just as well.
Because the truth is, she was never the prisoner.
She was the warden.
The rest of us were simply staff.
It’s about suddenly discovering that the little creature you thought you were supervising had been organizing your days, your habits, your routines, and perhaps even your heart for years.
Thinking about it, that’s a pretty wonderful realization.
And looking back now, a few weeks removed, I find myself thinking . . . .
Perhaps she is not entirely gone from the world she knew after all.
Perhaps she simply moves a little differently now. Just beyond our sight.
Moving steadily now thru a world she helped create in my mind . . . .
Through Honey Hill Country, with its assorted towns, hills, and hollers.
Through the stories.
Through the “Hearth & Holler Gazette” features.
Through the quiet corners of places like Packet’s Landing — where a small, self-appointed town dog might wander from porch to porch, belonging to everyone yet no one at all. Independent and Free, eliciting treats from every shoppe, tourist, and passers-by.
And I suspect she will continue keeping a watchful eye on things here as we go along.
And on me in particular.
So do not be surprised if, from time to time, a certain small Chihuahua begins appearing around Honey Hill Country. You will recognize her by her name.
Packet’s Landing seems like the sort of place Allie would enjoy. The bustling little riverboat town with steamboats, tourist passengers, and the dock dogs to keep her company, together with an assortment of fine dining establishments to frequent.
The kind of dog who belongs to everyone, listens to everything, accepts treats from approved establishments, and somehow knows everybody’s business before they do. All while keeping everything in order and on time as a good supervisor does.
I suspect she’ll fit right in there.
Truth be told, she probably already has.
And Packet’s Landing will be all the better for it.
So if you have noticed my absence these past couple of weeks . . . . that is the reason.
Some days were spent caring for her.
Some days were spent simply keeping her company.
Some were spent saying goodbye.
And now, a few have been spent learning how to step forward again.
It is not quite the same.
It may never be.
But it is not empty either.
Not when something that small leaves that much behind. Allie will always be merely a few writing strokes away.
And now, back to Honey Hill Country and better times.
Til next time then . . . .
— Jim (and Red!)
(and Allie . . . . still making her rounds!)
For Allie — Packet’s Landing’s Newest Resident.
Images have been created for this piece with the assistance of AI . . . lovingly prepared and styled for Honey Hill Country and the world of Little Red Bear.
James Milson - The Writing Pages 