Mindy

Addressing the death of a pet is a topic I find awkward at best. I think people tend to fall into two different camps here. People who identify as “animal lovers,” typically individuals who have owned pets in the past, can understand the significant impact an animal can have on the lives of humans, in life and in death. However, I think many people out there don’t understand when they see someone grieving the loss of an animal. It’s only an animal, after all – it’s not like you lost another human being.

I am an unabashed animal lover, in my career aspirations as well as my personal life. Which is why, upon reflection, I am surprised by my lack of reaction when I heard the news of the death of our family dog of 14 years. I was at a Barnes and Noble in Bloomington, Indiana, decompressing after my first week of a new job when my mom called to tell me of Mindy’s passing. I was saddened, surely, but I also had bigger fish to fry at that point in time, so I pushed those feelings aside. And as I look back at the year past, as we all tend to do at each year’s closing, I find myself needing to process the loss and celebrate the life of our beloved cockapoo, Mindy.

1999 was a year of significant “pet turnover” in the Pirtle household. We pet-sat for a family friend’s schnauzer in spring, and I believe that finally convinced my parents that we were capable of adopting our own pet dog. This resulted in the short-lived residency of Baxter, a dog of mysterious origins and some unsettling territorial behaviors. With his return to the humane society, shortly followed by the death of my first rabbit, Rainy (and, probably unrelated, my infamous week-long bout of hiccups), I was not feeling too optimistic about our family’s ability to be pet owners.

I still remember that December evening clearly. Katy, Bradi, and I were watching a Christmas cartoon, The Nuttiest Nutcracker, when Mom and Nana returned from a “shopping trip” not with arms full of bags, but a small, white puppy, a 4-month-old cockapoo (cocker-spaniel/poodle mix). I remember crying and not really knowing why; it was probably the emotions of all the animal loss manifesting as I saw one more animal coming into our home. Apparently, Mom and Nana had a choice between two puppies: one laying quietly in the corner, the other full of energy and life. They went with the spunky one. Mom had narrowed the name options down to “Tessie” or “Mindy.” It required no debate on our part – “Tessie” was clearly a dumb name.

The next morning, I woke up extra early and came downstairs to find Mom and the puppy on the kitchen floor. I was happy, but I was also apprehensive. Every morning when I came downstairs, I was worried that Mindy would have done something “naughty” and my parents would have decided to give her back. Mom must have picked up on this apprehension early on; I distinctly remember her assuring me that “we’re committed to this one.” It was that conversation that allowed me to fully open up and let Mindy into my heart, where she immediately took up permanent residence.

What is the “legacy” of a lost pet? What role do they play in our lives? What does it mean to always carry her “in my heart?” I’ve been reflecting on these questions. Mindy became a constant, a reliable presence that I will always associate with the second decade of my life. When I think about that era of my life, trying to fit in in Middle School, trying to survive the homework load in High School, coming home for visits during the College years, Mindy will be in that picture. Not always important, but always present.

Mindy became the sixth member of our family. Rabbits, guinea pigs, dwarf hamsters and newts would come and go, but only Mindy would appear in the annual Christmas photo, only Mindy would be waiting at the door to greet our guests, only Mindy would go outside and play with the neighbors (and their dogs).

One of my favorite memories is the first time we decided to take Mindy with us on one of our long family vacations. Mindy was a champ as we drove from Racine to Murchison, Texas, and spent a week on my grandparents’ farm. I remember walking her along the long driveway and taking her to meet the cows. I was excited when we got to the point where I felt comfortable taking her leash off and letting her roam around the cow pastures, trusting that she would come when I called and return safely to the house with us.

During the college years, my family started to move. From Racine, to Cary, Lombard, Naperville (three suburbs of Chicago) and eventually to McKinney, Texas; at times it felt like each trip “home” was to a different house. However, Mindy remained a constant, always waiting at the door to greet me, showing excitement. I like to think that she remembered me personally, but I also think she showed similar enthusiasm for anyone who walked through our door.

I also began to notice signs of aging, though. Mindy exhibited puppy-like enthusiasm for the first ten years of her life, but eventually she started to slow down. Her vision and her hearing diminished, she was affected by allergies (maybe she had some Pirtle DNA after all!), and walks took more time and covered less distance.

I lived with my parents in McKinney for the first few months of this year. This turned out to be a really good time to be home for many reasons, not the least of which was Mindy. Having only spent a week or two at a time with our family dog for the last six years, I was lucky to be able to reconnect with her in her last few months. She was an old dog – old and tired. It was an effort to get up the stairs, but she would follow me up every time I went. Through bloody noses and seizures, it was clear to me that these would be my last months with her. And I feel so lucky to have gotten to have that time. Despite her age and weariness, the spunk was still there. Mindy continued to do what she always did best – provide companionship, bring joy in moments of happiness, and bring peace in moments of stress.

I miss Mindy dearly, as does my whole family. My parents sprinkled her ashes over a beautiful flowerbed in the backyard, a fitting tribute to a dog that made our lives a little more beautiful.

Sara and I are adopting a new pet of our own this week. A rabbit will be joining us in Muncie, and it will not take long for him to wiggle his way into my heart, alongside Rainy, Marie, Sassy, Mindy, and the other animals that have come into and out of my life. These animals bring me joy, and I hope that I have done the same for them. The mental image of that furry, white cockapoo will always bring a smile to my face. The thought of Mindy will remind me of her friendship, her loyalty, her love of life. Some people may not understand and that is okay. Mindy will always be a part of me, the life I led, and the life I now lead. For that, I am immeasurably grateful.