Little Fella'

  My baby Jacque Cousteau…my buddy, my furry friend till the end.  I remember when my mom and dad first brought him home.  I was walking home from school with my best friend, skipping along and being silly girls.  We were chatting about school events and my mom possibly getting Joseph and me a dog of our own.  Little did I know what was waiting for me beyond my “puppy love” dreams?  My mom said, “Brandy, close your eyes.”  She led me to the little green cage.  I opened my brown with a pinch of hazel eyes.  There he was, in salt and pepper glory.  His Frenchman-like beard caught my attention.  His round dark eyes reeled me in like a fisherman sitting on the dock of the bay.  My heart rolled like the tide.  There was my loving Frenchman that was brought to me from puppy Paris.  “Thank you mom and dad!”  Thank you, for the next thirteen years…

Oh, the first “terrible two” months.  Such a cute bearded puppy, but stubborn as an ox!  House-breaking Jacque was a monumental chore, but with a swat of my dad’s hand, he quickly turned into a little “Frenchman”.  With that discipline he respected my dad and sat at attention when my dad would call his name.  Jacque was the only “fur buddy” for thirteen years, so he took up roost in the house.  This is my O’Banion County and I belong to this Irish clan. He paw-printed the sandy shores of Roseville, Michigan.  He branded us like cattle…we belong to him, Jacque Cousteau.  He grew month after month.  His dapper beard grew longer and his intent eyebrows grew thicker.  Salt and pepper sprinkled more over the years.  He was maturing into his own mellow personality.  Two frisky years have come and passed Mr. Oak in the front yard…

Jacque was now three years old and he was engraved in our hearts three times over.  He was my moustache mate, my fluffy counselor, and my best brown-eyed friend.  Mr. Cousteau had an easy-going persona.  So much so, that I strapped him up to my sled and he became an Alaskan Husky for the day.  Let’s go! Jacque Cousteau!  He graciously pulled (somewhat), trudging through like a mini plow.  We’d slide inch by inch like a winch.  His gray and white coat dabbled in the snowy winter-washed land.  All done Inuit soul, time to go warm by the “Minnesota Road” fire.  Jacque’s paws were attacked with sticky snow balls.  Hurry! Put him in a warm bath!  The snow quickly melted and so did the cold air.  We snuggled in the house with fire ablaze.  Jacque, thank you, for the “Last Frontier” adventure.      

The big four and big trips!  We were Irish traveler gypsies and Jacque bounced along in our dually “wagon”.  We traveled over green ship-lap mountains and near salty oceans.  Mr. Cousteau sniffed sticky pines and dipped his paws in the Atlantic.  Brr!  That’s cold!  Before our stretch to the Atlantic, the Smoky Mountains was our first stop.  It was like our home away from home.  We’d hug and love on my mom’s family in Tennessee each June bug June, then take flight to Clingman’s Dome.  The Smokies filled us with misty air, freshening our city lungs.  Jacque’s coat curled a smidge more in the dewy atmosphere.  It was hot that summer day we arrived, as hot as a boiling pot!  To the river we go!  Jacque was hesitant, but we wanted to cool his toasty fur off.  I threw him into the crystal flowing waters.  Don’t worry!  I didn’t throw him like a football!  He swam his stubby legs off to get the rocky banks.  I would grab him and hold him over the rushing water and he’s start “pretend” swimming before he hit the cooling refreshment.  Tourists overhead, sitting on a balcony, laughed at the comedic performance.  His act was over.  Jacque Cousteau such humor you bestow. 

Bold five, six, and seven.  I live in the country!  What heaven!  We moved out of the hustle and city street bustle to oak-lined gravel roads.  Jacque was free to roam the “Curious George” land.  He kicked up paws and frolicked through summer wildflowers and grappled through lake-drift snow.  To the pond and woods beyond!  My dad shoveled snow off our pond so my brother and I could ice skate.  Jacque hopped like a bunny, while we ran like foals to the slick gem.  My dad hovered like a buck, making sure his fawns.  Jacque chased our glimmering skates and then raced us over frozen tundra.  Back to the Ponderosa!  Deep winters flowed into shimmer sun seasons.  Cows on the town!  Cattle in a pasture across the street decided to take a stroll and graze on our land.  The grass may be greener on the other side…  My mom rounded the house and she screamed with surprise!  My mom’s hollers were always delayed, silly woman.  “Big Ben” bull stood one foot from my mom, staring at her with amusement.  Why is this woman shrieking?  Jacque’s ears perked up and he scuffled into battle!  He tried nipping and chewing at their hooves.  Herd dog for the day!  Hip-hip-hooray!  Jacque Cousteau was trying to protect my mom from the ferocious land beasts.  So he thought.  Our little warrior.  My dad ran as fast as the prairie wind to my mom’s side.  He was also worried for Jacque’s safety.  The bull and cows decided after all the commotion, it was best to go homing pasture.  Jacque saved the day.                 

 Eight, nine, ten…traveling on, around the bend.  Time was cantering, galloping away.  My baby Jacque Cousteau wasn’t a “pup-a-lup” anymore.  He was animating into an astute, scarf wearing Schnauzer.  Intelligence fluffed his beard and his eyebrows grew wisdom.  Old age started to color his fluff with some bay brown.  He was still as swift as the red fox my dad spotted one shamrock luck day.  Days were also coming swiftly of trial and pain…Bob, you have cancer.  It started to rain of solemnity.  Jacque smelled the cancer that was ravaging inside my dad, but it did not pillage my dad’s soul.  A man of God was he.  Jacque laid with my dad, next to his robed attire, warming his thoughts.  Thank you, little fella, for comforting my spirit.  There was a respect between the two that bridled them together.  My dad was Jacque’s master, yet my dad regarded him as a family colleague.  Honor was given from a stubby wagging tail.  Good boy.  Time to take heavenly row.  Jacque sidled my dad’s hospital bed, sniffed, and took a humble bow.  Till we meet again, little fella.       

Eleven, twelve, thirteen…bayous, alligators, Louisiana state scene.  Jacque was now my running mate over Southern ground.  Enduring and sturdy, he’d run with me in the stifling heat.  His “teen” years were slowing his stride a tid-bit.  My Brandy, can we walk?  We would slow to a stroll, taking in the new Cypress land.  Jacque still received compliments in his older age…”That’s a beautiful dog!”  Yes, he is.  He’s my brawny buddy.  Starbucks was a smidgen down the road.  Almost every morning in our apartment, I’d get ready for the humid, humble day to get coffee and breakfast.  “Jacque!  You want to go bye-bye?”  Of course!  He’d talk and grumble and prance like a horse.  We’d hop in my car and I roll down the window.  Jacque would stick his head out the window for fresh Cajun air.  I’m free!  His fluff-puff beard bellowed in the wind.  Memories, such sweet memories.  The tide had turned and we were now turning on a new road to our “hot-off-the-press” house. 

The thirteen curtain drew back on Jacques days.  We were now settled in our “rose bud” abode.  The rose has not yet gleamed with knick-knacks and what-nots.  Jacque sniffed and planted his French flag.  Ah, sparkling territory to explore.  As long as he had the O’Banion clan as his home base, he’d curve a happy grin.  My family. 

The rose bud house now bloomed of pictures and “memory day” memories.  We’ve been resting our heads on “118 Sea Blue Lane” pillows for over a year.  Jacque was now resting his head more and more these days.  He was slowing to an “old man” pace.  Although, an ambitious strength kept him walking with my mom till his paws roughened with seniority.  A disease was sneaking in on his hind legs.  Cushing’s disease was about to steal happiness from our cushioned hearts.  Almost time to say goodbye.

Last “Frenchman” day… My baby Jacque was no more a baby, but I held him in my arms like an infant.  The sense of what was to be overcame me like beating, tumbling, suffocating tidal waves.  Can I do this? God help me. Give me strength.  “Do you want to hold him, Brandy?”  I had to muster up every concrete fiber, cell, and atom in my body to watch and hear my bouncy buddy take his last breath.  I love you, Jacque Cousteau.  You have graced me with your eyes, beard, eyebrows, and your passionate presence.  You’ve given me everlasting love from my moody teenage years to maturing adulthood.  When I cried or talked nonsense, your deep eyes watched with sadness.  You’d make known…I’m here always and forever.  My time with you was not long enough.  Time is like a river tube floating down a diamond-enchanted river.  Smooth spots are easy and light.  Then, here comes that “on the warpath” waters.  I was being flipped, strangled, and left with little air to breath.  God, get me through this trial.  Take our little fella’ into your arms.  Jacque Cousteau, my little Frenchman, was gone.  My dad left first and Jacque followed on his little legs to heaven.  You’ll always be imprinted in my heart.  He was lifeless and I felt beaten like a boxer.  I was black and blue from crying.  One, two, three, four, five...thirteen.  Jacque, my main man moonbeam.  I’ll see you again, little fella’.