This is a tribute to my faithful companion. P.D. was a boisterous and headstrong Bichon Frise who became a wonderful addition to our family on June 1, 1987.

P.D. was obtained through a friend of my mother's, Becky, who was a breeder. When Mom told us around 1986 that Becky was going to breed her dog, Peaches, one more time, and that it would be about 18 months before we kids could get our puppy. It makes me giggle at the memory of us complaining that it would be "forever" until that day. But the last day of the 1986-1987 school year rolled around, June 1st, and we went straight from school to get "Tex", who we re-named "Pierre the Dog" or "P.D." We were all very excited, particularly Michael as this would be his "brother". Dad, the CPA, was not too thrilled when we introduced him to P.D. that night; the Bichon was definitely not his idea of a "real dog". But, P.D. was destined to be ours, we decided, and we interpreted his date of birth, marking the end of tax season that year, as an omen.

We quickly found that he was extremely active (he had to be with 3 young children) and affectionate, although only on his own terms. Surprisingly, none of us thought to take any photos of P.D. when he was a puppy, so we don't have any.
       
  These are two of the earliest pictures we have of P.D., taken in late Fall or early Winter of 1987. P.D. went with us to stay overnight with us at Aunt Jean and Mamie's in Gadsden, AL the previous summer. The next morning, the three of us piled into bed with Mamie to kiss her "Good Morning". P.D. darted into the room behind us, leaping onto Mamie's bed with us, as Mamie, who was to turn 89 that weekend, roared with laughter. (P.D. with Sarah, left, and Katie, right)
Pics of P.D. during the ice storm of 1988. When we awoke to no power, the five of us went to the home of my grandparents, who had a built-in generator in their home. We returned to our home in the mid-afternoon after my Dad was able to find a generator to use to power the heat in the first floor of our house. True to form, P.D. had been literally running around all day. Following the mad dash to get our sleeping bags to pile into the den to sleep, one of us grabbed P.D. to put him in the sleeping bag for fun...he passed out shortly after his head hit the pillow (Michael, Sarah, P.D., Winter 1988).  
 

One of the challenges during the few times we experienced winter weather in Alabama was getting P.D. to relieve himself. One of our favorite stories involves a disgusted, frustrated Michael coming inside to report how he dug a path in the snow for P.D., cleaned the snow and ice off of a bush, and even lifted his leg for him, and still P.D. would not go!!

He LOVED his yard. It was his domain and he would sit perched up on the back porch surveying it on a regular basis. He wore a path along the fence running back and forth, up and down and around a tree, what we called his "figure-eight", stopping only to look out a knot-hole in the wooden fence to spy on Harvey, the neighboring English Spaniel.

And, right, P.D., in another typical pose, looking out the backdoor to make sure he wasn't missing any action, clad in his University of Alabama T-shirt. P.D. took his role as watchdog very seriously, even teaching our Golden Retriever how to bark at perceived suspicious activity.

Poor P.D. -- all the ways we attempted to doll him up. He's been wrapped in blankets, placed in a doll crib, as we attempted to play house with him. Of course P.D.'s patience was fairly short, and he'd make a quick escape before we could get Mom or Dad in to witness how cute he looked.

Occasionally, we'd manage to capture it on film....Here is P.D., tired of us picking on him, resting by the hearth (far right), and (immediate right), with no place to escape as Sarah attempts to fit him with Mr. Potato-head glasses.
 
     

P.D. was a wonderful companion. Throughout my years of pre-teen and teenage angst, P.D. was one of the constants in my life -- always accepting me for who I was, always happy to see me at the end of so many difficult days. This continued throughout my high school and college years. Although I was home less and less, he would often make his way up to my room at night to sleep at my feet (P.D. with Katie circa 1988).

Especially as he got older, he was always ready to curl up for a nap with an afghan.
     
P.D. went everywhere with us. Most often, we went to Smith Lake in Cullman and my grandparents' in Jacksonville, AL. P.D. enjoyed sitting with Granddaddy, who suffered from severe bouts of major depression (far left). He also enjoyed the company of Sonia, who belonged to my aunt and, later, my grandmother (left, with P.D. and me).
  And here's a picture of P.D. kicking it at our lakehouse. He enjoyed the scenery and the boat rides, but hated swimming. We tried to introduce him to the water on a canvas raft, but he ended up toppling off the raft, swimming to shore and NOT happy.
     
P.D. always had a smile on his face, the mischievous mutt we all called "Nerd". Nerd was contained in the kitchen during his early years. Once ADT contacted Dad at work requesting he return home as the alarm was going off, and there appeared to be someone inside the house. Dad came home to find P.D. in the hallway, smiling, as he had managed to jump over the baby gate and activate one of the alarm's sensors! And if he wasn't the cause of the mischief, we kids managed to involve him. There was the membership to BMG, in the interest of exploring his love of Country music, which led to pre-approved credit card applications, addressed to "Mr. Pierre D. K." and the soliciations from telemarketers wanting to "speak to Pierre" (they were informed that "he couldn't talk right now" and, eventually, "that he was a member of the canine species").
P.D. spent the majority of his last years with Talia, my Sarah's Golden. Talia became his eyes and his ears as cataracts formed and his hearing dissipated with age. Talia came to live with us when P.D. was about 8 years old; he was not happy to be sharing the spotlight with another dog. Eventually, though, he began to tolerate, and later, to depend on her.
     
Eventually, P.D.'s health declined. He became more frail and arthritic. He could no longer run and jump, he no longer wanted to curl up next to anyone. He could no longer see, he could no longer hear to guard his owners or his house. He just wanted to be alone, in his bed. I made it home, knelt down beside him and placed my hand under his nose -- in the last year, it was the only way I could get him to realize I was home, as he could no longer see me come in the door or hear me call his name; he would get up right away and wag his tail as hard as it would wag. And in the end, he no longer responded to even my scent. It was time to tell him good-bye. I sang him one last lullabye, kissed his forehead, and walked out the door of my parents bedroom, as I said for the last time, "Good-bye, little Nerd."  
     

 

Rainbow Bridge Poem (click here)

in loving memory of P.D.