The Queen of Sheeba & the Tiger

Now where do I start? First I will tell the story of Tiger, who got to heaven before HER MAJESTY THE QUEEN OF SHEBA. He was born, if memory serves me, back in 1973. He was a present from my girlfriend. We were every bit of twelve years of age, or a year before we got our official military ID card as military kids. (I continue to refer to Air Force kids as dependents, not BRATS!)

Anyway, Tiger was born in 1973. He was a mixed terrier. He pretty much was black in color. I look back at his photo and remember that from the time he was born, he was a mischievous character. Of course, with those sharp teeth, he was a master at chewing a hole in our socks or slippers. But he was so smart. So, so smart! And a very funny dog, too. If God had made him human, he would have been a bright, clever, and witty individual.

So when did this streak of brilliance start to flower in Tacoma, Washington? My dad was assigned to McChord Air Force Base. And the local Youth Center had a dog show. So I thought I'd enter Tiger. He could already stand up and dance around on his hind legs. He could sit on his haunches and speak. He could shake hands. We not only took FIRST in the Funniest Dog category, but we got our picture in the base newspaper. I still have a copy of the story.

Well, we never took our show on the road. We retired out of the dog show business on that day in about 1976. And then Dad got orders to England, the land of the kings and queens and castles. Sadly, it was a mixed blessing that Tiger could not come to England. Mind you (as my friends in Britain would say), he was a lovely chap with impeccable manners beyond reproach. But he would have probably died in quarantine. You see, in 1979, when Dad got his orders, we had been officially informed that for Tiger or for any dog coming from outside England, a quarantine period was mandatory. And I am not knocking Great Britain for trying to control rabies. That is why they had the quarantine. But I think my dad and mum took the right course of action to let Tiger stay back in the States until we got back. So we stayed in the UK for about three and one-half years, if memory serves me correctly. When we came back, Tiger was no longer our brilliant, smart, imp filled with mischief. He was now my grandparents' Tiger.

I forgot to tell you that before we went to England, Tiger had a necklace throw toy with colorful large side beads on it. He could actually hold it and swing it and throw it out of his mouth, Grandpa told us. After we returned from England, Grandpa told us that Tiger was so good with the necklace that he could swing it and hit the back door to be let in or out. When Grandma left Grandpa and went to heaven, Tiger became and even closer companion to Grandpa. Of course, Tiger never went anywhere without his bead necklace. And when Grandpa heard the beads hit the back door, it was time for the old man to come in the house. He kept Grandpa company for many years.

Tiger passed in 1985, a year after I joined the Air Force. He was never that big, but before he went home to join our Lord, his black coat was now filled with handsome colors of white and grey and had grown all the way to the ground. We could not even see his little feet as he was walking. Now he and Grandpa and Grandma all look down from heaven. Not a day goes by that I don't think about Tiger and, and he brings wonderful memories of Turkey, Washington State, and beyond, now that I am becoming an old guy in my own right.

Which brings me to the story of why I subtitled my story "No More Dogs for Me." My second wonderful (and last) dog was a female cocker Springer. Her name was "The Queen of Sheeba." How did we come to be blessed with this little lady gem? She was in my wife's handbag. I was really opposed to having a dog in base housing. At that time, we had come from Florida, from a place called "Niceville." We had never had a dog. We had been married close to three or four years by that time. I really had no intentions of having any pet. I'd lived with and loved dogs mainly all my life, but I was adamant: "No dogs," I told my wife. Well, she got around me. Her girlfriend had given Sheeba to her, a little jet black puppy small enough to fit into my wife's purse. She gingerly pulled her out of her handbag. You know the face she made: you have to love it.

So began the scolding, the home training, the whining from the Queen because she could not sleep. We put an alarm clock in her box so it would sound like her mum's heartbeat. The whole nine yards-including the house-were her kingdom. Like Tiger, she was a master and champion sock slayer. And shoes? Watch out because Sheeba could put a hole in them as clean as any drill bit. If that was not enough, I almost locked her in the refrigerator one day by accident. Of course The Queen was only as big as a snap. So she takes her little size-of-a-rat self and tries to climb up from the bottom into the "fridge," trying to get some nice things to eat. As I am closing it, I looked down, and there she was, looking up at me with those shiny bright eyes..

And that would be a life trait for her. She hated dog food or puppy food. She loved people food. As she got older and bolder, she actually liked to sniff flowers. She liked popcorn and ice cubes. When we moved from Sumter and Shaw Air base to Columbia, she had her own little crate in our three-bedroom home. Since we did not have kids, she had access to watch a small television set. By history and nature, she was a house dog. She did not like that. But give her a bath! Her being a girl, the groomers had her trussed up like a little royal pooch: ribbons on her ears, bows in her hair. And the first thing she does is head for the backyard and wallow in the dirt. No more shiny coat, no more bows or ribbons. That was just the Queen of Sheeba.

She was my heart-all forty pounds of her. She could jump out of my red pickup and did so quite often. She would jump out the window, especially when I stopped to do some shopping. She'd bark and bark to get my attention. I'd say "No! Stay in the truck, Sheeba." Then this little black blur would come flying out the window and come running into my arms. And she really had some kind of personality just like her kindred spirit TIGER. When she had kidney stone surgery (I still have her kidney stones!), the doctor did an excellent job. He stitched her up really well and told us not to move her. We were to monitor her, especially if she had to use the restroom, and most of all we were to keep her on her special diet. No more outside food, and no eating stuff out of the dirt. She liked burying rawhide chews and then digging them up, all dirty and disgusted, and chewing on them until they were small enough to be eaten.

Then we went to Myrtle Beach to the ocean. The Queen got in the water but could not swim, so it is not true that all dogs can swim! It is ironic that I am a fair swimmer, but I did not learn until I was eighteen. I hated water. Maybe the Queen was the same. She was a very good protector. I remember once when we were at home. I was working on my truck with the hood up. My back was turned. It was kind of dark outdoors. Sheeba growled. Someone had walked past me in the darkness. I hadn't even heard his or her footsteps.

I want to end with a story about the Queen of Sheeba, dedicated to our soldiers in and out of uniform. In 2001, before the tragic and horrific attack of September 11, I was in Kuwait. It had to have been three months prior to September 11^th. I called my wife on the morale phone. "Sheeba's gone, dear," my wife said. "Sheeba's WHAT?" I exclaimed on the other end. My lovely wife told me that The Queen had gotten out of the yard. But she had always been known to come back. Our neighbors knew and loved her, and they also knew that, like me, she was really bad with directions. Somehow while I was thousands of miles away from our home in Columbia, Sheeba had wandered away and gotten lost. The sun was hot in Kuwait that day, which made it another rough day in Uncle SAM's shade, so to speak. Now, even worse, I did not have a dog anymore. It felt as if the sky were falling. I had only two more months before I would head back to the States. Now it would be a sad reunion for my wife and me. Our Sheeba was gone. But I was going to exhaust all means of finding her before I gave in to total despair. I comforted my wife by telling her that I knew the Queen would probably show up, even though this was the second day she had been missing.

I had a plan. I had plenty of friends in radio and television land. Talk radio was my passion. So I called up a radio program we used to call Sunny 100 talk radio. I told them of my plight. My wife's and my Queen of Sheeba had been missing for days. If someone could just give information on her whereabouts, I would give them a monetary reward. I told them I was in Kuwait and my wife was at home. The next day, my wife had good news. Someone had found The Queen. She was in Irmo, South Carolina, which was a good distance from our home near Fort Jackson. How did she get the whole way out to Irmo? She hopped a ride with a nice family. They were just sight-seeing in our neighborhood. They saw this beautiful little black dog. I think that all she had on was her jeweled collar, maybe with her name on it. They had told her about my APB (All Points Bulletin) on the radio show from Kuwait. They did not want a reward. They just wanted us to have The Queen back. When my wife drove up to their beautiful and expansive house, The Queen of Sheeba raced to her. My wife petted The Queen. Then Sheeba rolled over on her back and peed. It was so funny!

What was not so funny was that Sheeba had kidney failure many years later. She was much older, maybe thirteen or fourteen. We did not realize that although The Queen looked and acted young, she was an old Grand Dame. I came home one day, and Sheeba could not stand up. My wife and I rushed her to the emergency room. The doctor tried to save her. She gasped, and then she was gone. He told us we were really lucky that she had lived to get to the Animal Hospital. But we both knew that she stayed alive until God called her home from her suffering.

She was my last dog. She went on fishing trips with us. We hiked. She traveled with us, even if we had to fly. The night she passed, there was a horrible thunderstorm, but the rain was no match for the tears we both cried.

HRM THE Queen of Sheeba passed one year before the birth of our daughter. Our daughter now calls The Queen her dog and hopes to have a dog like her that she can love one of these days when her dad decides it's time.