My Dog Kicks All Kinds of Ass

Babe. The best, most well fitting name, for the most amazing dog that ever existed. A trembling little ball of black fur, we brought Babe home from Jordan Falls from some family who never bothered to get their dog fixed.
 
Although unfixed animals evoke uncontrollable rage from me, this is one instance where the good animal god’s were smiling down upon our family. Even though I was only 5 at the time, I remember mom walking around with Babe in her arms, and we chose him because he was the only one not running around like he just had heroine injected straight into his heart.
 
Timid, trembling, and oh so sweet, we took him to my grandparents cottage to show off the newest member of the Nickerson family.
 
The first few years are extremely vague to me, as I was no more than a toddler, but I do seem to remember my 3 year old sister attempting to poke a pencil in his nose and consequently getting him in the eye.
 
Babe, although the most awesome dog ever, was also the most useless dog ever.
 
Fetch usually went something like this.
 
Me: *picks up stick* Here Babe, you want the stick? Here’s the stick!
Babe: *jumping around in excitement*
Me: *throws stick* Go get it boy!
Babe: *still jumping around in excitement*
Me: Go get it boy!
Babe: *runs in opposite direction*
Me: *facepalm*
 
My family and I practically lived at the beach in the summer. Sandbars, clam digging, sandcastles, The World Game (a post to come about this epic game), and of course SWIMMING.
 
Babe participated in all beach activities, except swimming. Babe would walk a kilometre to avoid a simple puddle, and there was no way you would ever make him swim.
 
I’m not sure if he thought he didn’t know how to swim, but he absolutely refused to step into the water.
 
Nova Scotia has one of the most extreme tides in the world, a close second to the Amazon River, and so you do not want to get caught unawares on the sandbar. While walking one fine summer day we did not manage to make it back to the shore before the sandbar was completely enclosed in water as if we were on a mini disappearing island.
 
After a lot of coaxing, pushing, pulling, and eventually a fireman carry from my dad, we managed to get the barking, squealing, wriggling mess that was Babe back to dry land where the world made sense.
 
Also, Babe was the biggest sook that ever lived and was terrified of the cats.
 
Babe greeted us with an undying enthusiasm everyday when my sisters and I would walk up the driveway after school, he snuggled us constantly as the couch was his bed, and he would only ever sleep on the very end of the bed, as if we was the protector.
 
Babe came to every baseball game, every picnic, every beach day, every van ride (PRE tan-van, perhaps the old green box will get a post). He was everyone’s best friends, never barked, only howled when we encouraged him, loved walks, and was the best freakin dog ever.
 
Babe lived about 11 years and taking him on his last walk was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.
 
This post is for you Babe, the non-swimmer, non-fetcher, snuggler, best friend, official little brother, and the best dog anyone could ever hope to grow up with.