Remembering Pippen

"Do not boast about tomorrow, for you do not know what a day may bring forth."--Proverbs 27:1

In the case of this Thanksgiving holiday the above Proverb proved all too true, and tragically so.  For weeks I planned, prepped and prepared for the best Thanksgiving ever. I left no stone unturned and when the season arrived, everything went according to plan.  We made just about everything featured on The Thanksgiving Manifesto, which I posted here not too long ago.  In addition, the children made butter, families created wonderful action silhouettes and our friend, Bill Duncan even managed to land his plane in our field, despite the cows grazing there.  Bill touched down, quickly exchanged holiday greetings along with a bottle of his special handmade corn liquor with Rahn, and before you could blink, took to the friendly Southern Wallowa County Skies to get home to his own Thanksgiving feast--a mere 8 miles away. 

Yes, planning did pay off until Saturday, when the unplanned and unthinkable happened.  We had all decided to eat breakfast at Mutiny's Brewing, a local brew pub and eatery, in Joseph.  Everyone left at a different time, with Rahn and I lagging behind to take care of a few chores before leaving.  When we  finished, we quickly loaded up two of our grandchildren, Isabella and Hartwell, to get into town.  Pippen, our beloved miniature Australian Shepherd, wasn't normally a tire biter or tire chaser, but he was a little obsessive compulsive about running after my car whenever I went down the road.
While driving away, Rahn commented that someday it might get him.  I happened to look in my rear view mirrow, realizing that as he uttered these words, Pippen had been run over.  It was a horrific scene, and I can only be thankful it was over very quickly.
As always, life lessons come out of tragedy.  Our grandchildren witnessed his passing and their Marmee's grieving.  Hartwell comforted me and Bella told me it was okay, that Pippen would go to heaven.  During church the next day Hartwell tapped Papa on the shoulder to give him a folded up note for Marmie.  It was very sweet and thoughtful--so like Hartwell.

As for me, I realized again what good husbands are like during tough times.  Good husbands always manage to do the hard things, never flinching.  I wanted Pip buried out by our little oak tree, where I could see his grave everyday.  Rahn carried my dear little dog there, dug the grave, covered it over with big rocks so no varmints could get to it, and put up a headstone for him.  Another lesson--life is short.
In a flash, everything had changed.  I suddenly wished I had groomed him more...petted him more...played with him more...and walked him more.  And why didn't I have any pictures of him as a tiny puppy?  Ironically, he came to us not much past Thanksgiving 2006, after we had to put our dear Jack Russell, Harry, to sleep.

From the first, Pippen was mine, though he was meant for Anna, our youngest daughter.  I came down with a serious case of pneumonia during Christmas and Pippen laid by my side for weeks while I recovered.  I had nothing to do but dote on him and I did.  I spent hours and hours with him.  He was a quiet, well trained, unassuming little guy who rarely barked and was great company for me. 
Needless to say, we bonded and he was my inseperable side-kick and  my constant and devoted companion for just three short years. It was over all too soon.

Farewell little Pippen.  Though everyone else may forget you, I never, never will.   And someday I'll see you again--in heaven!