Just Two Lips and Half a Brain

         Poor baby, I wish I could do something that would help you.

         I drew my beloved dog’s head into my lap, she lifted it enough to give my skirt a perfunctory lipping, I smiled through my tears; she was still driven by that strange inner urge.

         I waited for the vet to load his syringe, the one that would send her in a peaceful and painless final sleep. Gran, Aunt Jenny and Uncle Jimmy were standing around somber-faced. Uncle Jimmy had teeth clenched tight to prevent his lips trembling. I thought of the first time he had set eyes on her, on one of his visits. The meeting was not auspicious for a mutual regard …

         Uncle Jimmy made swift long strides into the hallway, he was always a man in a hurry to get places; I followed him.

         She looked up from the ruins of Uncle’s new umbrella, the resplendent yellow fabric was in tatters, a strip still being ripped into finer pieces by the unrepentant canine; the spokes were sticking out in a disarrayed display, like a wire sculpture by an upcoming artist.

         Uncle gave a bellow of rage and rushed towards the preoccupied canine; she took this as expression of intent to play and gamboled around his legs, worrying his ankles. Amused, but anxious for the well-being of my witless dog, I called her to me.

         “Tulips, here girl, come here.”

         Giving a petulant but half-heated kick to her departing bottom, Uncle scowled at me.

         “What fool would name a pug Tulips?”

         I did not even attempt explanation, knowing the question was rhetorical; I gave a quick swipe to the slobber on his briefcase with my cardigan sleeve and sped the departing relative with a false smile.

         It was my grand-father who was responsible for her name, her mother belonging to a friend of his. She was not only the runt of the litter; she had a habit of rushing at things and latching on in a fierce attempt to swallow, her form of exploration. Not quite the endearing habit, she resembled nothing so much as a python cunningly disguised as a dog.

         When we were forced to admit that it was either us or the nearby pond, Granpa had brought her home, to survey her many digestive transgressions with a rueful acceptance.

         “She is just two lips and half a brain,” was his wry remark.

         Two-lips - to my mind, that image was unique; but the dog-tag was engraved with a slight 'correction' by the shop owner. 'Tulips' she was, everafter.

         We were inseparable, but I felt she should have come with a statutory warning - "Beware, chewing habits are injurious to health". The danger extended to my well-being, too. Our large farm gave her plenty of opportunity to explore in her own trademark way. She had once attempted to nibble the nest of a broody hen. Pecks on her nose deterred her little, she then ventured to investigate the eggs revealed by the indignant mother’s assault.

         The resultant flurry of wings and beak, an attack of claw and cackle, brought my grand-parents on the scene. I was grounded for a week that time. A nonchalant Tulips found enough to occupy her interest within the house itself - Aunt Jenny’s coat, Granny’s second-best hat, and my brand new shoes, diamante heels and all. On the rare occasions I wore 'girl-clothes', I liked to dazzle. Needless to say all of these were not deemed fit for anything except a mournful dumping in the garbage. The coincidence was that these were all a pastel blue, most of her worst depredations revolved around this shade.

         She mellowed in later years, but the sight of anything of that precise shade made her forget any learned etiquette and her lapses involved a lot of cleaning up on my part. I hid some 'accidents', replaced items at great cost, all accompanied by a profusion of abject apologies.

         She was affectionate to all family, her nose detecting even tiny traces of genetic coding that qualified for the adoration. She let no one else approach without a deep resounding barking at variance with her size.

         She was my invaluable companion, loyal guard and perhaps the living being closest to my heart. Mother, father, siblings - all rolled into one. I had been brought up by grandparents from infancy almost; my parents died when I was less than a year old.

         I grew up, while she seemed to have aged but little. I went away to college, looking forward to breaks which had us both recapturing bygone days. Until a month ago, when a strange lethargy worsened; it proved to be cancer, spreading fast despite all we did. The vet suggested we get another dog to prevent Gran from feeling ‘dog-less’, overlapping the two, so to say.

         Tulips had chosen the new pup herself, nuzzling him out from the litter at our old friend's house, her litter-mate's brood. Again, the runt of the litter, but instead of chocolate on tan, he had dark black socks and markings on fawn; they seemed almost deep navy-blue in bright light. Gran thought of calling him Blue, but I thought that not fitting enough - so for now - he was Pup.

         Pup was there at the end, snuggled up against her side, as though transferring his vitality to her. She chewed his dark blue ear and passed into the beyond with a bemused ecstasy on her face. I cradled her body in my arms, tears making helpless runs down my cheek. I found Uncle Jimmy's arms enclosing me, he hugged me until my paroxysm of grief was spent. He was there throughout that day, laying Tulips to rest in a special shallow grave dug for her; she was wrapped in a soft blanket of pale turquoise. I saw his shoulders heaving when he covered her with earth.

         He turned and looped a long arm around my shoulders. Pup was running along behind, feinting at our ankles in a friendly game. He got scooped up and declared his joy at the instant rise to eminence by licking Uncle Jimmy's face.

         "So, what is this little fella called?"

         "Nothing."

         "Now, you have a dog called Nuthin'? Hear that li'l' fella? You upto to Nuthin' good?"

         I was surprised to find myself able to giggle at his pathetic pun and made a feeble protest, "we haven't had time to think of a good name for him, what with ... Tulips ..."

         "Handsome fella, despite that navy-blue ticking and socks; pity he isn't pastel blue." Here he made the gargling sound that served him for a laugh.

         "That's a brilliant idea, Uncle."

         "What is?"

         "We'll call him Pastel Blue." I had a hint of defiance in my voice, uncertain if it might be deemed another name dreamed up by a 'fool'.

         Uncle Jim just murmured, "Yes, she'd have liked that."

         Amen.



(Word count:1135)
Word limits 250- 2000
Prompt words in bold red.
Written for "Beyond The Water's Edge - CLOSED"  [ASR]