Whistler
A bit of history. A circus dog mated with a mutt and produced a litter. Our uncle, who lived on a farm, inherited a pup from the litter and named her Whistler. Unfortunately Whistler liked to kill chickens so it wasn't a good fit. Since we lived in the city he gave Whistler to our family. I was five years old at the time.
Whistler was my best friend. She slept with me on my bed. She understood simple commands (stay, sit) and best of all we played together outdoors. I would direct her to sit in my little red wagon and pull it around. Then I would tell her to stay in the wagon while I went to play with friends. When I returned she would still be there, waiting patiently, while observing the birds high in the trees.
Oak Street School was about 5 blocks from our home. It had 8 classrooms where grades 1-6 were taught. I was in third grade and seated near the back of the room. One day there was a disturbance near the front of the classroom. I stood up to get a better view. There was a dog in the room. Whissy! She had followed my scent all the way from home, into the school, found my classroom, then found me!
The years passed and I transferred to Whittier Junior High School. Whistler still slept on my bed. In the morning I would get dressed and go down stairs. She would follow soon after. One morning she didn’t come down. I went to the bottom of the stairs and looked up. There she was, at the top of the stairs, going down the stairs one painful step at a time. My father observed this, ran up the stairs, picked her up, and carried her out to the car. He set her on the passenger seat. While he was going around to the driver’s side I reached through the open window and started to pet her. Clumps of fur came out in my hand. My father drove away and that was the last time I saw Whistler. I saved those clumps of hair in a small film canister as a cherished momento.