Punter (V1:2)

Punter (V1:2)

Punter was the light of my life.  No matter what else follows here, the big takeaway is simply that.  At the time I am writing this, it is still very raw.  It has only been two weeks since we lost her; two very long, sad weeks.  I wanted to take a little time before I sat down to try to memorialize her, but I also wanted to be sure I did it before she has been gone too long.  Too long.  What does that even mean? Too long was the moment her little light went out.  It was at that same moment that the light of my life went dark forever.

Punter was our dog.  Okay, technically, she belonged to Fred. A few months into our relationship, he informed me that he intended to get a dog.  Not just any dog; he had his pick of the litter of chihuahuas bred by his step-sister.  I was initially resistant, even telling him that I was not interested, and would not want to have a dog in the house.  Fred was resolved and told me that it was not negotiable.  I thought almost nothing of it for a few weeks, until the day Fred said we could go to visit the new puppies. It was time to make our choice.

It took less than a millisecond before my heart was captured by the tiniest little puppy I have ever seen.  A pale tawny colored ball of fur with big ears and wide open eyes looked at me, and I melted.  When I picked her up, she barely filled my hand.  Her tiny head was no bigger than a walnut.  Both Fred and I goo- gooed and gaga-ed for an hour before we had to leave the tiny little thing with her mama for another couple of weeks.

When she was finally able to come home, Jordan and his girlfriend were there to welcome our little baby home for the first time.  Fred had a clever name all picked out.  We would call her Punter, “ because she was so small you could punt ‘er!” It was Jordan’s girlfriend Maile who asked with incredulity at her tiny size “Oh my gosh, she’s so small… can she even think?”  We laughed every time we told that story for years.

I could not help myself.  I cuddled and kissed and cooed over that dog indiscriminately.  I was maybe even a little selfish with my long hours of holding her close to my face, smelling her little puppy breath, and falling more and more in love.  Poor Fred sat wanting just as much time with his own dog, but I could not give her up.  From the first night she came home she slept in my arms.  It took almost no time for Punter to imprint her affection on me.  She staked her claim, and though she was owned by Fred, she was unmistakably the owner of me.

Punter did not utter a sound for so long that I wondered if she had the ability to bark at all.  Despite not being vocal, she was more than communicative.  She instantly established body language cues that she used for her entire fifteen years.  A raised paw was an ask.  A snort was her displeasure.  Her happiness was the most adorable series of jumps and trots and spins and wags the world has ever seen.  She looked like popcorn, with her machine gun speed bouncing and turning,  little paws moving like hummingbird wings in her uncontainable delight.  She developed her language in many gestures and sounds, even after she learned to use the piercing voice that came out of her.  It was almost unbelievable how loud a sound would erupt from such a tiny creature.

Punter stayed small.  Saying this is an understatement. Punter was the smallest dog just about anyone who ever saw her ever saw.  Never more than three pounds, she could fit easily into a hoodie pocket, or just inside my fleece-lined corduroy jacket.  That jacket was just about the same color as she was, and when I carried her in it, her little head poked out, making her look like  a baby kangaroo in a pouch.  For most of the first few years of her life, she went absolutely everywhere with us.  Most of the time, no one even knew we had her.  Only once can I recall being told we could not have her where we were.

Punter loved to be under blankets, in the laundry, inside a pillowcase, or under a jacket on the chair.  We always had to be aware that she might be tucked away in any of those places.  She knew the meaning of “Do you want UNDER?”  To Punter, that meant security.  That was different than her two very favorite questions.  She loved bedtime.  She had an incredibly accurate internal clock, and she would often stand anxiously at the bedroom door when the usual hour came along.  That would always predicate the question “Do you wanna go to BED?”  I said it loudly every night, and it just cracked Fred up every time.  I would pick her up, drop her on the bed and crawl in.  After she trotted around and nestled under the blankets, we began our nightly routine. She would always settle just outside my reach, waiting for one last invitation.  Once I settled myself into my own comfy spot, I would say in my baby puppy talk voice “You seep widda Papa?”  ( That translates to “Do you want to sleep with the Papa?”)  Then, and only then, Punter would snuggle herself into what had become our night-night position.  Her little face next to mine, with her little heart beating as close to mine as it could get;  that was the way we slept every night for fifteen years.  She would snuggle and grunt, pushing as close to me as she could be.  I would press my lips to the top of her head, between her enormous ears, and begin the recitation of what I call The Litany of Punter’s Nicknames.

“Punter.  Bip-bip. Ping Pong.  Lumpy Head. Pinka. Billa.  Pompilla.  Puntita. Freckle Neck.  Snakes.  Dat’s Ma Puppy.” (Insert five little kisses on her head )” Are you Good Girl? Mmm Hmm.”

She had to have that said.  She knew it in order.  I played with her, and if I omitted a name or said them out of order, she would give a little snort.  Disapproval.  She had to have it right.  She was as regimented and attached to her routine as her Papa.  I whispered it as she crossed the Rainbow Bridge fourteen days ago.  It was the last thing she heard, as she looked into my eyes forever.  

Walking her was always fun.  Fred and I used to gauge our likes or dislike of a person based on their reaction to our dog.  I often thought that Punter must think all people say “Awwwww” when they meet her.  I think she might have thought that is what people other than Fred or I called her.  Everyone commented on her size.  We developed a battery of quips to reply when people said things to us.  We used to hush people, saying “don’t tell her that, she doesn’t know.”  That turned into telling people not to talk about how small she was because she identified as a transgendered Great Dane.  That was always good for a laugh.  So was one of Freddie’s favorite quips, “Your dog poops bigger than my dog IS.”  He was not wrong.

Punter was smaller than most housecats.  She was not a lot bigger than most squirrels.  I was always concerned about her being picked up by a bird of prey.  But Punter knew her space, understood her environment, and somehow managed to keep herself from being stepped on, sat on, or accidentally kicked.  She had a strange sensibility about other dogs and was never bothered by cats.  Some dogs she liked, others she was very aggro toward.  She was a particularly good judge of character. 

Punter could not be spayed.  She was so small the vet was concerned about her response to the anesthesia.  She had heats all her life long, but we never bred her.  We had been advised that she was likely too small to carry a litter or care for it afterward. As she aged, she developed tumors that we were told would likely have been prevented if she had been spayed.  I was desperately worried about her being sick with the tumors.  The vet said surgery was again not something they would recommend because of her size, but we were assured that as long as she continued to play, eat, and poop normally that she would be fine.  When such a time came that she was not doing these things the same, we would have to discuss the plan moving forward.  That time never really came. 

Punter had a brother.  He was from the same parents but a later litter. Taco originally lived with Fred’s sister, but after a few years came to live with us.  Taco was much larger than Punter.  He became Freddie’s dog, and I remained Punter’s pet.  Taco was another light in our lives, but we lost him a couple of years ago.  A few months later came Pinto, who we also call Franny.

Franny and Punter did well for over a year, but as Punter got older, she became a little less tolerant of the very young and very energetic Pinto.  In her last few weeks, she would not abide Franny being on the couch at the same time she was.  She barked and nipped, and intimidated young Franny for a long time.  In the back of my mind, I began to worry that Punter was not feeling well, making her more irritable with the other dog.   Soon, Franny started to respond, and we had to separate them a couple of times.  It worried me,  as I imagined things happening when we were not on hand to intervene.  Two weeks ago, they tussled on the couch in the early morning.  Both Fred and I were right there and instantly tried to stop their fight.  Even before I had them apart I knew something bad had happened.

Punter was badly hurt.  She was in deep shock for a long time.  I was hysterical.  In my heart, I knew that taking her to a vet hospital would result in being advised to have her put down.  I refused to allow that to happen in a clinical setting.  We agonized over the decision of what to do.  We called a housecall vet, who helped us see that it was time to help Punter end her suffering from the tumors and the injury.  Fred and I surrounded her with love. Fred’s sister came to comfort us, and Punter.  The doctor was an angel of mercy.  

We said the most tearful goodbye of our whole lives.  It has taken me this entire two weeks to even talk about what happened in detail.  We are lost without Punter, but we have the joy of hundreds of pictures, dozens of videos,  and fifteen years of memories.  I still cling to her favorite blanket when I go to bed.  I whisper her Litany into it, and I try to find a hint of her scent in the cloth.  

Punter will never be forgotten.  She will always be the light of my life.  She may have been Fred’s dog from the beginning, but I was her dog for just as long.

This is for you, Punter.