A Tribute
Trevor Triever is my true love. He lived and
he died a free spirit. I belonged to him, he did not belong to me. He had
a "dog's life." He lived on his terms and got away with it. When
he wanted to go play on the beach, he'd bark and throw a tantrum until
I let him loose. I would chuckle every day as I watched him high tail it
with all the speed he could muster to jet propel himself to the beach to
play fetch with whomever would cooperate. And if there was not enough participation,
he would bark until a log was thrown. If that did not work, he'd steal
your shoes or eat your nerf ball or take a bite out of your sandwich to
get your attention. It was all about fetching. That's all he wanted to
do. I never quite knew when I walked on the beach to retrieve my bad butt
boy what kind of reception I was going to get. Usually it was comments
about how great a dog he was and how much fun he was. But then of course
there were a few snarls and snickers here and there. I had to enlist aid
to capture him after his daily jaunts on the beach this summer. I had a
regular brigade of beach folks who would help corner him so I could walk
him home. I am grateful that I relaxed the rules this summer and let him
play at the beach for hours on end. It was just too hot and he just loved
the kids and the beach so much. Not to mention his tantrums drove me nuts
when I was trying to stay on the phone and conduct business. Most people
would laugh at all the ruckus because they had seen the dogs in my ad and
they enjoyed encountering the real deal. He was King of the Beach and how
dare another dog enter it while he was up on the porch with Mom. I got
the opportunity to purchase a nerf ball this summer when a bedraggled,
forlorn young lady walked up to my house and presented me with what remained
of her nerf ball after Trevor completed chomping on it.
Trevor died after the fireworks started. He
was playing on the beach and doing what he loved best ...fetching logs...for
the hour before he died. I also gave him some of the barbecue that Joann
and David had brought me. He took off running when the noise started. When
I found him he was dead near Tidewater Treasures. I carried him back all
sopping wet and buried him in one of my favorite Holly Hobby Sheets that
my Dad had given me as a kid. I buried him with a stick. I had ordered
fifty daylilies to be delivered the day after he died. I thought about
canceling the order but decided that I wouldn't be good for anything else
anyway. So I planted fifty daylilies over the next two days. It looks really
pretty along the porch where he is buried. Suzanne encouraged me to go
get one of the puppies at Allison's the next day. I couldn't stop sobbing.
He was a bad butt. He was high spirited. He was a tease. But I loved him
to the bottom of my heart. I cried the whole way to Allison's. We had just
done a puppy photo shoot for my ads a couple of weeks before so I knew
Allison had a litter related to Trevor. It was a choice of getting a pup
related to Trevor right then, and getting pick of the male litter, or waiting
one year to get a pup related to my boy.
Trapper Triever is Trevor's nephew. He is a
gentle spirit. He is very calm and very loving. He has a very beautiful
face and is very docile. I'm used to a wild one. I go into a cold terror
every time he is not in my sight. Then I look down by my feet and see him.
He's so small and so close that I don't always notice him at first glance.
I think he'll be a Mama's Boy. I've never had that. I've had very independent
boys. This one is a blonder color and more of a couch potato. I start to
walk him for a romp on the beach and he wants to turn around and return
to my air conditioned launch pad/work station. He likes the new rawhide
bone Chris brought him. He didn't understand the fuss with the flowers
from Accubanc and Chris and Kristine(Max and Louise). He got in his paws
in locomotion and dog paddled for the first time today. He does not understand
fetch yet but he is persistent enough to drag my purse from one side of
the desk to the other. He has both Rattan's favorite toy, Froggy, and Trevor's
favorite toy, the Snoopy Sneaker, in his own junk pile at my feet. He seems
to be giving equal time to both toys now. I believe Max knows what happened
to Trevor. I think Max pooped lovingly on his grave that first night. Max
was so tentative when he saw me the next day and so cautious with Trapper.
Max was a best buddy to Trevor....as much as could be possible for one
as headstrong and independent and high spirited as the Triever. They loved
to tussle and toss and play fight on the floor while I was working. Trevor
had toned down just a little toward the end. He would let me scratch his
chin and love him a little. I took the Fourth of July Weekend off. I am
so glad. I spent the whole weekend hanging out with just him. One afternoon
I fell asleep with him in my arms. We were listening to Kenny G on my new
CD player. It was so peaceful. The last summer of his life was wonderful...and
so was the last weekend and so was the last hour. I would often look at
him and think of Beauty and the Beast. I knew that if he was the beast
he would come back beautiful because I loved him each and every day in
each and every way.
It's been enough days now that I'm not crying
every moment. Rattan saw my tears;Trevor saw my laughter. How could you
not laugh at his antics? He stole shoes, ate toilet paper rolls, chomped
on nerf balls, chased logs, and collected junk piles. He was a big tease.
He woke me up at 7:11 each morning with a loud "ruff." If I didn't
get up quickly enough, he's steal my newspaper and run around the room
with it. Then when I went downstairs, he'd pretend like he didn't want
to go out anymore and make me chase him until I caught him and dragged
him out with his back on the floor and his paws up straight in the air
and using all the energy I could muster. He lived on his terms. If he wanted
in or wanted out...either way was nonnegotiable. It was up to me to comply
or he'd make me miserable until I did. Major perseverance. He got stuck
a few times on his rope in the yard around some bushes. He still loved
me when I got home and found him dripping wet from the rain. He dug a few
holes that I refuse to fill. Instead, I'm planting some special plants
to remember him and his gullies. He used to eat my flowers and run off
with my rag dolls. He was a goof ball in high gear.
It's Trapper's turn now. He does the same antics
plus some new ones. He gets inside the water bowl and splish splashes around.
Then he stomps around and makes a mess everywhere. He also tugs at my dresses
and at the shower curtain. He chews on my telephone and computer wires
at my work station. Trevor cried the blues in the morning as a pup until
I got him. He was breaking me in and getting me under control. He never
did get the concept of "come here." To him, that meant take off
and run in the other direction... "Whoops, Mom is nearby. " Trapper
learned his name and responds already. He was not too fond of the choker
and the sit and the heel command. But this one is learning at seven weeks
or so while I'm stronger than he is. Trevor would make me bodily drag him
to get him to do what I wanted. I could not be one of those Mom's who would
say," Oh no, not my boy." You could bet your boots, if there
was mischief, Trevor was in it. He made it in the local paper with his
buddy Max all on his own. Of course, I bought as many copies as I could.
And he got an attitude and spent the night at Kristine's/Max's house one
weekend while they were on vacation. I was sobbing by the time I found
him. I swore I'd never let him out of my sight again.
But a free spirit is a free spirit. He lived
and he died on his terms. He will be forever young. It's odd, but I was
sixth sensy about it. I had picked out the name for my next dog when I
got him. The morning of the day he died I had panicked wondering where
my favorite pictures of him were...I wanted them in case something ever
happened to him. I had pasted a picture of him as a pup that my Mom had
found at Gom's house in my daytimer by the day he died. And a picture of
the creek where he died on the next page. And one of my favorite sayings..."You're
just about as happy as you make up your mind you're going to be" on
the week after he died. I had always sensed he would not live til old age.
He will be forever young in my mind and in my heart. He lived life to the
fullest and he knew he was loved. He was well cared for and got whatever
he wanted. I gave him all the quality time I could afford. We went on the
boardwalk every day around one or two for an hour or so. He would bark
at me until I took him for his break. I'd throw logs for as long as I could
handle it. His spirit is on the boardwalk. I feel him when I go there.
That's the last place I saw him...he was on the rocks playing with Carmen
and Eric and Adam. And he hid under their blanket when the noise started.
And he cuddled up to some other folks all soppy wet further down the beach.
I wish I had known how scared he was. In his right mind he would have never
left the beach and all those stick throwers and kids and shoes and nerf
balls to go thru the woods and get on a highway. His priority was to be
in the bay and to be with people.. particularly little people...even if
they could only throw the stick a foot or two. It was fine, he'd chase
it anyway. Trevor got mad when I put him on a leash after he played logs.
He would get vicious all of a sudden with other dogs nearby . It took all
of my strength to restrain him. I guess he needed to be in control...or
he was mad that they were loose and he was not.
When I think of Trevor I want to laugh and not
cry. I want to laugh about his junk pile and his logs and his tantrums
and his tennis balls and his newspaper and magazines and toilet bowl brush
and pillows and socks he'd chew. I want to think of the shoes he stole
off the beach and the crab buoy he brought home. I even got a letter from
the town about my Juvenile Delinquent...and a request that he cease and
desist from stealing shoes off the beach. I want to remember all the toilet
paper rolls I had to buy and the floors that looked like I had an indoor
sandbox. I want to remember the broken foot from the time we played frisbee
and he won. I want to remember his horseshoe crab and his dead fish smell
accompanied by this look of complete innocence. I want to remember the
way he'd howl to the moon when he heard a siren...and the way Dorothy would
mimic him. I want to remember the holes he dug to China....Trapper tried
to dig up my daylilies but he does not quite have the paw power yet...I
want to remember what a tease he was and what a bad butt he could be. But
mostly I want to remember how much I loved him. For the first time, I know
where he is all the time. He's in my heart and outside my kitchen window.
Trevor taught me to laugh again. Trevor taught
me to enjoy being happy in the moment. He taught me that it's the small
things that make me happy...just being with him and throwing sticks in
the Bay on a sunny day. Trevor taught me I could love another pup again.
Trevor taught me to love unconditionally. Trevor taught me a lot. When
I walk on the beach in the morning, I throw each and every log in the Bay
for him. He is with me always...he is a part of me.
I thought about not getting another dog. It
is to much loss to deal with. Rattan has only been gone three years. But
like Judy said, how could the Golden Girl be without a Golden? Besides,
Suzanne encouraged me. And people like David who came to help bury him
or Kristine who came to hug me in the middle of the night will always be
there. I have to stop crying. And I want a piece of Trevor with me. So
now I have Trapper Tales. I have selected the pictures to display of Trevor
by my desk. And I printed the photos of my boy on the porch from my digital
camera. I have saved his collar and some fur. And I visit his grave and
talk to him. And I'm making a photo album and writing his memorial.
Trapper is at my side now. I took him to Mark
and Kristin's today to play with Jordan, Luke, and Austin. I could not
bear the thought of him being alone all day. I hope he'll be a chip off
the old block. He has a purple collar instead of a blue. Rattan had gold
and tan collars. I begged Rattan to look after Trevor Triever. I know he
is. They are playing sticks up in heaven and it better be with a little
boy because I would be jealous if it was a little girl. I know what that
means. Rattan's with a little boy fishing and Trevor's with a little girl
to tease and torment me. I love you Trevor Triever and Rattan. You are
my best boys. I love you, too, Trapper. You have some big paws to fill.
Cheryl Ritchie