Indiana Jones

I have had four dogs and two cats over the past three decades, and no one of them is more my favorite than the other, except in that I had to sacrifice more for my little Indiana Jones than for any of the others. Little Indy was a Chihuahua-terrier mix who was so thin one day we couldn’t find him because he was shut between the storm door and the door to our home. I rescued him at a local shelter, and he had been in and out of several shelters. I never got him over peeing in the house even though he marked every tree and post outside, too. Mind you, I never, ever caught him. And I never figured out how to help him get over his terror of most other humans, airplanes, geese, and anything or anyone on wheels. Yet he was oh-so-close to me, and to my partner and my elderly aunt. He was gentle, snuggly, and dear, and he was very, very funny. His favorite thing was to sing at me as a way of asking to do something, and sometimes he meant he wanted to stretch out on his side and have me spin him around and around in circles. He preferred to be offered two treats at once so he could choose between them. He died this Christmas night after a year with coronary valve disease. Yet he will live forever in my heart.