Now with Archie restored to his happy, healthy status as Ida Mae’s sidekick, after the near death encounter with the paralysis tick, my employment radically and suddenly changed when I learned the owner had sold fake Georgia O’Keefe drawings to a Kansas City museum. I resigned, gathered up the dogs and beat a quick retreat, repatriated to Marfa, and here we have stayed.
Dog and cat adjacent life continued along with feral cats appearing like clockwork and very comfortably domesticated dogs adjusting to each new presence. We moved into a very broken down, formally elegant old adobe where we camped in the backyard for the first six months while I, with the most awesome of dedicated and skilled friends, pulled the house back from the brink of neglect and moved in just as cold weather set in.
There we were, all living large in a quiet, happy Marfa way, when suddenly Ida Mae was a changed dog and began to fail. The end came quickly, and yet the dog she’d always been persisted until the very end, when she died with her pearls on, so to speak.
Her trek to me had been rather magical. One summer day in 2007, at work in the gallery on Martha’s Vineyard, son Harvey appeared in front of my desk, envelope in hand, breathless from running from the post office down the hill. He desired my witness as he opened a letter from the only boarding school he applied to. I watched the make or break moment as he silently read, then looked up at me and said, “You better get a puppy.” I laughed and assured him I’d be fine. In no time he was packed up and off to his first year in high school.
Somewhere along in that cold, gray, dank winter stretch of a New England February- March after his departure, I found myself online looking for a puppy to adopt. How could he have known that — wise child? At any rate I found a puppy in Tennessee, the blue heeler mother was found tied to a tree in the woods, starving and full on pregnant. They didn’t even have a proper shelter there, just a small group of volunteers who helped animals in extreme peril. The mother was beautiful, however already spoken for. One sweet puppy stood out and stole my heart. I sent her photo to Harvey at school with the caption, “I’m thinking of adopting this puppy.” He wrote back, “Her name is Ida.” Unbeknownst to him I had a much beloved, long deceased great aunt named Ida Mae back in Kansas. So that deal was sealed. Ida Mae came up on a transport from the south and she from her tiniest of puppy days was never anything shy of perfect, smart and funny.
Since she was at least half blue heeler, unknown father, I knew she would need a job, so we trained her to herd the Canada geese on a friend’s waterfront property. Her job was to keep the geese away from the house and barn, to keep them down by the pond and beach, which she did with unflagging energy all summer long. She not only herded the geese away from the house and barn, she herded the geese into a pond and kept them at the far end for the entire day while swimming herself. These were her glory days for sure. She was solid muscle and supremely happy. Then much to her dismay I packed up and moved us to Marfa, to avoid all the tick-borne diseases I kept getting, as did she, living on that island.
So back to the actual story line, we are here in Marfa, and Ida Mae’s health fails suddenly in her 14th year as she passes on to larger life in the back of my Sprinter van with the vet and vet tech along with Archie and myself at her side. It was a rough adjustment for Archie and self. Archie had never spent a day away from her, let alone an hour, and was beside himself. My daughter in law wisely observed, “Ida Mae was the adult in that relationship.” Archie lost his great love and was clearly suffering.
I had thought not to get another dog, that was my plan once Ida Mae was gone. I grieved inwardly. Archie chose an alternate path and chewed all the fur off the lower half of his body that he could reach including his back. He was inconsolable and looked hideous and bloody. I seriously thought about having him euthanized because he was so miserable and could not stop this behavior. I didn’t want him seen in public, as it was upsetting to see a dog in this state. A friend walking with us one day out on Pinto Canyon road said, “Archie doesn’t have any pants on,” which was true and actually kind of funny. His pain was real, and I needed to do something drastic to actually help him, as nothing so far had worked.
Immediately after that walk there appeared a post on social media for free puppies nearby. The mother was a blue heeler mix and the dad, an over the fence kind of situation, was a yellow lab, or so I was told. I wasn’t at all ready for a puppy, however I had promised myself the next time I did get a dog, to meet the mother first, and here was that exact opportunity. I went over, met the beautiful mother dog, bonded with a sweet little guy (I know, I know, they are all sweet and adorable, don’t be deceived). I came home and wisely decided it was not time for a puppy and something else would have to help Archie. I soon relented, checked in with the puppy family and learned someone else had spoken for the puppy. A few days go by and I check in again, that adoption has fallen through. I drove over to a Dollar Store parking lot where one of the owners met me and handed off a 6-week-old puppy, the runt of the litter. He was soon named after Ida Mae’s brother in real life, my grandfather, A. Ray.
It’s five uneventful years later. I now have two male dogs with clearly no adult in the relationship. They trade off sidekick status. Archie deserves this chronicle while he’s still here as a reward for all his hard work of staying alive through immense challenges and remaining just a tad naughty in spite of lousy odds. Much to everyone’s relief his luxurious coat came back almost immediately with the arrival of the puppy. Albeit now quite white on his face, Archie now enters the last laps at life with all his rubber ducks in a row. (Except the one he ate the head off of.)
It’s two weeks since I wrote the third and last installment of Archie. Today he died from eating one too many toys, in spite of my determination to keep him from them. He has kissed us all goodbye one last time.