Tristan Tantivy in a Tizzy CD HIC CGC

(Am. Can. Ch. Tantera Dayspring Crescendo CD PT VC x Bellaire's Mischief Maker)

February 7th, 1988-December 4, 2003

Tristan left me. I didn't lose him, he left me. I knew it was his time to go, knew I wasn't ready to say goodbye. Towards the end he was deaf, blind and at times his brain was a little foggy, but he never forgot that good dogs do not go potty in the house. You see, Tristan was a very good dog. I imagine that his world got pretty small towards the end. He slept a lot. Right up to his last day, he greeted his breakfast with an enthusiastic bark and shuffle. He was a little guy with a bark big enough to lift his front end right off the ground. His bark got a little flat over the last couple of years and I would smile as he directed his "hurry up with the food" barks at the kitchen sink while I was sitting out of his line of sight at the kitchen table. I've spent this time thinking of the early years....remembering. Tristan had a serious, responsible outlook on life. He was a stoic little fellow and quite fastidious about the state of his paws. He didn't like to get his feet wet. All of the other dogs would race through the wet grass and return wet to their elbows, Tristan would trot fussily back to the house with barely a damp paw. Yes, I guess you could say he walked on water. Our second leg towards his CD was at an outdoor show on a soggy day. I know for a fact, his fuzzy butt never made contact with the ground during the sits, yet he still managed to earn third place. Guess sheltie fur gave us an advantage that day. He sure needed an advantage, he was handler impaired. I always lost more points than he did. The only time Tristan disregarded the wet was if ducks were involved. He lived to herd and I am sorry we didn't pursue herding further. Tristan was my navigator. He sat in my lap perched on my forearm whenever we went for a car ride. He kept a sharp lookout, especially for Amish buggies (did you know those horses are up to no good?). He also recognized every drive thru window that provided dog biscuits and was a favorite at the local bank. Tristan practiced a sort of doggy zen where puppies were concerned, I remember watching him denying the existence of the new puppy even as Rowan chewed his coat to rags. Tristan taught me about loyalty, love and courage. The greatest lesson in courage he taught me was how to live when your faculties start to fail, to still give life your 100% even if that 100% is the merest shadow of what you once were. He died in my arms. A friend thought he waited for me. I hope not. I hope he didn't think he needed permission to leave. He knew I was there at the end. He lifted his head when I stroked his face. I held him until long after I felt his heart stutter and stop. There is such an emptiness, the house feels hollow. I am afraid I will forget all that was special, all that made him Tris. That would be the worst thing, to forget.

Young Tris

Tristan's nickname as a youngster was Face and what a face it was. As he grew older his nickname changed as nicknames often do to Fur, short for Trissyfur (a play on of his sire's call name, Christopher).