A Good Girl

I was just a lonely young man. Having lost so many family members, my own father included and never had a mother, I always felt alone and a little lost. My feet were never on the ground for long and when I finally felt as if I had found some footing, I’d screw it up again. Somehow, by the grace of God is what I believe anymore, I gave myself security. I graduated college, living in a new state, had a great paying job, owned a new apartment, but still alone. 

I always wanted a dog. I never thought I’d be able to care for one given my circumstances, but now I really felt ready. My desires were heard. Someone at work had a stray and pregnant dog show up at his property. Starved, abandoned, and scared. He decided she would be his dog. A German shepherd she was and he let me know her litter was born and about ready to go to new homes. He couldn’t bear the thought of taking them to a shelter. I never believed in coincidences. That it’s all happening for a reason. I figured this was meant to be.

I went to meet the puppies ready for a home weeks later. There they were. Bundles of black and tan lounging amongst their littermates. Some were chewing on shoes, the others nipping at each other. But this particular one, all black with some tan on her belly, followed me around. When I bent down to pet the others, her head nuzzled into my palm. I swore she smiled at me. A tongue lolling out of her mouth- bright pink with white teeth. I couldn’t help but play with all of them, and of course she’d flop her puppy feet over and push them all out of the way for my hand. It was then I knew she chose me. 

I loaded her up in the truck. She sat comfortably in the front of my bench seat as if she knew she’d found her permanent spot for every car ride here on out. I took her immediately to a pet store. I didn’t even have a dog leash or a collar. I set her down on the aisles and she stayed right by my side. I couldn’t think of a name yet. As I walked off expecting her to follow, she stayed. I patted my leg for her to come, and she’d just do the trademarked German shepherd head tilt. She needed a name, even she knew that. “Ellie” I called out. Thinking of the name from one of my favorite television shows. It was as if she knew right away that was who she was. She reared her puppy head back in pure excitement and ran at me. Her first call. She trotted confidently around the pet store with me. “Ellie” I’d call out, and she’d take a turn with me down the next aisle. People would stop and say, “wow you must be training her well!” And I’d smile and say, “nope! Just got her about half an hour ago!”

She chose a new toy- well actually a few. We learned her preference was soft, stuffy toys and she would shred each one within the first hour we brought it home. We chose a dog bed. Fluffy and soft- but of course we’d share mine. Anywhere I went in that store, I’d call her name “Ellie!” “Ellie!” “Ellie!” and she’d follow. 

The first nights were rough. She’d learnt her name, but potty training was harder. Then on to the puppy destruction. Carpet, couches, pillows, shoes, remotes. When she was tall enough, almost nothing was safe on the kitchen counter. She even chewed knife handles. Once potty training was perfected, she ate window blinds and doorknobs to get outside when she needed to potty. I quickly taught her that sitting by the door was the trick. But every night when I got home from work and she was tearing up some toy I bought, I’d call her name and her floppy self would tear down that hallway towards me. Lots of tail wagging, barking, and puppy licks.

Eventually that puppy turned into a teenager. Boy, that was worse. It was then that I had to get this energy out in a different way. To the dog park we went. I bought her a whole new set of toys- a football and a frisbee- and loaded her up right there in the front seat of my truck. At first, she didn’t understand catch. But an older gentleman was there with his border collie. Ellie sat and watched, so intrigued by how he’d throw the ball and the speed the dog had to catch it. I grabbed the football and walked off a bit. She stayed put and watched me, that same toothy smile in anticipation. “Ellie. Catch” and I threw the ball. So fast did she spin around to catch that ball, grass flung in the air behind her. She caught it. Looked at me. “Ellie” I called her. And she knew to bring it back for another throw. Something I noticed that border collie didn’t really want to do.

Work kept me late and we didn’t have much time to go to the dog park with fall and winter approaching, the sunlight vanishing. So nervous as I was, I decided to play with her on this empty soccer field across the high school where we lived. No fence to keep her contained. I was afraid she run off. Maybe spot another person and chase them for a pet. I loaded her up on her seat in the truck, a tighter space now that she’s bigger, and her trademarked head tilt when I turned right instead of left out of our complex. Just a short drive later and I stopped the truck. Her eagerness took over. I got out, walked over to her side, opening her door. She sprinted across that field and in a moment of panic I cried out, “Ellie!!!!!” And she stopped. She turned right around and came back to me. It was then I chose to trust her. But truly wholeheartedly trust her, like she trusted me. She came to every call, confidently knowing I was hers and she was mine. For years we played catch in that field, I’d call her name when we were done, load her back in my truck, and go back to my apartment. We were never lonely.

Times changed and I met a woman who loved Ellie so much. They started taking walks shortly after I moved her in. Ellie allowed her to call her anywhere. She became very protective of my girlfriend. When Ellie would bark at people to stay away from her, she chose a few times not to listen to my girlfriend’s calls. I told her to trust Ellie. She sensed something we couldn’t. Eventually that apartment and soccer field turned into a house with a backyard on half an acre. We played catch, we played in the sprinklers, we chased rabbits, all of it. We never let her get too carried away, we’d always call her back. 

Ellie also got to travel. Lake days in the water were she’d like to swim out a bit too far. “Ellie” we’d call and we swore she’d sigh and swim back to us. We’d take her on hikes and when nobody was around, we’d let her off leash. If she strayed just a tad too far away, letting her nose carry her further, we’d call her right back. One day we got a four-wheeler. We drove that thing around a mountainous area and we knew Ellie would follow right beside us. And she sure did. Running faster when we sped up, slowing down over bumps. All three of us would play so hard and just smile when Ellie passed out. Her position was moved to the backseat when I got a new truck and no bench seat up front. But Ellie seemed to like it more. She stretched fully out, gave her heavy sigh, and slept. 

We brought cats home, she loved them all. Friends would come over, she’d bring them her balls. Kids were over, and she deemed them hers. She’d follow them around the house not letting anyone near them. 

Years passed. My once tiny puppy was 13 years old. She was there the day I brought my daughter home. She no longer protected just my girlfriend turned wife but kept to our daughter also. She was gentle and chose to sleep by her door. When we were on the ground playing, Ellie would lay nearby and just watch us. Soon my daughter could say “Ellie” and she’d get her tired bones off the floor and walk over to her, nuzzling her big head under my daughter’s tiny hands. 

One day she didn’t want to get up. She didn’t want to eat or drink. She couldn’t come when we called her. She slept off and on those couple of days. We tried all we could, but we knew it was time. 

I picked up her 95-pound body and carried her outside. Still my tiny puppy. We sat in the grass, a nice, shady spot on a beautiful sunny day. She laid her head on my lap. Her eyes slowly closed. The eternal sleep taking its toll. I petted her softly. Scratched her favorite spot behind her ear. Her rising chest and its lingering fall. I told her she’s such a good girl. I told her all about the adventures we went on. That time we went to the creek, and I had to pull her out of the water she was so exhausted but wouldn’t get out. Or that time she got a knife off the kitchen counter that she somehow stabbed into the couch so she could happily chew the handle. Or those times of it just being me and her, and now here we are with a house so much fuller. I stroke her fur. Her chest doesn’t rise anymore. Before her soul leaves, before I lose the best dog and friend I will ever have, before the first girl I ever loved, before the one who gave me purpose leaves this world, I say her name one last time. “Ellie” as I just hold her. And her ear twitches just so subtly for her one last call.