by Kelly Tully
This is a love story between me and my 12 ½ year old silver miniature poodle Arnie. It has a sad ending because it’s an obituary, too. I’ll just call it the Love Story Obituary for Arnie Tully. Not sure if that phrase is even legit but since I’ve been crying for 48 hours, I can do whatever I want.
Arnie came into our lives from a breeder in Bardstown, Kentucky. At the time my daughter was in 1st grade and my son was 3. We trekked down from Indianapolis with every puppy item imaginable waiting at the house for his impending homecoming. I just happened to be the first person to hold him and well, if a heart could purr and melt at the same time, that’s what mine did. Three little pounds of fluff snuggled into my lap, and we bonded before I even put my seat belt on for the ride home. And for almost 13 years Arnie never left my side.
There was never any puppy drama so many other people I knew endured. He never ate my shoes, never pooped on my best rug, never woke up at 4am to be let out. Let me pause right there: Arnie did NOT like early mornings. He did his duty and woke up when his people started stirring, but he didn’t like it. (See picture below, this was 6AM Arnie). I often had a strong sense he would like a cup of coffee too when I was pouring mine, but since dogs can’t hold mugs, I’ll never know.
Arnie filled up our house with a special love we never realized we had been missing. He made sure his kids were safely off the bus while fastidiously staring down the road at the bus stop. The closer the kids were, the faster his tail wagged. Once inside he literally jumped for joy. He liked to jump for joy on everyone and it was a bad habit I could never break. I stopped feeling guilty about it about 5 years ago; at least he wasn’t an a-hole dog biting people and being a jerk.
He also had a special skill set as “Night Watchman for Vomiting Kids.” Since almost all kids before the age of 12 seem to have at least one or two nights a year of puking for no apparent reason, Arnie made sure I knew that things were not OK. It went something like this:
“Mom, I feel sick.” (This is a raspy half-scream from child in the bedroom). I then run like a bat out of hell and grab the vomit bowl everyone always has in their house for such occasions, and Arnie is on the bed beside the patient before I am. He is sitting far enough back not to be in the way, but close enough to keep an eye on things. He remains in this position until the aforementioned sickness passes, and then, and ONLY then, does he lie down. These nights of sickness are the only time he will not come back to sleep in the bed with us. He remains ever vigilant, standing guard to make sure his person is okay.
Continuing the medical drama narrative, Arnie was also a hero for alerting me and my husband to a severe asthma attack that our then 4-year-old son was having in his bedroom at 2AM. Arnie started barking like crazy in his crate downstairs (I did crate-train in the beginning, but Arnie bypassed Go and spent the remainder of his years on the luxury of our pillow-topped bed). I ran downstairs and let him out, thinking he needed to go potty, and Arnie zoomed past me and up the stairs to our son’s room. I had not heard our son wheezing, and quickly grabbed the nebulizer machine. This is a 100% true story and we started calling him our hero-dog.
When he wasn’t saving lives and being a medic, he was a normal dog. Let me say, mostly normal. He did have some OCD tendencies and didn’t like things out of place.
Jacket placed over the back of a chair? No, no no! Or as Arnie said–bark, bark, bark!
Thermos placed on top of the fridge? Bark, bark bark, bark.
Bag of popcorn in microwave getting bigger? Bark, Bark, Bark.
Shoes left on top of the stairs? Bark, bark.
Leaf floating on lake? Bark, Bark.
Arnie was a lover of all people and whipped cream. He may have liked whipped cream better than people. I stopped going to Starbucks with him because it was embarrassing asking for the Pup Cup because it sounded like he was yodeling the entire time I was talking into the speaker.
Arnie loved sunset cruises on the lake, preferably in cooler weather so he could snuggle close to anyone. He loved when I was up late at night reading a book so he could put his sweet face on my stomach and dream about cans of whipped cream. I would stop reading and just watch him look so content and peaceful by my side. It was his favorite place—and mine, too.
Which brings me somewhat back to the beginning. Why does a dog need a Love Story Obituary? Because Arnie earned having words typed on a computer screen in his honor. For years he sat behind me in my office chair as I wrote the words to my four children’s chapter books and Young Adult Novel. In my last book I even wrote him a thank you for being there with me as every letter was typed. It’s not often a poodle earns an accolade in a book. He was my cheering section just by being there, so now I need to be his.
The first night I brought Arnie home as a puppy he was scared at his new surroundings, and I put a blanket on the floor and slept near him in his crate. On what would be his last night with me (and I didn’t know it would be) I slept on the couch as he slept on a makeshift bed on the floor so I could be close to him. We had been to three visits to the vet in four days with no real answers to his unease and uncomfortableness. This Mom instinct knew something was very, very wrong and I am forever grateful that I was able to be by his side in his last hours and soothe and comfort him in the dark of the night—just like he had done with us.
Rest in Peace with unending whipped cream, Arnold Palmer Tully.
February 6, 2009—October 29, 2021.