“Fly, fly… fly fly fly fly, little girl,” I found myself repeating over and over to her still body, speaking to her spirit as it was exiting this lifetime. Thunder rumbled in the distance and vibrated to our sterile hospital room. Shocked and overcome with grief all I could muster through hysterical tears was “fly, fly… go on and fly.”
* * *
— Will P🌻llock (@bywillpollock) July 30, 2022
Triscuit Benjamin Pollock (2005-2022) spent the majority of her days tucked between my legs, under my computer, as I worked on projects big and small. Whatever small impact I made (am making; will make) on the world was done with seven pounds of sassy Rat Terrier goodness cuddled up next to me.
She was always right there.
Trisky was more than attached to my hip. She was my hip.
My philosophy about raising/caring for dogs is simple: they are part of the family. I’m not a pup “owner”—I’m a “dog dad.” You own cars and homes; material things. Beating hearts of our beloved pets make them transcend even humanoid parenting (I’m one of those, too) in the sense that dogs are unburdened by perils of spoken communication.
The heart connection, therefore, is even stronger between pets and humans because it traverses back and forth across a nonverbal, emotional thoroughfare.
In other words, you just know. They know you and vice versa.
* * *
The heart connection is even stronger between pets and humans because it traverses a nonverbal, emotional thoroughfare
Look guys, I get it. All parents of living beings want their kids to be smartest in class, including, yep, dogs and cats. But those who know her can attest and verify: Triscuit was a one-of-a-kind, exceptional animal. Personality and spunk for days.
And make no mistake: she was the star of the show and rest of us were just bit players:
She gave our mailcarrier the business (repeatedly)
We corrected anti-social behavioral issues with training
She did tricks and treats
Her favorite program was “Countdown with Keith Olbermann”
She powered through multiple home renovations
She HATED Sarah Palin (gooood girl.)
She video-bombed filming for my first book
She faceplanted in the snow
She got after that poor, unsuspecting bank teller
She assumed all groceries belonged to her
When she got a two-legged baby brother she made him laugh hysterically
And she inspired a book
* * *
When my second trip to Ireland was coming up in 2011, I was distraught leaving Triscuit for nearly 3 weeks. During that trip I made a promise to myself that I’d write a book to help people who struggle with the stress of having to leave pets behind—on work trips, holidays, whatever. The result was “Leaving Triscuit: Conscious Goodbyes, Happy Homecomings,” filled with expert tips that quite literally changed my practice with her before I had to leave. (Spoiler: the point is to communicate how trips away are no big deal and that there will be a fun reunion.)
“Leaving Triscuit” is free this week on Amazon and, to honor her legacy, will be $.99 for the month of August. I hope you’ll buy, read and review so it climbs up the charts. (FWIW: I find Amazon to be a repugnant monopoly but, for economies-of-scale, there’s nothing quite like it right now until it’s broken up. So I published direct-to-Kindle as conscientious objector.)
* * *
After one trip to the vet last week, Trisky was still unwell. She was yelping overnight in acute pain of some kind, so I brought her back for more testing. While I was under the assumption they would just watch and heal her overnight, I got a frantic call she had crashed and they were performing CPR.
I knew in my heart it was time to say goodbye, and that she’d already fought once back from the brink in 2020. “No, don’t continue,” I said, fully freaking out inside. “I’ll get down there as quick as I can.”
She had already passed by the time I arrived. They brought her out wrapped in a velvety soft blanket—her favorite—and I got to stroke her head and say how much I love her. “Fly, sweet girl. fly, fly fly” I kept saying, stroking her head.
Triscuit Benjamin Pollock (2005-2022) was 17 years old, and she changed my life, and others’, too. She was a sweet, little thing, but still, a giant among puppers.
We love you sweet girl. Fly, fly fly. 😢
CODA: This post is dedicated to Charley Benjamin, without whom I’d never had been blessed by Trisky’s spirit. Chuck Benny, from my heart to yours: thank you. Please consider making a donation to New Rattitude, which does tireless work rescuing and re-homing Rat Terriers. If you’re able to donate, make sure to specify in the PayPal comments that it’s in honor of Triscuit Pollock. Subscribe to my YouTube channel and turn notifications on because I’ll be loading lots of Trisky’s greatest hits in the coming weeks.❤️
Will Pollock is a perpetually cranky New York City escapee based in Midtown Atlanta. He’s a freelance multimedia journalist, media analyst and author of two books (award-winning Pizza for Good & Leaving Triscuit), with more on the way.
In 2001, Will earned his Masters from The Medill School of Journalism, graduating with highest honors from the magazine sequence. As permanent member of Journalism’s National Honors Society, he’s been active in monitoring, writing and blogging about media and journalism ever since he graduated.
Obsessed with good storytelling and journalistic excellence, Will uses snark, humor and reason to distill dumb shit and make it fun. He’s a seeker/maker of non-consensus news, and helps you cure crankies by finding the nut in every story.
As for-profit media continues to fail us, it’s more important than ever to find reliable sources. Authentic storytelling exists—you just have to look for it. On this blog you’ll get ideas, not ideology. Sass with class. Reporting with rapport. Evidence with a touch of evil. You get the idea.
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