Our longtime friend, Randy Anderson, now lives in LA where he works as a television writer. He shares his Las Filas home with a Schipperke, a small black dog with attitude.
Petside.com describes the breed this way:
The Schipperke’s name means “little captain” in Flemish, and that well describes the personality of this peppy, confident dog. The Schipperke (SKIP-er-kee) needs to make sure everything is shipshape. He wants to know where people are and what they’re up to. The Schip has a can-do attitude. He is quick-thinking and quick-moving. He is unaware of his small size, and eagerly enters into play with dogs of any kind or size.
Yesterday we got this note from Randy:
Friends and Family,
Skippy's gone.
I was with him last night, and as he lay dying on the pillow on the floor, I hunkered down and whispered into Skip's ear what I always said to him and what he already knew:
"You're the best dog in the whole wide world."
The little rascal suffered very little, and even rallied late last night, as was his spirit -- trying to get up, and fighting for his life. That was Skippy. But in the end, he couldn't stand up anymore, or eat or drink...and so...he passed this morning...as Christine, my ex, called the vet to put him down.
The little soldier was 17 1/2 years-old or so. We don't know for sure, because he was a foundling, rescued off Griffith Park Blvd. in 1993. A vet at the time put his age then at 2 or 2 1/2.
So he lived a long and lucky life, despite a broken leg, attacks of epilepsy, and a propensity to sneak away on a series of "adventures." The only dog love of his life, Lady, an American Eskimo who lived up the street, passed away years ago; and still Skippy, on walks, would cross over to Lady's house, and put his paws up on the bay window, looking for Lady. He never showed that kind of affection for any other dog. And he was loyal to her, even in death. That was my Skippy.
And yet no matter his maladies, Skippy was always a very happy dog, right up to the end. He especially loved it when company was over, because he knew he could cadge a lot of food and get a lot of attention.
And so, with a heavy heart, but also with gratitude for what he brought into my life, I remember...
...Skippy sneaking out onto the cantilevered roof at Griffith Park Blvd. for God knows what reason, and Mark saving him many times from falling off the precipice.
...Skippy digging three peekholes under a fence, so he could get three different Points of View on a smart-aleck cat that lived on the other side of the fence.
...Skippy sprinting in giant, joyous circles on the football field at Marshall High, so happy to be free and able to run, run, run.
...Skippy running far ahead on his walks with Dad, but then stopping on a dime and parking his little black butt on the corner curb, patiently waiting for his lagging Daddy to usher him across the dangerous intersection.
...Skippy growling in melodious dog speak when you tried to take a bone away from him, protecting the bone with his paws like a convict in the prison commissary.
...Skippy going bonkers when Dad said, "Truck"! Knowing he wasn't going to be left behind this time...and then tearing outside and leaping into the backseat and assuming his position, with his head out the window of the SUV, taking in the breeze and all the wondrous smells.
...Skippy smelling a hundred different spots on his walks, "reading the news," and peeing over those hundred spots, reminding the neighborhood dogs who was boss.
...Skippy looking at his Dad, and then turning and trotting down the hall, into the bedroom and onto his little sheepskin sleeping rug...trying to tell Dad that it was time to turn off the TV and go to bed.
...Skippy being right inside the door when Dad returned home, leaping and pirouetting in excitement that all was right with the world again, and he wasn't alone, and that food was on the way.
...Skippy squirreling away scores of bones and treats in the backyard for future usage when a sudden attack of the munchies came on...and then dragging in the soggy, dirty snack and dumping it on the rug.
...Skippy at "The Fugitive" offices, where the staffers always encouraged his Dad to sneak him in so he could perk up their day...and so, as the day began, he'd leave Daddy's office and trot down the row of offices, darting in and out, saying, "Good morning" to everyone...and then one day, he wasn't to be found anywhere, with Daddy asking everyone, "Where's Skippy?" and finally getting the answer: "Skippy? Oh, he's down in editing."
...Skippy hiding in shame, refusing to come out of hiding, when he had one of his infrequent "accidents" and Daddy had to clean up the mess.
...Skippy learning, at an early age, a healthy respect for skunks.
...Skippy, with a little help from his dad, turning from a little street thug into a big creampuff and a huge pushover for love and affection, which he always returned tenfold.
The memories are endless. So we'll stop there.
R.I.P, good buddy. You were one of a kind. Many people loved you and enjoyed a lifetime of shenanigans and joy from you.
Most of all, Skip's dad.
Thanks to all of you, friends and family, for every loving stroke of the fur you gave the boy.
You're buried in my heart, Skip...
...and will always remain...
...the best dog in the whole wide world.
-- Randy
Petside.com describes the breed this way:
The Schipperke’s name means “little captain” in Flemish, and that well describes the personality of this peppy, confident dog. The Schipperke (SKIP-er-kee) needs to make sure everything is shipshape. He wants to know where people are and what they’re up to. The Schip has a can-do attitude. He is quick-thinking and quick-moving. He is unaware of his small size, and eagerly enters into play with dogs of any kind or size.
Yesterday we got this note from Randy:
Friends and Family,
Skippy's gone.
I was with him last night, and as he lay dying on the pillow on the floor, I hunkered down and whispered into Skip's ear what I always said to him and what he already knew:
"You're the best dog in the whole wide world."
The little rascal suffered very little, and even rallied late last night, as was his spirit -- trying to get up, and fighting for his life. That was Skippy. But in the end, he couldn't stand up anymore, or eat or drink...and so...he passed this morning...as Christine, my ex, called the vet to put him down.
The little soldier was 17 1/2 years-old or so. We don't know for sure, because he was a foundling, rescued off Griffith Park Blvd. in 1993. A vet at the time put his age then at 2 or 2 1/2.
So he lived a long and lucky life, despite a broken leg, attacks of epilepsy, and a propensity to sneak away on a series of "adventures." The only dog love of his life, Lady, an American Eskimo who lived up the street, passed away years ago; and still Skippy, on walks, would cross over to Lady's house, and put his paws up on the bay window, looking for Lady. He never showed that kind of affection for any other dog. And he was loyal to her, even in death. That was my Skippy.
And yet no matter his maladies, Skippy was always a very happy dog, right up to the end. He especially loved it when company was over, because he knew he could cadge a lot of food and get a lot of attention.
And so, with a heavy heart, but also with gratitude for what he brought into my life, I remember...
...Skippy sneaking out onto the cantilevered roof at Griffith Park Blvd. for God knows what reason, and Mark saving him many times from falling off the precipice.
...Skippy digging three peekholes under a fence, so he could get three different Points of View on a smart-aleck cat that lived on the other side of the fence.
...Skippy sprinting in giant, joyous circles on the football field at Marshall High, so happy to be free and able to run, run, run.
...Skippy running far ahead on his walks with Dad, but then stopping on a dime and parking his little black butt on the corner curb, patiently waiting for his lagging Daddy to usher him across the dangerous intersection.
...Skippy growling in melodious dog speak when you tried to take a bone away from him, protecting the bone with his paws like a convict in the prison commissary.
...Skippy going bonkers when Dad said, "Truck"! Knowing he wasn't going to be left behind this time...and then tearing outside and leaping into the backseat and assuming his position, with his head out the window of the SUV, taking in the breeze and all the wondrous smells.
...Skippy smelling a hundred different spots on his walks, "reading the news," and peeing over those hundred spots, reminding the neighborhood dogs who was boss.
...Skippy looking at his Dad, and then turning and trotting down the hall, into the bedroom and onto his little sheepskin sleeping rug...trying to tell Dad that it was time to turn off the TV and go to bed.
...Skippy being right inside the door when Dad returned home, leaping and pirouetting in excitement that all was right with the world again, and he wasn't alone, and that food was on the way.
...Skippy squirreling away scores of bones and treats in the backyard for future usage when a sudden attack of the munchies came on...and then dragging in the soggy, dirty snack and dumping it on the rug.
...Skippy at "The Fugitive" offices, where the staffers always encouraged his Dad to sneak him in so he could perk up their day...and so, as the day began, he'd leave Daddy's office and trot down the row of offices, darting in and out, saying, "Good morning" to everyone...and then one day, he wasn't to be found anywhere, with Daddy asking everyone, "Where's Skippy?" and finally getting the answer: "Skippy? Oh, he's down in editing."
...Skippy hiding in shame, refusing to come out of hiding, when he had one of his infrequent "accidents" and Daddy had to clean up the mess.
...Skippy learning, at an early age, a healthy respect for skunks.
...Skippy, with a little help from his dad, turning from a little street thug into a big creampuff and a huge pushover for love and affection, which he always returned tenfold.
The memories are endless. So we'll stop there.
R.I.P, good buddy. You were one of a kind. Many people loved you and enjoyed a lifetime of shenanigans and joy from you.
Most of all, Skip's dad.Thanks to all of you, friends and family, for every loving stroke of the fur you gave the boy.
You're buried in my heart, Skip...
...and will always remain...
...the best dog in the whole wide world.
-- Randy
(Photo at right: Randy's niece, Lauren Anderson with Skippy)
