by Lorna Barrett / Lorraine Bartlett / L.L. Bartlett
Jessie was about 14 1/2 years old and a terrific companion for my Mom and Dad. Jessie was their second West Highland Terrier and a little cutie-pie. They bought her from a breeder near our family's cottage, and her first days were spent there. Somewhere I have pictures of her taken on the first day she arrived, just a tiny ball of white fur. My Dad would take her picture every week to chronicle how much she grew. She'd sit on a stump at the corner of our cottage deck and if you flipped the pages in the album it was like magic to see her grow from puppyhood to a great big girl. (Well, for a Westie.)
My younger brother and I have never had dogs as pets, but my Dad would say we (especially my brother) would come over to visit just to see Jessie (and before that Mac, Buckie, Buddy, and Alfie). He called her Rent-A-Dog because we could enjoy her, but didn't have to clean up the yard after her. (Well, I inherited that job these past couple of years.)
She was a sweetie pie who loved M&Ms, liverwurst, and cheese and crackers. When my Dad's health was failing, she would sit on his lap for hours and he would scratch behind her ears. That dog loved my Dad. (What makes this even harder is that my Dad passed away just two years this week.)
Jessie's heath began to suffer earlier this year and we knew her time was short. But somehow I expected her to last just a little bit longer.
Rest in peace, Jessie. We love you.