23 Jun 2015 The pleasant presence of her company
by Vivian Lawson Hogue
Of all the dogs in my life, there is one in my memory that is still lying on a certain rug, sitting beside one of us on a couch or looking up at us with soft, loving eyes with long lashes. If someone had wanted a dog with little grooming needs and no hair-shedding, she would not have been their choice.
Her AKC papers with her lengthy name was impressive, but she had been named Cassie for short, and Cassie she remained. She was a Shetland Sheepdog, a breed that some people mistakenly call a miniature collie. Casually, they are called Shelties.
We had friends who had purchased a Sheltie in another town, and we decided to visit the breeder. We were met at the door by nine, barking Shelties and a Hungarian Kuvasz (Koo-vahs), a large white dog that was very tall, 100 pounds and a cousin to the Great Pyrenees.
The Shelties of all ages were bouncing and barking. The breeder brought treats for them and the crowd chowed down. All but one. She didn’t want a treat. She didn’t want to bark anymore or be with the crowd. The breeder said we might not be interested in her because she was shy and didn’t like men.
Cassie was shy, but while the other dogs reveled in their treats, she jumped up on the couch and laid down beside my husband in her Sphinx pose. To the astonishment of the breeder, she stayed there the rest of the visit. The dog who didn’t like men. The dog who was to be company for me, yet her favorite parent was my husband. We drove away with a new dog in my lap, but I knew the driver was her favorite. Once home, she acted as if she had lived with us always.
It was pointed out that Cassie had been bred to be a show dog but had faults of conformation so she didn’t have medals, ribbons or trophies as her parents did. She did have prized tipped ears, though, and never forgot her obedience lessons. She was a barker, but only at the doorbell, quite certainly from the influence of her former home. If she was in the back of our house, she would sprint to the front door barking like she’d like to tear a leg off someone. The wood floors sometimes got her to the door a little quicker than she planned.
As many dogs are with their families, Cassie was in tune with my emotions. If I cried over a movie, she would come to my side, look at me, wag her tail and lean against my chair. It was enough to forgive her for the little tumbleweed puffs of soft Sheltie hair that would float down the hall or slither under chairs.
Grooming was a frequent activity and cost, but she rarely tried to escape a bath and her groomers remarked about how still she stood while they worked — maybe part of good dog show training, maybe just a good dog.
When Cassie came to live with us, she liked to sleep at the foot of the bed. As she aged she became unable to make the jump up or down.
However, she began to come to my side every night and get a head or face rub before retiring on the rug. Eventually, her veterinarian visits became more frequent and finally she was quite ill. One Christmas Eve we had no choice but to take her to the clinic as she was beyond our pitiful efforts. The doctor informed us of our choices, and we opted to say goodbye. Some will say I have a healthy imagination, but I could swear that sometimes I feel her jump up on the foot of the bed.
Robert Louis Stevenson wrote, “You think dogs will not be in heaven? I tell you, they will be there long before any of us.”
So I imagine that when the pearly gates opened for her, Cassie pranced in, unhindered by a leash, slick floors and especially “faulty conformations.” But as for us, our hearts still hurt.
A native of Conway, Vivian Lawson Hogue graduated from the University of Central Arkansas with a degree in art education. A retired teacher, she worked in the Conway School District for 23 years. She is editor of the Faulkner County Historical Society’s semi-annual publication, “Faulkner Facts and Fiddlings.” She can be reached at [email protected].
