Jimmy Preston’s ninth birthday present was a dog. It was a gangly, awkward thing, a three-month-old male bluetick pup that ran in aimless circles, its tongue lolling out of his mouth, and that tripped over its own long ears, but for Jimmy, it was love at first sight.
The animal went without a name for several days and it was Jimmy who finally remedied this situation. He noticed that whenever they rolled and wrestled on the ground, the dog always found a way to somehow come out on top.
“Come on, Topper”, he would yell and the two of them would go tearing off into a field, a pasture, or the thick woods behind their rural Pennsylvania home.
Topper loved Jimmy’s two brothers and one sister, but Jimmy was the apple of his eye and the two of them were inseparable. Jimmy taught him many tricks and verbal commands. He was a very quick learner.
When school began again and Jimmy headed off to the fifth grade, Topper was six months old. Every morning, he would follow the boy down the driveway to the bus stop. There, his master would mount the bus steps, turn with an upraised palm, and say “Topper, stay”. Then he would board the bus, crank down his window, and yell “Goodbye, Topper” as he pulled away.
Topper was always there when the bus dropped Jimmy off after school, lying in the driveway, head up, tail wagging to beat all get-out. And off they would go. Jimmy knew the dog didn’t lay there all day waiting for him, but there he was each and every afternoon.
They had their summers together and they lived them to the fullest, romping over every inch of the farm, getting into and out of trouble, and just generally having a ball. But, as every school year kicked off, there was the bus, the command to stay, and the receding “goodbye” as the vehicle took Jimmy away.
When Jim Preston went off to college in faraway Pittsburgh, it was hard on both of them. Jim actually called home several times those first few weeks, just to talk to Topper, who frolicked, bounced, and barked at the very sound of his voice. The summers were different, but still good. Their farm excursions were less frequent and slower, but there was more time on the porch or in the living room, just enjoying each other’s company, oft as not with Topper’s head in Jim’s lap. Each year, though, it always ended with a “goodbye” and Jim’s most recent departure.
Two weeks before his final senior exams, Jim got a call from home. Topper was then eleven years old and not in good health.
“Jimmy”, his mom said, “I’m afraid this is the end for Topper. I don’t think he has much time left”.
Jim dropped everything, jumped in his car, and rushed home. He found Topper wrapped in a thick blanket on the kitchen linoleum, a pillow under his head. His breathing was rapid, his ribcage heaving as he fought for each draught of air, and there was a shallow wheeze when he inhaled. But when he saw Jim, a light came on in his eyes and his tail wagged ever so slightly under the blanket. Jim dropped to the floor and hugged his beloved pet as tightly as he dared. He held Topper close for several minutes until the animal shuddered, a single subdued sound escaped from his throat, and he passed away.
From that day forward, Jim Preston would always swear that just before Topper breathed his final breath and crossed the rainbow bridge, he said, as clear as a bell, “Goodbye”.
