Remembering Ella Rufus ... and saying goodbye

Ella Rufus: A happy, yipping ball of fur.

Ella Rufus came bounding into my life when my daughter Lauren decided to give herself a belated graduation gift. For years Lauren had yearned for something sweet and cuddly to pamper and the tiny canine -- a Westie-Shih Tzu mix -- seemed to fit the bill.

Ella started off as a yipping ball of energy that pretty quickly morphed into a yipping ball of fur. She turned prematurely gray -- Ella, not Lauren. The look suited her well, a pleasant blend of salt-and-pepper shagginess with large eyes, a cute wet nose and a puppy's innocent attitude.

Ella was playful, a sweet and gentle pup. At least that's what she became after a somewhat rocky start. The problem is Ella didn't know what it meant to be a dog and we -- that would be her humans -- had no clue how to help her understand a doggie's role in the world.

Lauren and Ella cuddling

After a night or two of keeping her barricaded in the kitchen, a friend suggested we get a crate. We did. A big crate. A really big crate. Bad idea! I covered the bottom in newspaper. An hour later one corner was filled with pee and poop and the newspaper had been meticulously ripped to tiny shreds.

Another friend suggested we get a smaller crate, a much smaller crate. We did. And, at least for a week or so, we all settled into an easy peace. Lauren walked and fed, played and cuddled with Ella. At night we gently tucked her into her tiny home.

All seemed well with the world, until it didn't.

Ella decided unilaterally that she no longer wanted or needed the crate. What had become a nighttime ritual turned into a nightly war, Ella strategically placing her paws around the opening of the crate as Lauren, with a little assist from me, attempted to push and shove her into submission.

We might have won a battle or two during the crate incursion, but Ella, happily bedded down with Lauren, or Wendy and me, or in the den -- heck, pretty much wherever she wanted to settle for the night -- had plainly won the war.

Over the next dozen years or so, Ella gamely and loyally followed Lauren to several different apartments, back to our home and, eventually, joined Josh and his doggie duo -- Joey and Maggie Mae -- when Lauren and Josh got married.

Ella and I find a comfy spot for an afternoon nap.

Ella Rufus remained a happy ball of fur, feisty and playful, filled with a streak of independence. She played around with Joey and Maggie when she was feeling sociable and, a bit later, happily ignored the new kids on the block -- Bailey and Avi -- when they were in need of a little unconditional love from a little doggie with a big heart.

We all blinked and a year or so ago it became clear that Ella, now well into doggie dotage, had slipped into the autumn of her life. The twinkle in her eyes had dimmed in recent months and she moved about slowly in search of her happy spot: on her haunches, resting comfortably in the center of a sunbeam that streamed through a nearby window.

Today, sadly, Lauren let her go. Ella Rufus was sick and tired and needed to rest. She remained a bundle of furry love till the very end. I like to think that she's made it across the rainbow bridge and is once again ignoring Joey and Maggie in a playful sort of way. I'm also pretty certain that she's already searching out a new happy spot that will be keeping her warm and comfy forever.

Living the good life with Granny and Pop

It’s me … Ella Rufus. You know, the really cute Westy-Shih Tzu mix. Hey, why hide it. I’m darn cute and I don’t mind yelping that out myself.

It’s a little difficult hitting these tiny keys with my paws, but I’ll try my best. My humans finally toddled off to bed – Granny Wendy snoring away and Pop Nor somewhere between here and there, listening to his iPod – old geezer probably tapping his tootsies to Elvis or, sheeesh, Frank gag-me-with-a-spoon Sinatra.

Anyway, this is the first chance I’ve had to power up Pop’s computer and vent.

First, thanks a whole barking lot Mom for dropping me off here today. So you get me use to playing with the big dogs at home – Joey and Maggie – and now whose butt do I have to sniff around? You ever spent time sniffing around the backside of your, ahhh, human grandparents? No, I didn’t think so.

Of course, unlike you and Dad, the grand folks do let me jump all over the furniture and sleep just about anywhere I wish – and I wish mostly to be right in the middle of their bed. In fact, the most comfortable position seems to be plopping on Pop’s chest, with my hairy tush in his face. It’s the most hair that’s been around that noggin in years.

Now let’s talk turkey. This kibble and bits crap has got to stop. You try eating little nuggets of cardboard for the rest of your barking life and see how you feel. And you wonder why I have to stop and sniff around every tree in the neighborhood. Two words – doggie gas!

Anyway, I pulled the old stare-at-Pop-and-look-really-pitiful-trick while he was chowing down on my favorite – a nicely marbled Porterhouse steak, cooked medium rare, pleasantly garnished with shitake mushrooms, a hint of garlic and a splash of Port. Before I got through begging, I’d managed to down half the beef before we began working on dessert – kibble-covered strawberries, lightly splashed with Kir and Cassis.

Now I guess it’s time to lick my butt and head off to bed. You know a dog needs her beauty sleep and if I can find that sweet spot right between Granny and Pop I should be able to get my usual 18 hours of rest.

Somebody wake me when the waffles are ready for breakfast. And Pop already promised me that we’ll be having parfaits for dessert because, well, everybody loves parfaits.