Twinkle
Mimi, the boys and I wanted to thank you for Twinkle. Her great run ended yesterday, and it closed with the grace and peace and comfort that she seemed to enjoy embody. That little girl you had to hand-feed in a fur-lined shoe box wound up living large. Twinkle saw nine countries and raised a family of adoring humans.
We counted the places she'd been yesterday at the vet's - The USA, Germany, France, Switzerland, Austria, Czech Republic, Denmark, Italy and Luxembourg, which barely counts since it took about 15 minutes to drive through. France was a favorite, however. She had just had cancer surgery, three summers ago, and we took her in a van with my parents to Provence, where we spent 10 days among the buzzing cicadas and swirling lavender breezes. She liked France.
Italy provided one of her funniest memories. We were in some Tuscan hill town, and Gordon was leading us with his nose, looking for a place to have lunch. He found a promising trattoria, but I wasn't sure whether Italians were cool with having dogs at tables, so I summoned my best Italian - I had gone there for a week in 8th grade - and asked "Mangia con cani?" The man shrugged. Why not? and we sat down for a good meal. Later I was told a fair translation of what I'd said was, Can we eat our dog?
Some cold thief reached over Twinkle on a train to Prague and picked Mimi's wallet. In Switzerland we stayed a week in Zermatt opposite the Matterhorn, and Twinkle romped in the deep snow, laughing off the frigid temperatures.
Denmark provided her one close encounter with a cow. We stayed on a little island our first summer, and there was a farm across the road. Lots of very big black cows grazed there, and Twinkle was drawn to them. And they to her. It was almost as if they realized they had some sort of genetic role to play together. She walked up to one of them, a little uncertainly, and it started walking to her. She stood in place. Quickly she attracted a crowd, and these cows move very fast. When the first let out this deep bellow, Twinkle almost melted. She turned away, and was done with that. I had this funny feeling our cowherd of Flanders was afraid of cows.
It was in Germany, though, where she was in her element - it must have been the German you used to speak to her. Her special treatment began almost instantly. Yesterday, a couple of scenes stood out: that first morning, when we found a place for breakfast near our apartment, and a waitress brought water for Twinkle before she asked what we were having. How everyone in the neighborhood fed her - the couple who owned the vegetarian restaurant rescued Spanish dogs, and would produce a fresh piece of baguette for Twinkle every time she poked her head in the door, which was every time she walked down the street, of course. The mailwoman, who carried treats in her uniform pocket - a very civilized practice, I must say. The only problem, was that Twinkle started approaching every man or woman on the street and sticking that big bottle-stopper nose in their pockets.
She really was our ambassador in Germany. For the first month I was there, and I went there alone, no one made eye contact with me, let alone began a conversation. As soon as Twinkle arrived, gruff Berliners would drop to their knees, grab her face and whisper to her. Little teddy bear, lots of them called her. Hairy giant Schnauzer? They'd ask me. No, Bouvier des Flandres, a Flemish cow dog. Ah. She bite? Only dinner. My favorite story about her in Berlin has to do with that famous Bouvier aroma. We had the boys' bar mitzvah in our apartment, and invited lots of friends over for the ceremony. Twinkle was a guest of honor, having just had surgery. We dressed her in a peach-colored long-sleeved surfer's t-shirt. She had stayed by the door, barking every time the bell rang, and it rang throughout the ceremony, so Twinkle had a vocal role. The party afterward went long into the night, and Twinkle was at the center of it. Some time after midnight, she let out a fragrance that cleared the room. A doozy. An Australian friend, a diplomat, said dryly: "the French serve orange juice." Apparently, when it's time for your guests to leave, French hosts bring around trays of juice.
That Australian friend and his family visited us here in Philadelphia last month. I'm glad they got to see the girl again. Twinkle was now the grande dame, gray at the ears and beard. Slow to move. Mimi did an amazing job keeping that girl going. For more than a year she'd made her chicken and rice or chicken and sweet potatoes. Twinkle's last meal was Sunday. She went through a pound of hamburger, a half of a loaf of challah and nearly a whole bag of Pupperonis. The boys and I were on an 8-day college tour of New England. Mimi and I feared the dog would be gone before we returned. The last two nights, Mimi slept on the floor next to Twinkle, rubbing her belly. When Mimi would drift off to sleep, Twink would paw Mimi's head, and she'd keep rubbing.
I didn't want to tell the boys that Twink was in trouble before they had their interviews. We were sitting in an information session for Wesleyan when I looked over at them and couldn't stop thinking about how much I was going to wrench their lives in a few minutes. They were nine when I brought her home.
I was amazed how they handled the news. "I knew there was something," Nick said. The night before, we'd asked them to say good night to her over the phone. Gordon said he'd always thought it would happen when he was in college. "At least she won't die wondering where her boys are," he said, searching for the silver lining. Maybe, he said, she would perk up when she saw them.
As we drove, more stories rushed back. I told about the day eight years ago when I pulled up to your farmhouse in a rented 4 x 4, having flown to Chicago to meet this girl I'd read about on the Internet. I remember your words were something like, "You can take her home if she likes you." If she likes you. You'd kept her back, the runt of the litter. She was a fraction of the size of her brothers, and so fragile that when the vet gave her anesthesia to cut her ears and tail her heart momentarily stopped. How you named her Twinkle because she was the littlest of your Star Bouviers. She'd also been busy lady, having eight babies after jumping two fences to get with Buddy. It was a perfect match: You were looking to give Twinkle her own a home and we were looking to adopt. You described her over the phone as not beautiful. Humble, but tough. I remember pulling into your place, past a herd of these thundering woolly beasts, all barking wildly as they followed my car. I regretted not wearing my liver-scented coat. Then you came out of the house with Twinkle, her leash dragging behind her. She bounded straight for me, planted two paws on my shoulders and kissed me on the mouth.
A few hours and an Arby's burger later, we were driving back to Philadelphia, listening to a book-on-tape: "Dogs Never Lie About Love." That night, we watched ESPN in a roadside motel in Ohio. When it was time to turn out the lights, I opened her crate and told her to jump off the bed. She just looked at me. No way. Finally, I picked her up - she was about 70 pounds then - and deposited her onto the floor. She flew back onto the bed and peed right where I was about to sleep. Agility, indeed.
She was prey-driven in her younger days, once going two feet up a tree after a squirrel, before realizing she couldn't climb. Gordon remembered the time he called Nick in for hot dogs, only there weren't any by the time they got to their seats. Twinkle was standing on the table, licking her lips. She did love to eat.
We got home yesterday just when Mimi did, and Twinkle was waiting for us. She couldn't get up, but she moved her head and offered a paw as we piled on her, hugging and kissing and crying. There really wasn't any decision to make.
A room was ready for us at the vet's. They'd laid out a fluffy blanket decorated with hearts. There was a candle, some new age music. A statue of dogs and cats playing ring around the Rosie. There was that story about the Rainbow Bridge, that gentle place where beloved pets go and wait until they're united with their families. Francie, the vet, swaddled her in a second blanket, decorated with puffy clouds, and within moments it was done. Twinkle, the littlest Star, sleeps in hearts and clouds.
best,
The Rubins
Dan, I'm so sorry. It's hard to imagine a more understated, funny, empathetic, and finely-observed memorial to her life than the moving post you've written here. Thanks for letting us share your experiences with Twinkle. I hope that writing it helped ease the pain, at least a little bit.
This is very sad. So sorry for your loss! When I went to JFK school today, I realized the last time I did that was with Twinkle in tow - having set out to walk her around the block in Berlin without taking the keys to your place. You may have been in Jerusalem, Paris or Belgrade that day. In her friendly way, she followed me to wherever I thought I might meet one of your (key-holding) boys - and it was her who spotted Nick first! Gosh, she was the nicest Bouvier on earth. And a vocal guardian of the Knight Ridder Bureau in Germany... This is a fine memorial for her. Moved me to tears, though. Hugging you all, Claudia
Dan, Sorry to hear about Twink. Reading your column brought tears to my eyes as I remembered spending the 4th of July in New Hampshire and getting the call from Maryann that Sandy had little time left. As I drove home I feared that she would be gone before I got to see her again. She spent her last days much as Twinkle did, eating hamburgers and finally getting to swim in the pool. When I arrived home she only had enough energy left to lift her head and wag her tail for me. Twinkle was a great dog, and she was lucky to have such a loving family. Our thoughts are with you. DFF
Dan, My condolences to your family on the loss of such a wonderful companion. And what a gorgeous tribute you gave Twinkle. Amy
Sorry to read about your loss. What a cathartic and really universal tribute. To this day, my sibs and I reminisce about our pets, mainly dogs with a cat or two thrown in, and although I can't say they defined our childhood, our memories of family trips and milestones (like yours) always include the animals....the wayward Lab who ate through a redwood fence in the backyard on my 10th birthday and got lost, stopping 4 months aa a temporary adoptee at a Haverford College dorm (no tags)...the Lhasa, the Greyhound, the stray mutt that jumped unexpectedly into my father's car after work in Paoli and never left...and the damned cats, always the damned cats...I mean what's the point?... The next question is what kind of puppy or rescue dog you choose now.
This really brought back memories for me! We had the undergo the same experience with our 14 year old miniature Schnauzer this past May. It was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. She had a great life and brought tremendous joy and fun to the family. Thanks for sharing this experience.
Dan, I add my condolences. Twinkle was a treasured family member. It's so sad that dogs live all-to-short lives. But the joy...and that is true of your letter to her breeder.
thanks, all. there's still a huge hole around here. keep expecting noise when i open the door, or turn on the light. i keep looking around for someone not there.
Dan, let me second everyone else here. My condolences to you and your family. Being there, when Teddy passed, my wife's dog she grew up with, at the vet, in much the same setting as Twinky, still stands as one of the toughest in my life. In Richelle's life. In her mom's life. Teddy is always with us. Especially in the house we live in now, that was once Shell's grandparents. What a tribute you wrote here. I wish I could give you and your family a hug. God bless.
Dan, you wrote a very poignant article about Twinkle. Mom and I remember when you and your family visited our house, even though Twinkle was a large dog she was able to navigate amongst many people and furniture without disturbing anything. Also, on our trip from Berlin to Provence, France in a van with 6 people, luggage and Twinkle she had her head on Mom's lap and then turned around at times. She was welcomed at every restaurant and Inn that we stayed at. A great world traveler. Luckily we have many pictures of her, as we really miss her.
Dear Rubins, I read your tribute to Twinkle and cried throughout. We too have Bouviers. Our oldest is 14 years and 3 months. Not a showdog just our most beloved pet. A couple of weeks ago he showed in the 11 and over class in our Regional Veterans Sweeps. He looked wonderful and thought he was the King of the ring. As you, we remember so many wonderful times and places all made better by his being with us. Please accept our warmest thoughts and condolences. I empathize more than you could believe. Bronwyn and Jon Bauer
Touching tribute. Losing a longtime pet (especially, in my opinion, a dog) is tough. My sympathies are with you.
The cliche is true: in loving homes, pets are bona fide members of the family. Having recently lost a member of our human family--and far too many pets in my day--my thoughts are with the Rubins, especially the boys as they cope with the loss of their canine sister. While it's of no immediate comfort, know that the loss of a beloved pet is a valuable life lesson, not the least in its preparation for the inevitable human loss to come (let's hope far in the future). The greatest value lies in the special memories you've all shared. And in the moving way you've shared some of them with us. Roam the clouds in peace, Twinkle. Clearly you were well and truly loved.
A very moving tribute to a great friend and family member. I posted a link to your tribute on my Dog Blog in the hopes that others will read it and appreciate the value of their dogs.
What a lovely and fitting tribute, filled with humor and poignancy. She must have been an amazing companion. I lost a beloved cat this week as well, and another 10 months ago. The grief is staggering. Someone told me that it never really goes away, it just changes with time, and I've found that to be true. My thoughts will be with your family.
My brother Dante has a blog (hi Dante!). Howard is posting poetry. And read the Inquirer's Dan Rubin, who wrote...
Having always been a dog-person, Blinqs in-memorium for Twinkle is touching, and reminded me of something that had happened this week The wife and I, and the girls, were picking up dinner, which required an interim stop at WaWa to tap the A...