Today’s Radio Tribute, Rest in Peace Dixie Belle

Rest in Peace Dixie Belle

Today’s Radio Tribute

You came to me at Christmas, a little brown ball of fur wearing a solid red collar.

You were a gift from my son. I remember sleeping with you on your pallet those first few nights while you whined for your mother. It didn’t take you long to decide that I would do. And just like that your nervous energy morphed into pure energy faster than anyone could say, “Lord have mercy, bar the door.”

The perpetual motion wrecked havoc on your sensitive little tummy. You ate like we were going to take it away and threw it up just as quickly. Doc Fisher said you would outgrow it. You did.

You soon fell head over heels in love… with a tennis ball. We went through can after can with you wearing out my throwing arm until I got smart enough to use a tennis racket in our fetch sessions, the better to satisfy your endlessly renewable fixation.

Over time you became my loyal early morning prayer partner, although, in the early years, you would pelt me with that tennis ball to wrap it up sooner rather than later. As the years ticked by you became more and more satisfied to just be with me until my “amen” signaled it was time to play.

You chased your beloved tennis ball long after your hips began to fail. And then one day, you brought your ball back to my feet, made three perfect circles and laid yourself down in the shade. For the first time ever, you had called it quits before I could. Remember how I used to tell you that you weren’t the boss of me? We both knew it wasn’t true.

I’ve been trying to prepare myself ever since, apparently to no avail.

When you began to lose your infamous appetite for treats I knew it was near.  Nearer still when what you did eat, wouldn’t stay down.

We had come full circle.

For a dozen plus years you’ve been my self-appointed, dedicated to the point of neurosis bodyguard. Phil has said more than once that you would’ve fought a bear for me. He’s a wise one, Dixie. His heart hurts today, just like mine. We helped you leave together and we cried together. He never once tried to hide his tears.

You weren’t the first dog I’ve ever known, of course, but you are the first to ever so fully know me. It was your mission. You accepted it and studied me like a book. My habits became yours.

My dearest Dixie, before you pets weren’t friends, I couldn’t speak canine, and I had only met yard dogs. You changed all of that forever.

Thank you for your lifetime of unconditional love.

You came at Christmas, you left at Christmas, but in the years between you taught me more than I could ever teach you.

Rest in peace, Dixie Belle. You are loved. Mercy Christmas.

12/13/15 ~Shellie Rushing Tomlinson

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