Paw Prints On My Heart — episode 2 — Gypsy (and George)

If I close my eyes and listen through the decades I can hear the excited tapping of paws on the linoleum floor of our kitchen in Calgary. Gypsy was a happy old soul, an ancient Cocker Spaniel. She had been my grandmother’s dog. Gramma sent her to Calgary in a crate on the train with Gypsy’s lifelong buddy, George, a bug-eyed, bossy, white Chihuahua. I don’t why George was called George, she was a girl.

Gypsy and George had grown up and old with Gramma in Winnipeg. We used to visit them every summer. Gramma’s tiny backyard on Lipton street wafted an aroma of something you didn’t want to step in. Both dogs were sleepy and fat. Gramma had reached a point in her life where she wanted to travel- she had grandchildren spread across two countries, and a grandmotherly desire to watch them grow up. Gramma jumped on the Greyhound soon after she put the dogs on the train.

My aunt and cousins lived in Calgary at the time as well – they were the recipient of George, we inherited Gypsy (an arrangement that seemed to suit one and all). Although everyone worried about splitting the old girls up at this stage of their lives nobody wanted (or needed) 2 dogs. I was glad when my aunt picked George up from our house. My cousins loved George for reasons I still don’t understand- she tried to bite all but her own kids.

Our family had grown again by this time. There are black and white pictures growing brittle in our old family albums of Gypsy watching my youngest sister learn to walk. Mom was living on the edge of the prairie with four kids under six, an ancient cocker spaniel and a husband who spent three weeks out of four on the road. From my vantage I can imagine just how glamorous her life was back then.

Gypsy seemed to grow younger once she hit the fresh prairie air. She had spunk she never displayed at Gramma’s house. She had four kids and a home of her own. I think she waited a long time for both. She developed an attitude and started wagging her stubby tail, her paws danced on the slippery kitchen floor. She didn’t seem to realize she was still old – us kids forgot in a hurry as well – we had a new dog and she had a fresh start. She never let George in the house, even for a visit, ever again.

I was too young to understand what Gypsy’s final car ride was all about – Dad carried her down the front steps and Mom cried – I’m fairly certain us kids were too focused on being kids to really even notice. In hindsight I’m sorry I didn’t know enough to say goodbye.  Gypsy was a good dog, I’m thankful she got the opportunity to touch her youth again, even for just a little while.

This is Gypsy, my grandmother and my mother on the sidewalk in front of Gramma’s house on Lipton Street in Winnipeg. 

 Rejuvenated in Calgary