The braw lad owned me and my son, Boyd, from the day he came into our lives as an eight weeks old wee white lump o' stoor...otherwise known as a West Highland Terrier.  The typical Scot, he was hardy, stoic, dour...with a rare sense of humour.  "Whisk", as he was known...and well so as he'd bound and run from room to room, up on the couches, over to the chairs, down to the floor until he would collapse with his chewey or sheepy baby (sheepskin dolly) for a brief power nap...seldom wasted a minute of his or anyone else's day. 

 

I was his Mama but Boyd...aaah, Boyd was his buddy.  I got his love and respect but he would have given Boyd his life.  "Whiskey" made it his job to listen for the sounds of Boyd's car...always in the hope he'd be off for a ride...and he'd seem to hear the rumble of the big American car from six miles away, I'm sure.  Cars...and Boyd...were his passions and the bigger the better when they allowed him to scramble up on the back windows to play rear-end monitor.   Occasionally, on his last walk of the night,  he would accompany Boyd and a friend to the "local", sitting up at the bar table between them (and no doubt frightening the lives out of those who'd had a wee dram too many).   Pretending I wasn't home was pointless with "Whisk"...he could never let a ringing telephone go unanswered, running helter-skelter, barking, seeking me out until I hurried to pick it up.  And, somehow, he knew he was the most photogenic of dogs for he only had to see a camera and there he was...posing, posturing, finding his "best angle".

 

The winter was his milieu, though, and his joy knew no bounds when his lightning paws tore through anything covered with snow.  Romping and cavorting, collecting little ice-balls on his furry legs only stopping at the word FOOD.  If cars were his passion, food was his bliss.  Some dogs have favourite tid-bits or snacks, a preferred brand of food, but not Whiskey.  Food was his favourite...anything edible from bacon and eggs to Pedigree Chum, trifle to chicken, braised heart and lamb to socks.  Socks?  Well, they were small socks and he didn't keep them down long.  But yoghurt...Aaah, yoghurt was his delight and he knew exactly where to find it.

 

Never one to let me get too comfortable of an evening...chasing tennis balls or playing tug-o'-war were two of his happiest pastimes, not to mention means of keeping me from a quick snooze.  And he always had a knack for knowing just when one was imminent.  But then...when the evenings had quieted and play was over, he was my soft, steady companion.  A bad or hectic day was assured of improvement when I'd walk through the door to be met by my boy...tail wagging his entire body, kisses showering my hands and face as I'd bend to offer my own joy at seeing him.   No matter moments of joy or sorrow, my faithful friend was there by my feet, steadily gazing at me with his bold, black eyes shining in the promise of "It's okay, Mama...I'm here!"  And somehow it always was.  Having this warm little body to cuddle saw us through some tough times.

 

Recently, our beloved "Whiskey" developed a brain tumour with a possible metastisis on his forepaw.   All too rapidly he acquired the accompanying neurologic deficits, pain, loss of sight and there was no help for him.  To watch this plucky wee fellow deteriorate was unbearable...to lose him was unthinkable but, to watch him suffer would be unconscionable so, this we spared him, our much-loved friend, companion.

 

"Whiskey" enlivened our household and brightened our lives way beyond measure for his (almost) eleven years.  It never ceased to amaze me how a little four-legged fur ball could be so life-enhancing.  "Whisk's" eleven years were far too short but his memory and spirit live on in our hearts.  

 

"Perhaps, if we could see the splend our of the land

To which our loved are called from you and me

we'd understand

Perhaps if we could hear the welcome they receive,

From old familiar voices, all so dear...we would not grieve

Perhaps if we could know the reason why they went

We'd smile and wipe away the tears that flow...and wait content.

 

Mama and Boyd