As I attempted to grasp the reality and finality of it all, coupled with mounting exhaustion, it was the only night, thus far, in which I was able to go to bed at a decent hour and actually sleep. Our place is on the third floor and I generally sleep with my windows and patio doors open. It is well insulated and warms up quickly when needed. An hour into sleep I was awakened by a deep single woof. It was not Nubble’s voice and was definitely from “our” bedroom doorway. It didn’t startle me but rather soothed me. I peeked from under my comforter to my dresser and saw the white candle still burning in his dog dish as I whispered, “Thanks Nubble. Travel safe – I love you.”

Yes, I had taken his floppy toy dawg to bed and it was still in my arms when I was awakened a couple hours before dawn to the same “voice,” only this was woof, woof, woof. Three barks, equally spaced. I was fully alert after the first one, lay with eyes wide open for the second, and on the third, I sat up. I walked over to the fully burned candle and “something” had me touch the wax. It was still pliable, still warm. “Thanks Nubble. Guess you made it. Love you.” I staggered to the kitchen for a glass of water.

I tape our Christmas cards to the overhang of our living room. As you may assume, many had dog themes. Three random ones had fallen from different walls. Turning them over, you guessed it I’m sure, all three were dog cards. My first chuckle since he had crossed the Rainbow Bridge, as I said once more, “Thanks Nubble.”

Edward is my friend and webmaster. Valerie is his lady, my friend and proofreader. Molly and Lily were Nub’s lil’ buddies and girl-friends besides Bijou. An extra blessing is that they live in the next building. The foursome came to check on me, and when Edward went to sit on the sofa, there was a bone-shaped cookie-cutter used as a Christmas tree ornament about four feet away, opposite the coffee table. Not a designer Christmas Tree, our decorations are a hodgepodge of items.

I held the shiny metal with a bit of a smirk and said, “Somehow I must have brushed a branch, somehow launched this from the tree.” I didn’t necessarily believe that and noticed they both had a tilt to their heads. After our visit, I decided to grab a book and walk them out, then head to Starbarks as my home was feeling as if it had a hole in it.

Edward and I have this ritual of texting each other with the word Dawgs? Our signal to meet downstairs and walk Molly, Lily, and The Nubster. I’d told Edward I promised Nubble I’d still do Dawgs with their 4-legged girls, so I headed home, admittedly feeling empty-handed and as though I’d forgotten something. The Girls seemed to agree, so after the blue-bag routine, we headed upstairs in part to help his pups get used to Nubble’s absence.

We walked in and Edward looked over my shoulder when I stopped in my tracks. “Well, that’s weird,” he mumbled, knowing I had left with them earlier. Three Christmas ornaments were lying on the floor. Yep, three. One was from Bette Mandino of the lighthouse for which Nubble is named. The second was a rattle in the shape of a phone receiver from the time I was a baby, which I mention as it made me think of the day I adopted Nubble. The week I got my first cell phone – the deciding factor in my selecting him was that he chewed the antenna and cracked the lens when it rang. And the third was a reversible ornament which has Devil Dog on one side and Angel Dog on the other. I wish I had noticed which side was up.

If I were to select which woo-woo amazed me the most thus far, it would have to be the chill that hung in our home and in my body, beginning the first full day he was gone. I accepted that while I like the cold, perhaps the stress and exhaustion were leaving me more susceptible to a chill, so I closed up and actually ran the heater night and day. Although it warmed up, my Word Corner remained chilly. At times the thermostat would read 76? but both Edward and Judy my assistant said it didn’t feel like it. I would feel breezes and chills but using both incense smoke and candle flame, I couldn’t prove any such draft. I called the maintenance man on the third day with a concocted story that I was hearing sounds in my place. We began in my bedroom working forward to my Word Corner.

Obviously neither of us heard any sounds but once in my office he turned and said, “Jesus – you hanging meat in here?” I innocently asked if it seemed colder in that room. He assured me it did but was bewildered when I pointed to show all heating vents were closed except for the one in my office. He just shook his head and agreed to check back later.

Feeling a bit reassured, I sat at my desk to work on an edit. To my right was the spot where one of Nubble’s beds normally lay, under two triangular shelves containing whatever project I am focused on at that time. That matt was still out on the patio where he and I had sat by the fire and talked on his last night. I admit it looked like a gaping hole and my eyes followed up the wall to the framed picture of Robert B. Parker and his pal, Pearl – both gone. The glass had a crack running the length of the frame. I flashed back to the morning before what would have been Nubble’s last day here when I’d noticed that on his Wall of Paws the picture of Sir Morgan, Ken Farmer’s sweet Mastiff who had died many years ago, had an unexplained crack in the glass, which I had replaced later that day. Looking at Bob and Pearl’s picture directly above Nubble’s corner in my Word Corner, I remembered the Shaman belief that when the glass cracks on the picture of someone deceased, it means a portal has been opened.

I became teary-eyed once again, and then thought of Nubble’s bed. I remembered George Addair and Allison DuBois explaining that spirits often communicate through temperature changes. So I went and got his round bed from the patio and returned it to his corner. For good measure I covered it with the quilt that Edward and Valerie had made him, and then added a toy badger that his Auntee Sherry had sent him. And while I am still getting drafts and chills which no one has yet to explain, those who experienced the mysterious temperatures immediately saw a marked improvement to the point that I am, again, seldom using the heater.

I reserved a week for Kohl’s Ranch, not consciously realizing it would be the third week until sitting down to pen this story. That same day his license renewal arrived. Kohl’s is the place where Nubble and I had spent my birth-week in November for the last couple of years. They remove the TVs, radios, and clocks for me. No work, just him and me hiking and exploring. Last time up there, he’d herded two bushy squirrels into our cabin bedroom. This solo trip I did bring work, two of my books to finish and three columns to write. At the end of the week, I’ll spread Nubble’s ashes in Tonto Creek where we both loved to play.

He was fascinated with the maple tree seedlings just like me, when I was a kid. They twirl like mini-helicopters and in a good wind he chased them. It was very windy the first night at the cabin and when I went out on the porch the next morning, there had to be a hundred copter-seeds on the deck. Coincidence more than likely, except there were hardly any on the adjacent decks and the nearest Maple tree is on the other side of the creek. I also noticed I have two grey squirrels that the workers have seen that seem to follow me at a distance, when I leave my cabin for the lobby. Hmmmm.

Sitting at my make-shift desk in our, rather my, cabin, I gazed at the picture of Nubble balancing the heart-shaped cookie on his nose. I’ve only heard the phantom bark once up here as well as a phantom phone ring for which the front desk says they have no record. The phone one causes me to remember one more thing to share.

I’d detested purchasing a cell phone but finally bought my first one almost eleven years ago, the same week Nubble rescued me from the pound where he cracked the cell lens. In my years with phones, I have never lost or broken one, although I’ve often been tempted. That is, until I left Dr. Stolper’s animal hospital that shattering day and reached into my pocket to call Erin Rose to tell her the deed was done.

Across the lower left corner of the lens, was now a diagonal crack. As I rub the cabin stubble on my chin, I admit I’m not sure when I’ll have it repaired.

End

The Nubster has been a furry bag of stories since he adopted me almost eleven years ago. Many have been published, often helping pay for dog food and treats. And I’m not sure of another dog who virtually took over his “owner’s” Facebook page. His bloodline was mainly cattle herder and his specialty was herding hearts. He combined herding with rescuing. We’d spot a loose dog on the freeway and pull over. If no traffic, Nubble would herd him to the car or corral the scared mutt until I could get one of our emergency leashes on him. If traffic was busy, Nubble seemed to know when to bark to get the mutt’s attention and the stray would climb into our car. We began to keep Highway Hash Marks to record our good deeds, so I stretched my legs to go check the number just now. The count was twenty-seven. Now if a dog was seen running loose in a neighborhood, often when the owner was painstakingly chasing him, we’d pull over and offer to help. Didn’t matter the size, I’d say, “Git ‘em” and Nubble would either herd him our way or circle the hound so he could go no farther until we reached him. I lost count of those herding numbers long ago.

On two occasions Nubble rescued kitties. First was a stormy night and the renters in the complex shared a laundry room off the backyard. I thought he’d found socks the neighbor had missed until he dropped them carefully on his bed. I jumped when I reached for them…and they moved. He was not happy when I found and returned them to the mommy cat. The second time was turned into a short story, Stove-Top Kitties. We kept those three new-born feral felines for two months with Nubble raising them until they found a loving home with the Schraders.

Fetch was Nubble’s favorite game, especially if it entailed Fetch in the Water. There wasn’t a stick, ball, or Frisbee that dog wouldn’t adopt. At the dog park he attempted to gather all of the balls, able to keep three in his mouth at a time. He did not share; rather, he ran and shoved his face in the muzzle of various-sized dogs and then ducked his head and trotted off if they attempted to take one. Tease. The only thing that took Nub’s attention off the bouncing balls was a fight. Ball in mouth, he ran and body-blocked the one he felt was the instigator. Fight broken up, he happily returned with the ball. He didn’t like bullies, just like me. And he was a bit of a director, much like a past girlfriend and my daughter.

At the lake, Nubble enjoyed herding the ducks and geese into the water after which he’d swim circles until they were gathered into a tight flock. Suddenly he’d dive beneath and pop up in the middle, scattering the fowl all over the place. We called this game Dog Gooses Duck. Nubble later noticed that swans can have a bit of an attitude. This was especially true with one in particular over by City Hall in the days when the outdoor fairs still allowed dogs to attend. This one beast decided to snap at Nubble and some kids. This was the only time I became scared momentarily at one of his actions. He attempted to ignore the ill-tempered swan but finally did a quick spin and soft-mouthed the long neck, immediately walking that bird to the water’s edge and led it into the pond. Then he released and scolded the swan. It never bothered him again.

We used to do our morning run along one of the canals. He was only a couple years old when without warning he leapt about ten feet from the bank into the moving water fifteen feet below. I raced ahead to descend the stairs cut into the concrete but the current kept him out too far. As a last-ditch effort, I ran way ahead and climbed down on the bottom step and began calling for him. I was about to dive in when he made a gradual turn and I was able to grasp him by the collar and pull him in to shore. I expected he’d be exhausted but he merely ran and found the perfect stick for me to toss. He quickly learned the command “No swimming,” which came in useful as he loved water fountains too. Case in point, why on earth put an alluring fountain by the gates to the dog park and then become angry when canines jumped in for a swim? Hey – it’s a dry heat for poodle’s sake!

That was the month a friend’s daughter was slated for a stay in Phoenix Children’s Hospital and she loved for Nubble to visit. If his visitation papers were totally legit, we’ll never tell. But she liked the way Nubble jumped into fountains, so we made her a series of pictures to last her the three-weeks she was hospitalized and called it “Fountains Nubble Has Known.” Every day the nurses flipped the pictures to show Nubble swimming in a different fountain at City Hall, Tlaquepaque, Royal Palms, Marriott’s, The Phoenician, to name a few.

Not on the swimming agenda was the day we came across a crowd at Camelback and Scottsdale, so we jogged over to find a Terrier trapped in the canal. I was shocked to see a pre-teen in the water holding onto the ledge evidently trying to save his pooch and everyone merely staring at the unfortunate event. I’m no swimmer but I looked at Nubble and said, “Go.” He dove in and herded the doggie out of the current until we could get a hold of the boy and dog. We still hear from them at Christmas.

Nubble was a good protector. Most know he assumed Starbucks was Starbarks, a place where folks came to pet him and occasionally buy a beverage. If a child moved dangerously close to a curb as the result of a parent focused on their cell phone, a simple “Git ‘im” and he herded them back. Our antics earned us many free foo-foo drinks. There was also one child in a stroller whose mother said loved dogs, so I let Nubble go to say hi. Nub got a mischievous look in his eye right before gently snatching the pacifier from the tot’s mouth, then doing three tight circles to show how impressed he was with himself. When I told him to give it back, Nubble hesitated but then tossed it in the air. The mother dipped it a few times in her hot coffee and popped it back in Samuel’s mouth. Cool mom. On future visits she let Nubble mouth one of the toys hanging off her son’s stroller and pull the tot around the patio. Nubble also caught a carjacker and the amused officer listed him as an Honorary Member of the Canine Unit which I shared in “There’s a New Sheriff in Town.”

Nubble enjoyed some other antics as well. As stated earlier, he was and still will be great fodder for writing. “The Doggie Lama” is about the time he defrocked a Buddhist Monk and received a personal blessing. Another time he befriended a one-legged pigeon to share his water as shared in “A Leg to Stand On.” Or the time he mistook a man’s toupee for a monster toy in “Toupee Toss.” Oh yes, and take a peek at “Good Vibrations” for the time he claimed a house guest’s personal toy as his own.

Nubble amassed a number of toys, most from me but many from his adopted aunties and uncles. We’d thin them out once a year, but I had to be sneaky. He amazed me the way he learned the names of the toys and their colors. Played hard with them but wasn’t destructive.
However, if a toy had a tear and the fluff was exposed, it was history as he de-stuffed it with the energy he enjoyed opening birthday and Christmas gifts. He still had a floppy fish Luna gave him the first year after he pulled a live fish from the canal, but that’s another story. People often asked how I taught him so much. I’d shrug, and explain that I just stayed out of his way although I do send thanks to the Monks of New Skete for their books. For years I’ve given them to folks, no matter the ages of their dogs. One of my promises focuses on going through Nubble’s toys and his library, but I’m not rushing. One step at a time.

Nubble was quite the maître d. Folks with dogs will understand this is not an exaggeration in that many, many dogs sense someone’s coming to the door before that person even drives into the lot. On our third floor, I knew, based on which toy Nubble brought to the window in my Word Corner who was about to visit. Big Badger for UPS, Gorilla for Domino’s Pizza, Tug for Federal Express, Wabbit for Judy, and Mojo for Edward or Valerie. I won a few bucks off a plumber once and again from a friend who thought I was telling tales until a knock at the door and my “prediction” of the visitor came true.

On a side note, I wasn’t in the mood to cook that first night back from the vet with no curious nose staring up at me, so I ordered a pizza. The delivery guy said, “Where’s the toy ‘meister’?” After he said his condolences, I told him to let the crew at Domino’s know. Then with no warning he burst into tears, telling me how special Nubble made the delivery guys feel. Here we are standing in my doorway with me holding a sobbing delivery man as I began to cry, comforting him with “There, there.” I find that pretty impressive for a dog to have such an effect on the delivery man. I hope I can leave such an impression on strangers.

Several years back I started a tradition. When someone dies that I knew who added meaningfully to my life, I sought something in their essence that I could elicit and instill in myself to make me a better being. It is a means of honoring them, so some of them live on through me as detailed in “Flow Through Me.” I am still exploring which of Nubble’s special traits to absorb and practice. I think of the lil’ furr-face and the way he often made me laugh out loud, and he knew he was doing it. Another huge one was his patience with me. I also think of his forgiveness and a host of other qualities as spectacular as the colors on The Rainbow Bridge. I’ll remain open for insight.

Nubble’s patience included me dressing him up for pictures. Reading books by such folks as Dave Pratt, Lee Child, Stephen Cannell, Michael McGarrity, Barbara Taylor Bradford, Lauren Myracle, Deborah Coots, and Jackie Collins. Quite the eclectic pooch. Then there was Nubble’s talking pitch in a video to Ellen DeGeneres for Free the Puddles. Dressing up as Sam Axe to surprise Bruce Campbell. One Halloween I blacked Nubble’s other eye and gave him a red bandana and then taped a feather to my head and crashed a party as The Lone Ranger and Tonto. We won a couple hundred bucks and I sent a picture to Clayton Moore. I learned years later from Clayton’s widow that our picture hung in his office next to a picture of Roy Rogers with Trigger.

He was also patient with me as I am attempting to learn guitar. When I’d bring it out in the evening, Nubble would lie at my feet and pretend to care. In later years I realized he seemed to enjoy me reading aloud, so I’d sit on the floor with his head across my ankle for a chapter or two. Maybe he was just coaching me to practice for my book tours. I do think my guitar picking suffers without him.

Nubble also was invited by authors to join their book signings, as in Lisa Lillien, author of The Hungry Girl. Al Franken who’d missed his family and dog for three weeks joked that I should bring Nubble on the early morning run to the airport. They rode together in the backseat while I chauffeured. Laura Van Wormer would stop by with gifts for her “nephew.” Hugh O’Brian, Robert Tanenbaum, and Deborah Coonts met with The Nubster. Robert B. Parker sent him an email from Pearl. Nub adopted Xander, the son of Andrew Grant and Tasha Alexander as his own nephew. Lisa Gardner posed with him on a baggage cart.

I fully expected Nubble would be attending book-signings with me for Free the Puddles and more. Heck, many of the bookstores have requested him. It’s only fair because when our lives joined, I “officially” became a writer. Nubble is actually cast as himself in my fictional mystery as the dog of Daro Brónach the protagonist, so Nubble will live on with Daro. And I promised Nubble I’d go ahead with the children’s book that casts him with my daughter in a tale whereby he becomes a furry dragon at night and she a sorceress, and they fly into children’s dreams to teach them the way to deal with their fears.

The week after Nubble died, I attempted a storyline based on all of the dogs Nubble would meet as he crossed that Rainbow Bridge. Included were many of those beloved creatures from our Facebook friends who sent me touching stories and anecdotes of their beloved pets, but I failed so far to write the saga, finally realizing it is simply too soon. I promise you as I did The Nubster, it will come to fruition.

This loss has hit me differently from any other. Death has been no stranger to me and I’ve been in the immediate vicinity on several occasions, more of a blessing than one might think. I also don’t want to dwell on it but there is now definitely, as my new friend Stowe Dailey Shockey sings, “A God-Shaped Hole” in my life.

Despite suggestions, I’m not sure at this moment if I have another dog left in me. I do know it is too soon because I’d be comparing that new pup to Nubble, which isn’t fair to the puppy nor fair to Nubble. Plus, I want to be in a place where I can provide a solid foundation for a new dog and with an upcoming book tour on the horizon in my wishes, it just doesn’t feel right. I assured Nubble I’d be open if he sent the right dog my way.

Tomorrow I pack up to leave Kohl’s and head back to the Valley. I’m not eager to pull into my parking spot. I still look up at the third-floor window in my Word Corner expecting to see those spotted Dingo ears and big black nose, and attempt to guess which toy Nubble will greet me with this time.

END