When the rescue first called all those years ago to say they had pulled two Eskie girls from Auction, my friend there said, "They have had rough lives and are not as beautiful as your dogs all are but I thought you might maybe know someone..."
Of course we did; and Pearl and Opal came to join the White Dog Army.
She was wrong about one thing. Opal's beauty catches my breath at least eighteen times a day.
Because it is impossible for Roman to eat ice cream from a spoon he remains in his crate until after dessert has been shared. He measures every spoonful each of his sisters receive and calculates how much should remain in the bowl for him to enjoy.
Truth be told, momma always saves a touch "extra" as a reward for his patience. After the others have eaten and licked their spoonsful and wandered off, Roman comes over and sits politely waiting to be asked, "Would you care for some (flavor of the day) ice cream?" Tonight, it was mint but the answer is never "No Thank You."
On occasion, one or another of the others must be waved off with the reminder, "You have had yours, now leave Roman be." It took Diva no time at all to try the "sit off at a distance and look like the Margaret Keane big-eyed waif" model of begging; it sometimes works on dad but momma is too hard hearted for the pity thing to play well. Mis D sighs and trundles off looking for the more understanding dad...and Roman finishes his dessert in peace.
The White Dog Army has a synchronized internal clock that alerts the entire family when it is dinner time.
This is the Army at 6:48pm. Note the building tension and anticipation.
This is the WDA at 7:07pm; a full SEVEN minutes past serving time. Note the looks of disapproval and the onset of concern that they MAY NEVER EAT AGAIN!
She stomped in and sat sullenly at my feet. "How come Roman gets to always be Dad's kitchen helper?" Diva asked. "Dad is doing some crazy stuff and he won't let me in to help."
White Dog was the entry into a community of bloggers with dogs that was at first a satisfying place to share stories knowing that the others would understand and nod in that not sure whether to laugh or shake one's head kind of way.
Over time, years and years and years, we lived each other's ebb and flow, arrivals and departures. Suddenly White Dog was a wise elder in what had become a FAMILY of bloggers. The connections were beyond just all having dogs...it was smiles as children grew up...cheers when new members joined the pack...tears and hugs as life situations changed. We clung to each other through it all knowing to always trust our dogs. We sustained each other even as many drifted from the traditional blog to the new "social media" and we refound each other there.
The White Dog Army, I always laughed with Siku, has grown up under the gaze of the biggest family ever. And like distant aunts, uncles, cousins, individuals might not always be heard but could be always be felt.
We struggle a little more now that White Dog has gone but we cannot escape the paws and arms holding us up as we transition. It is little, and not so little moments, that water our garden of hope and the future.
Gus and Teka's mom made us smile with her well-crafted tribute ala Gilbert and Sullivan. The WDA spent time remembering that theater runs in our community from the summer of the pandemic's production of Hamlet to opera nights at home to Siku's Hollywood debut at Shakespeare in the Park.
And in the mail today, came these:
It humbles us to be cared for with such love and concern for our pain. So many of you regularly "stop by" with words of comfort and encouragement that it will get easier. We absolutely adore those of you who have been at our side long enough to quote our own motto back to us...
"time and love."
We cannot say thank you enough.
"We had an easy answer when momma asked, 'why do tortillas always come in such big packages? They do not keep well or freeze and even eight is way more than we need for dinner.'" Zsofia said.
"Ummm, momma? How about we ALL have fish tacos for dinner? Three you and dad need plus five...WOW! that is eight!...exactly what is in the pack."
"I was just minding my business being a good boy when the Little Squeaker gets a gleam in her eye. Oh-oh, I think to myself, this cannot be good. And I was right because she started trying to push my buttons.
"First, she comes under dad's legs to try to take away the attention he was giving me. I growled a little warning and she acted all 'I was doing nothing and that ferocious beast nearly killed me' and dad was starting to yell at me but momma stepped in."
"Diva, do NOT be an be instigator. Leave Roman alone and share dad's attentions," she said.
"Then I went over to rest on the other side of the coffee table and Miss D (for Demon) HAD to come and stretch her short little legs right by me. So I decided to go into the kitchen. Yep, she actually RAN to get there first. She never goes in the kitchen but there she was, right in the middle of the room crying for Dad like she had fallen into a well or something that kept her from just walking out.
"He made us BOTH get out of the kitchen and closed the gate so my littlest sister decided she just HAD to lie in the spot I always do; she even stuck her tongue out! Momma, told me to go up on the couch and warned Diva she was getting VERY close to going in time out."
"I went over to sit next to momma and give her kisses. She said she was proud that I used my head and my heart and kept calm. She told me I was a VERY good boy; she did not call Diva a good girl."
