DOGS OF OUR LIVES – TUSK THE TERRIBLE

How can you possibly hold out when your son and the neighbors and your friends are all telling you that your dog, Fang, is getting old, that this is probably the only chance to ever have one of his children, that you simply cannot pass up the opportunity to add this small black dog to your family. So, we did.

She was AJ’s dog and he got to name her. He (maybe we) wanted something that would tie into Fang and came up with Tusk. She was a cute and very friendly little puppy, and she never met anyone she didn’t like or want to give kisses. It was our hope she would take after her father rather than her mother, the ugliest dog in the world (okay, neighborhood). And, by ugliest dog, I mean the mother was mottled black and white and always looked greasy and as though she had mange.

Tusk grew to adulthood and, unfortunately, took after her mother. Not only was she greasy, lacking fur in various places at various times, but she smelled bad. We took her to the vet numerous times, tried all kinds of flea treatments and spent who knows how much money in trying to relieve Tusk of whatever problem she had but to no avail.

Since Tusk was AJ’s dog, I asked him for memories he’d like to share and the following has been adapted from his email:

I remember first seeing and holding her where she was born. Her owner and I noted all the markings on her coat were just like Fang’s so he had to be her dad. I still remember the dinner where Ma and Pa informed me that, yes, it would be okay for me to go get her after dinner as long as I fulfilled my duties in caring for a puppy. I couldn’t eat fast enough so I could bring her home and the best part was that she was a kisser.

Tusk went everywhere with me even before I drove. If I rode my bike to 7-11 or the playground to shoot hoops, I would stick the basketball between the bike frame, pick her up and off we’d go. Of course riding a bike with one hand and holding a dog in the other while barreling down 35^th or 37^th seems batshit crazy now, but like all dogs, Tusk loved the wind in her face. On the way home, we’d walk and she would scout ahead doing what dogs do.

When we’d go camping, huckleberry or blackberry picking, Tusk always went along. Usually, she would rush off to scout the area for 20 or 30 minutes and then return to find me wherever I was. Most of the time, I had to pick seeds and brush she always accumulated on these excursions out of her coat.

My favorite memory of Tusk relates to her spot on my bed. It was hers and it was right next to me. Whenever a girlfriend came over and wanted to sit down, lay down or hang out in my room, Tusk would give a low growl…her way of letting the girl know she didn’t consider her good enough for me. The only girl she never gave the growl to was Angie and looking back now as I write this, it was Tusk’s way of showing she approved of Angie.

When I began to drive, I wasn’t home a lot, but whenever I could, I would take her with me. One of my favorite times was on my paper route. She loved going with me and would hang out the window or, if we were delivering to a cul-d-sac, I’d let her out at the entrance and then wait for her to catch up when I returned.

And when it snowed, I think she enjoyed it more than I did. Sledding down the big hill sometimes she’d hop aboard and flirt with danger as we bombed down the slope or she’d chase and slide all on her own.

As Mom wrote earlier, Tusk always had a hygiene problem. The various vet remedies and bathing and combing her once a week helped, but she was still greasy and smelly. Once I went to work, I heard about a vet up north who specialized and so I took Tusk to him. It was one of two things; one was really serious and one not so much. It turned out she had a bad thyroid for which she could take medication.

Once Tusk had been on the medication for a while, her fur grew in all over and it was silky and soft and curly…she became a beautiful girl and smelled good. She also began to act more like a puppy than the older dog she was. Tusk was with me from age nine through age 24; and, smelly and mangy looking or soft and beautiful I loved my girl.

When AJ moved out, Tusk went with him and we, our neighbors and friends missed this friendly little bundle of fur that was always happy to see you no matter what. No wonder then that when the time came for Tusk to join Fang under the apple tree, that she had quite a sendoff.

AJ came and dug a hole under the apple tree. The day of the sad event was a snow day and when word got out that Tusk was taking her final trip to the vet, all the neighborhood kids came to the door wanting to say farewell and get a final kiss. Even some of their parents came knocking and stayed for a while to pet her and tell their favorite Tusk stories. Uncle Al (She was always his favorite and he'd send her post cards from around the world.) drove through the snow all the way from Green Lake to hold her and get some final pets and kisses.

To this day, I don’t know how or who came up with “Tusk the Terrible.” She was never terrible at all, especially once her hygiene problem was solved. The following fall, we had Tusk apples and with each bite of pie that winter, we remembered both Tusk and her dad, Fang. Actually, since we're still here as is the apple tree, we've never forgotten either Tusk the Terrible or Fang the Wonder Dog.