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The Real Thing"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you when a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real." -- The Velveteen Rabbit, Margery Williams Callie knew it wouldn't be long now before Rudy would put in his two cents' worth. Sprawled in front of the TV, her head on the dog's sinewy belly layered with rich fur, the six year old, watching The Lady and the Tramp for the umpteenth time, waited expectantly. When the forlorn dogs held captive in the city pound appeared on the screen, the alert black and white Border Collie sat up, ready for the vocal number. As the video characters opened their mouths and launched a midnight lament, Rudy joined the howling ensemble with a majestic baritone. Erupting in giggles, the 35-pound girl lassoed her animal companion with her arm, bringing him down in a smothering hug. Like a bingo hopper cascading over and over, the two friends rolled on the floor. Rudy welcomed the chance to play the twirling game; however, he refused to end his raucous song, which fueled Callie's efforts to hassle him even more. Only when Callie's mother reminded the little girl that bedtime was near and she had to pick up her toys and books did the wrestling match end. In an ongoing conversation with Rudy, Callie went about her task. With his help, Callie plucked the stray items around the house, placing them in their designated places in her bedroom. With teeth brushed and pajamas on, the little girl and her animal companion snuggled together in the bay window, peering out into the night and making plans for tomorrow. After her parents came in with their good nights, she in the top bunk bed and Rudy in the lower, they continued their talks. Though she found she didn't really have to say anything to communicate with him; they could talk with their hearts and minds. That's how close they were. Their telepathic conversations were as ordinary as the snow that surrounded their home. Her mother said they'd always been that way. When Callie was born, the canine had already been a part of the family for four years. Purchased in Illinois, a long way from their home here in Alaska, Rudy was brought back to serve as a companion to her mother. Callie's dad traveled a lot and, though their farm had sled dogs, her mom wanted a dog inside with her while he was away. Growing into a 45-pound dog, with high white socks on his legs and a big white y on his head, Rudy was the epitome of intelligence, dedication and agility. And once Callie joined the family, those laudable qualities seemed to leap out even more, as he became the little girl's protector and friend. Leaning over and looking down on Rudy from the top bunk, Callie asked Rudy if he remembered the first time he saw her. Although the dog replied with two succinct yelps, the youngster relayed once again the story her parents had told her. The day Callie was to come home from the hospital, her father had placed an infant seat securely on the back seat of the family four-by-four vehicle. But before he could shut the door to drive away, Rudy, clenching a colorful object in his teeth, bounded into the car. In a hurry, her dad told the collie he had to get out. He didn't want to be late. But Rudy refused. Instead he tried to jump into the back seat. Finally succeeding, the dog deposited the green ball, his favorite, into the carrier. Sealing his welcoming gift with a lick and a paw pat, he then vaulted out of the car. It was his way of welcoming her to the family. Soon Callie was filling the room with other chronicles from their early days together, reminding the dog of such legendary times as when he saved her from a long fall down the stairs by grabbing her diaper. Or funny times when she'd refused to let her parents wash her face, but allowed Rudy's big tongue to do so. He had let her dress him up for a big wedding and walked down the aisle with her, and he'd faithfully follow behind her horse when she was riding. Rudy, stretched out on his side below, with ears in active sonar mode, listened attentively. Speaking softly, she told him that she knew he did all that because they were going to be what they were right now: best friends forever. After home schooling the next day, the petite blue-eyed blonde girl and the omnipresent dog played while they waited to help Callie's mom with chores. For the two, playing was just another form of communicating. There was treasure hunting, dramatized by digging and falling in the surrounding snow banks; chase, today played with balloons ready for the popping; Frisbee, a game that could, if Rudy missed a toss, end up being a treasure-hunt game again; classic hide-and-seek; and long walks around the family's 20-acre home place. Yet, Rudy knew how to work as hard as he knew how to play with ebullience. Around the farm, as well as the animal rehabilitation center Callie's mother ran, the dog would assist by herding, fetching and training. Though there was a slight hitch to the former. A natural herder, the Border Collie could be relied on to usher wayward animals to their places from the pasture or from area to area inside the center. Except sheep. Instead of gathering them and directing them to the barn, Rudy persisted in vaulting over their wooly bodies. Each time the family would give him another chance to connect to his genetic calling, the Border Collie would quickly detour from any herding attempts and, with great gusto, return to sailing over the sheep. The scene never failed to make Callie laugh. Trying to muffle her amusement, Callie would run to her pal to remind him he need only herd the sheep as he did the cows and horses. After all, she'd tell him, he wasn't competing in an agility-and-hurdles contest. He should save that for when he competed around the state in agility competitions. A regional winner, Rudy, like a canine Jesse Owens, was a supple hurdler. His adroitness was known as far south as Anchorage, and after coming out on top at yet another meet, Rudy would rush to collect his hugs from Callie. Her glee would often extend to telling anyone near her favorite story about the "failed" but winning sheep dog. During one race, the collie, apparently forgetting (or perhaps giving himself an extra challenge) that he'd already sailed over one hurdle, returned to the far obstacle and shot over it again. He still outran all his opponents with ease and captured another blue ribbon. At home, fetching and sorting was another easy task for the intelligent dog. From being told to go for something and dispersing it where instructed, to managing his own balls and plastic squeaky frogs, Rudy was the dependable helper. He was just as proficient at staying clear of activities that his presence could hinder, such as clearing the land or feeding the horses. But it was Rudy's training skills that Callie's mother consistently counted on. Always the role model for the other dogs, Rudy, though not a husky, was adept at training the puppies to mush. Leading the young dogs, the collie, following vocal commands, as well as the pull of the reins, was the alpha dog; however, once the new crew had the routine down pat, Rudy would sit shotgun by Callie's mother. In the front seat of the sled, the two would traverse the landscape listening to the tape deck. Sometimes on their trips, Callie's mother would take her skis and ski away from the sled. When she whistled, Rudy would head out to her with the team in tow. But Rudy was happiest when he was with Callie. In her room at night, Callie would often pull one of her favorite books from the bookshelf and read aloud the story. Even her walls, in a colorful calligraphy mural, depicted the tale of The Velveteen Rabbit. Callie loved the book because it explained best how she felt about Rudy. She considered the faithful dog the most real being around her. She could tell him, whether verbally or telepathically, her secrets, her fears and her delights. With unfathomable and unconditional acceptance, he loved beyond the barriers of her everyday life. She could not picture life without him, for in the sometimes confusing adult world, he was her only true friend. But she didn't have to worry. He'd promised her he'd never leave her. And he was a dog of promises. Whether given or kept ones, he was always teaching her the importance of promises. When she couldn't play ball with him, all she had to do was tell him when they could. He'd remember and keep the date. Yesterday, she told him they'd play ball at noon. At 12:00, he came to her with the green ball, ready to play fetch. As always, he kept his promise, and she kept hers. But as Callie closed her eyes to sleep this snowy evening, Rudy communicated to her that the biggest one was yet to come. The little girl, dropping into dreamland, did not respond. One summer day (her dad had heard it would be a hot 73 degrees), Rudy unleashed another promise. After zooming down the slide together in the backyard, Callie and the Border Collie set out for the creek. A favorite spot, Rudy would first splash headlong into the cold water. Trying to coax Callie to join him, he'd go back and forth to her on the bank as she focused on building a dam. His splashing and her engineering duties soon resulted in two soaked play partners. Lying in the sun with Rudy, Callie draped her arm across her canine partner. As she stroked his damp fur, it occurred to her that she must be getting big, for Rudy seemed to be smaller than before. Happy that she really was becoming a big girl, her mind conjured up some new games they could play. Sensitive to her thoughts, Rudy jumped up and, tugging on Callie's jacket sleeve, urged her back to the house. There, he retrieved his balls, and soon a game of fetch was in motion. Tossing the black sphere as far as her diminutive arm could project, Callie watched as Rudy the athlete went for the rubber ball. As he lunged for it, Rudy staggered, then quickly recovered, and brought the ball to Callie. But on the next throw, he lost his balance again. This time the collapse was beyond recovery. Unable to lift her friend, Callie ran for her mother. At the veterinarian's office, the animal doctor discovered that the Border Collie had swollen lymph nodes the size of golf balls. Diagnosing Rudy with cancer, the vet suggested that the dog be put down. Refusing, Callie's mom put Rudy back into the car. On the way home, with tears sliding down her cheeks, Callie's mother told her daughter she was sorry and not to be afraid of what could happen. With her arm around Rudy, sandwiched between the two females, Callie responded that she wasn't afraid; Rudy had promised her he'd always be with her. Not sure how to answer, Callie's mom, chewing on her lip, was quiet for several minutes. Though she had noticed Rudy had seemed thinner than usual, and less spontaneous, she had dismissed any irregularity with his health as a consequence of the changing seasons. Animals often reacted to the transition in many ways. Never had she considered that Rudy was ill. Around Callie, he had seemed as robust and as attentive as ever. As the car gobbled up the last few miles of their journey home, she announced to her little girl and her dog that she had an idea: she was going to try to get in touch with someone she'd used before with the animals in her care at her rehabilitation center. Callie asked if it were Sharon. Callie's mom nodded yes. With determination fortifying every word, Callie turned to face her mother and stated that she, too, wanted to talk with the animal communicator. Answering the emergency request, Sharon listened as Callie's mom explained why she had called about Rudy and asked what Rudy could tell them about his situation. Merging with the Border Collie, the animal intuitive immediately connected with the dog. A visual communicator, he spoke with direct thought that employed words, as well as pictures so stunning, so multihued that Sharon felt she was a child again watching for the first time a Technicolor picture show at the movie theater. Rudy's expressions were also very humanlike in form and feeling. The dog began by communicating that though his head felt heavy and he was having trouble with balance, he was in no pain and had no medical requests. Grateful to Callie's mother that she didn't put him down at the clinic, he said that when it was time for him to go, he wanted to be at home with his family, especially Callie. He only asked that the family listen to Callie. She would know what to do. Aware that Callie wanted to talk now, Rudy also sent a thought request to Sharon that he wished to speak to his friend. Handing the phone to her daughter, Callie's mother told her that Rudy wanted to speak with her by way of Sharon. Holding the receiver that dwarfed her delicate face, Callie spoke with confidence. She asked Sharon if she thought animals had souls. When the animal intuitive replied that she did, the little girl said she knew they did because they were gentle, kind and good listeners. And good talkers. Though they talked in a different language than out-loud words, they talked with their hearts. "Maybe that's why," she told Sharon, "people don't listen real hard to them." Laughing, Sharon said it was too bad Callie lived so far away; with her wisdom, she could come work with her. Interjecting, Rudy conveyed that Callie was right: the two of them did have a special bond. That was why he wanted her to listen to her heart in the coming days. He also wanted her to remember what he'd always promised her, for he loved her very much. Over the next six weeks, as Rudy's lymph nodes under his chin ballooned and his body contracted in size, Rudy's health rapidly deteriorated. Yet, he refused to change his patterns. Though weaker and often unsteady, he stuck to his routines. When a horse got out, he headed out across the field to herd him back, and when Callie was outside, he'd urge her to play a bit or take walks. During one of those abbreviated walks down the hill from the house, the dog and the little girl spoke their own language. Via that telepathic connection, Rudy said that if he did get too tired to go on, he wanted to be buried here, where he could see everything: the house, the windows to her room, the horses, the animal center. But mostly, he expressed to her that he wanted her to remember that if he left, he promised he'd come back. He yearned to be a Border Collie again. Stopping, she faced her pal, and with the purity of a child's trust, Callie told him then he would, and she'd be looking for him... Reflections of the Heart: What Our Animal Companions Tell Us 
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