Yellow Tigger Mouse

tiggermouseThere is a certain small mouse that has apparently decided to take a walk-about and that has caused a certain amount of stress here at The Landfill. Missing aminals tend to do that around here. It is almost easier when a live aminal dies than when a stuftie goes missing. When a live aminal dies, there’s a body and a little funeral ceremony in the back yard and then we move on. Missing stufties? Where did I last have that aminal? Could it have fallen out of the car? Honestly, I think our missing mousket is probably buried under one of the Landfill Sludgepiles. Maybe she’s just taking a break from all of the rocket trips to the north country we took all summer. I think she will return. In the meantime, guess what I found? I found Yellow Tigger Mouse!

Tigger Mouse is, lemme see, I guess she would be 50 years old now. Maybe 49. She belonged to my childhood dog Tigger, the dog I got the summer between kindergarten and first grade. She wasn’t really only my dog. She was the whole family’s dog. But I was the reason we got one. Because I was *terrified* of dogs when I was in kindergarten. This was a bad enough problem when we lived in our house in Sault Ste. Siberia. The Commander could sort of protect me from dogs there, although, honestly, the overall dog/people relationship was a little different back then but that’s a whole ‘nother blahg entry. At the cabin, there was my cousins’ wonderful dog Fury and the Mullins had some kind of beagle that I think I was afraid of.

So. A stray puppy showed up at my dad’s boss’s doorstep one day. A cute little yellow, long-haired mutt. Cocker Spaniel/Collie/Golden Retriever. Whatever. Knowing that my parents were looking for a dog to get their hypersensitive daughter over this ridiculous fear of dogs, my dad’s boss’s wife called The Commander and, after a visit to the vet to get some shots, Tigger was mine.

I waited all afternoon with a whole bunch of cousins on the old logpile outside the Old Cabin for my dad to arrive with Tigger. Guess what? When she did arrive, I was TERRIFIED of her!!! She was jumpy and wiggly and yippy and, well. It wasn’t until later when she FINALLY got tired enough to go to sleep in the box that was devised in the Old Cabin for her bed that I began to calm down a bit. I tentatively softed her head and by the next day, I think was not afraid to pick her up.

I have never been afraid of dogs or cats since that day. I am sometimes irritated with dogs whose owners who don’t seem to know how to keep their dogs from bothering people who just want to walk without, well, being bothered.

I didn’t name Tigger. The princess that fought with the tomboy in my 6-year-old self wanted to name her something lame like Blondie or Goldie. Fortunately, one of my aunts, I think it was Bubs, decided that her name should be Tigger, from the Winnie-the-Pooh books that we were reading in front of the fire that summer. That name stuck. Thank you, Bubs!!!

Tigger was a wonderful dog for me. (Others may not have been so enamored. ‘nother blahg entry.) She lived to be 13. I said good-bye to her as I was leaving for my sophomore year in college. Tigger Mouse was her favorite toy her whole life. She was a smart dog. You could say, “where’s your mouse?” and she would go and find it. Today. IT STILL SQUEAKS!!! LOUDLY! AFTER 50 YEARS!! Or thereabouts. How many squeakin’ dog toys do you know that still squeak after 50 years?

No, Chloe Belle. I love you but you can’t have Tigger Mouse.

Yes, I am packed.

2 Responses to “Yellow Tigger Mouse”

  1. Margaret Says:

    That’s a really old mouse! I hate when special things(full of memories) get lost. Our younger daughter’s little stuffed duck got lost–fell out of the car when she was about 2 and she was broken hearted. I’m glad you’re packed!

  2. jane Says:

    I remember Tigger as a great dog!! I also remember when you said goodbye when going back to school. (sniffle)