Remembering Mickey McMick

Now let me tell you about a guy who was with us for only a couple of years, but he sure left a lasting impression.

Some dogs arrive at Little Dog Ranch quietly. Mickey wasn’t one of them. If Mickey had written his own introduction, it probably would have gone something like this:

“Hi. I’m Mickey.

Or Mick.

Or Mickey McMick.

Yes, I’m purebred.

Yes, I’m handsome.

Yes, the ladies notice.

And yes, I know it.”

He only had one eye, but don’t let that fool you. He could still strike a pose with the best of them. Mickey spent many happy years with his first Mom, who thought he was the greatest dog in the world. To be fair, Mickey agreed with her. When she passed away, his world changed. Because of his age, his hearing, and his failing eyesight, he wasn’t exactly considered a hot prospect for adoption. Fortunately for Mickey—and for us—he found his way to Little Dog Ranch. He arrived with a fantastic haircut, a giant attitude, and very strong opinions about food.

That was where the trouble started. Mom tried one expensive can after another. Gourmet this. Premium that. Fancy labels everywhere. Looking back, I think she may have overdone it.

Mickey turned his nose up at every single one. Finally, one day Mom looked at him and said, “Hey Bub, I’m done. Get with the program like everyone else or you’ll be going down the road.” Well, Mickey may have been stubborn and arrogant, but he wasn’t dumb. “Down the road” sounded like a terrible idea. So, he got with the program. Mostly. He still knew he was the best-looking fellow in the place. He still strutted around like he owned it. But he also realized he had a pretty good thing going here, and I think he was happy to call Little Dog Ranch home.

That’s the Mickey story as he probably would have told it. The rest of us remember something else. We remember a dog who lost the person he loved most in the world and somehow found the courage to start over. We remember his confidence, his swagger, his stubborn streak, and the way he could make us laugh. Most of all, we remember that underneath all that attitude was a very good dog. Mickey crossed Rainbow Bridge recently. His bed is empty now, but our memory of him isn’t. Sometimes, when a new dog arrives acting like he owns the place, I can’t help but think of Mickey and smile.

Goodbye, Mickey McMick.

We miss you, buddy.