Dickens (1996-2011)

After 13 great years together, we lost our faithful companion, Dickens, last week . Our great friend Dave Strickland surprised us with his introspective Eulogy for Dickens (see below) - this only emphasizes the impact this furry little bear had on us all. He was the sweetest, gentlest soul we have ever encountered and he will be sorely missed.

Our Mutual Friend

As I sat this morning, with my freshly arisen youngest daughter at an hour far too early for somber news, I received word of Dickens’ passing. Though he had lived a long and full life, this news still managed to open up deep feelings of loss even across the continent. A decade ago, I would have considered this odd. You see, the world is populated with two types of people: dog people and cat people. In my life experience, I had always considered myself a member of the former camp. But Dickens would have none of that.

Dickens arrived in the Holt/Zimmer household as a handsome and complicated new member of the family. It was through my lengthy association with Dickens that I realized the distinct traits I had long associated with dogs, my dogs, were perhaps not as well defined as I had assumed. Cats seemed to have more depth in expressing their emotions, while dogs were more static in their expressions. It was disheartening that happiness, fear, sadness and constipation were all characterized by the same expression among dogs. Dickens seemed to wield a colorful palette of moods and could emote on a level that approached human capacity. My time with Dickens was somewhat frustrating because I never had any desire to feel affection for cats and because I hate it when the baseless opinions that I hold strongly are proven wrong. It is especially disappointing when a cat serves in the role of destroyer of my illusions.

Dickens water torture

When I think of Dickens, I remember the process involved in assisting him in hydration. Dickens took some of the genetic hallmarks that characterized the Himalayan breed to the extreme. The fur around his bunched up eyes, nose and mouth did not simply frame his face, it created a concave helmet of hair that shot forward from his head, almost making seem as if he was being thrust backward at top speed. This also meant that when he dipped his head to sip from a bowl of water, the tips of that fur could be submerged even before his mouth and tongue could reach his goal. Thus, simply drinking from a bowl took on the appearance of bobbing for apples, the complete submergence of his face a requirement to appease his thirst. Ever the attendant parents, Terry and Brenna figured out a solution to this challenge. They purchased a “fountain” style bowl that featured a weak jet of water that rose in an arc allowing Dickens to drink. Failing that, because Dickens was nothing if not fickle, one could simply fill a syringe with water and shoot it out at a downward angle over the sink with the cat perched on the edge of the porcelain. When it was my responsibility to care for Dickens, and Edie, when the Holt/Zimmers left home, I accepted my daily tasks with equal parts incredulity and amusement. When I teased my friends relentlessly about the high maintenance nature of their pet, my jests were met cold stares suggesting that my ability to even execute the tasks assigned to me were being called into serious question – and that a replacement may need to be sought. Over the years, I learned the right way to empty the syringe in pursuit of the desired result; I saw the necessity in mounding his food in pyramid fashion; and, though I lamented the “duty”, I accepting the responsibility of grooming the feline in the absence of his parents, which often included extensive work in the field of fur and fecal maintenance.

For Terry and Brenna

When a long standing member of the family is lost, it is felt in many ways. For you both, the era of Dickens marks a period of your life that was extraordinary. All of your journeys featured Dickie riding shotgun: a constant and indelible presence throughout the rocky but beautiful waters of life. Like the most devoted parents, you both were able to see only the best in your boy. When I felt that the unique brand of Dickens chaos woulc create circumstances would result in exasperation or anger as an appropriate response, I more often saw your heads cocked to one side, a tsk-tsk-ing “oh Dickie” being elicited instead. In his years with us, you always gave him what he needed. When Dickens required a tissue to clear his watering eyes, you applied it. When he was lonely, you found him a new sister. When he needed someone to scratch his itch, you were, now and forever, his bitch.

Full of the Dickens

For me, I accept that my predisposition towards the canine species will always be more of an open question than it has been in the past – though it will never completely shift, as I consider this akin to a gender change in mid-life, possible but unlikely.

As Mae sits, bouncing on my knee, I remember an oft-used expression of those that grew up in a different era, in the Midwest – full of the dickens. Actually intended to describe one as being full of the devil, I think that we have established a new meaning that is ultimately far less sinister. May your days and thoughts always be filled with Dickens.