Grey Whiskers and Fur

 Most of my friends know (or know of) Willis Tonkin. Willis is 10 lbs of spunk, spite, love, and perpetual playtime all rolled up in the body of a Jack Russell Terrier. If there is such a thing as an animal soulmate, Wills Abner Stoltsfus Tonkin most certainly is mine. The Amish middle name is courtesy of my wife Missy, who theorized that Willis may have come from the humble beginnings of a Pennsylvania Dutch puppy farm.

Willis came to us almost 7 years ago courtesy of my brother-in-law, a rental-property owner and self-proclaimed “dog broker.” Upon checking one of his properties where tenants had “skipped town,” he found Willis as a tiny puppy, locked in a bathroom, with no food or water. It was unclear if the owners had intended to come back for him.

I didn’t know any of these points before arriving home that day, other than my wife’s promise that “a surprise” was waiting for me, but that we “didn’t have to do it.” I opened the door to find Willis’ buggy dark eyes staring at mine. As it turned out, our place was the last potential exit on this pup’s trip to an animal shelter. My answer was immediate and firm: This little guy wasn’t going anywhere.

Yep…it was love at first sight.

Willis got his name from the classic TV show “Different Strokes”; one day early on when the little guy wouldn’t stop barking (which has been pretty much every day since), my wife looked him and said “Whatchu talkin’ ‘bout, Willis?”…which was the big tag line for the show. It just stuck. I have to admit it was a better name than some of the other ideas which had been floating around. For a minute we considered “Little Jimmy Donovan” for a tribute to my bandleader (Jim, if you’re reading this…it would have been a great social media opportunity).

It's really tough to explain to people who don’t have dogs what bonding with a non-human is really like. These four-legged creatures are the embodiment of loyalty, trust, and empathy in ways that transcend traditional communications. Simply put, they almost seem to exist only to make our lives better.

It’s important to note that although Willis is a “good boy,” he isn’t a well-behaved dog. As the old saying goes, normal dogs have owners; Jack Russells have “staff.” Willis is high strung, hyper-defensive of both his family and his property, and, yes, he’s bitten his share of friends, relatives, and neighbors. He ran away once, sbut was quickly cornered thanks to a member of the Altoona Track Team. His vocal “sassing” sessions with my wife are entertaining (at least to me)…and his tendency to bark nonstop (very much a trait of the breed) is NOT.

Within a year of Willis’ arrival, the world started moving quickly. My employer began a reorganization in 2018, adding stress and uncertainty to all of our lives. At the same time, I was working on a doctoral dissertation and applying for academic promotions. When the dust began to settle on all of these things, a little thing called the pandemic hit in 2020, giving us even less firm ground to stand on. Everything seemed to be changing every day…except Willis. He literally was always there.

From my first days of teaching from home during the pandemic to rediscovering hiking, my little tough doggo was there beside me. He made guest appearances in my classroom video chats (wearing a matching tie) and he was ready to take a walk anytime the stress of COVID teaching got to me. When we returned to the office, he was there to help me breathe easy after a day of orating behind a mask. He even served as the welcome wagon to a new puppy in 2021, showing that even “Grouchy McGroucherson” could show kindness and compassion.

The other day, when sitting on my lap, I could see how grey my little guy’s face is getting. He IS 7, and I know this stuff is part of getting older (for dogs and men), but I found myself getting a little choked up. A spirit this pure should be immortal right? He shouldn’t age; instead, he should be a fixture in our lives, a perpetual presence that can always be counted upon as a center when everything else flies apart.

At the same time, more grey pops into my beard, temples, and eyebrows on a daily basis. While I gave up plucking these light insurgents from their follicles for my 50^th birthday, I’m still not happy to see them. Watching the grey wave wash over Willis’ face, however, hits me in a far more emotional way. Time simply moves faster for them.

Maybe that’s why dogs love us so intently and without condition. In the same way that couples and friends, over time, learn to let go of fights that aren’t important and trivial misunderstands, our fur babies know that every minute counts…and that they don’t get to “finish the run” alongside the two legged critters that fill their bowls and rub their bellies. They don’t waste hours or years holding grudges or cutting off contact; they forgive, forget, and return to our laps.

When I get home late at night from playing a gig, Willis is downstairs waiting for me; he will not go to bed with “mom” until I’m loaded in. When I get home from work, he greets me at the door, usually with a toy in his mouth. He sat at my feet during the entirety of my dissertation writing, an act of comfort which earned him a mention in my forward, and he’s seldom more than a few feet away from me at any time I’m awake.

Every new grey tuft of fur reminds me that there are only so many summers that we get to hit the trail and so many times to throw the ball. Every light colored strand on his handsome brown face says “get the dog-friendly vacation house…the kennel can wait.” Every time he falls asleep on my lap encourages me to slow down and spend some more peaceful time in the moment with my best bud.

Dogs are so much better than we deserve. How lucky are we to have a friend (or two) whose entire mission in life is to be by our side? We owe it to them to learn the lessons of presence, forgiveness, and loving without fear.

If the grey on my little Willis’ face is like snow on a hillside, I’m going to make the most of the remaining green before winter comes.