I never realized that as devoted a pal as Rip could live. As a child, I often read in fairy tales of some young knight giving his life for a friend, but in reality, I considered it impossible.

And then a Rip came! Just a small bundle of black and white, just a little terrier with the heart of a human! Friend, pal, and protector—all three personified in a dog!

Distinctly I remember our happy hours together, and I shall never forget his love for a small rubber ball. When I sent it bouncing over the floor, his little ears would prick up, and his small feet would go scurrying after the moving piece of mystery.

Not one single shoe stayed in the closed; not one single sock but what a little tear certified Rip’s supremacy at home. Yet, with a light heart, I would pick up these articles and place them back-for I loved Rip and he loved me!

When my friends came to visit me, he would come to the front door and bark, and I’d go let him in. his place was on the sofa, even if the company was compelled to take a hard-backed chair!

“Lehte,” my friends often said, “you think too much or Rip. Why he’s only a dog! I believe you’d give him the last bite you had, even if you were starving.”

“Yes,” I’d answer “for I’m capable of defending myself---Rip isn’t. I was created superior to him, endowed with the ability to paddle my own canoe. Rip was given to me, and it’s my duty to take care of him until the Man upstairs sees fit to separate us!”

Little did I realize that we’d soon be parted; little did I realize the sorrow and agony that was in store for me.

Little Dot Madden came to visit her aunt who lived next door. Rip and I had started to get the mail when I detected Dotty’s flying feet carrying her to the heavily traveled highway. A powerful truck came speeding down the road. Rip, sensing danger, saw Dot, and with his old, familiar bond, caught her dress and pulled her-to safety!

Did Rip get a medal? No, for there’s nothing left of Rip-but a memory. Another truck, coming from the opposite direction, caught him just as he was crossing the road to get my words of praise!

The last tribute that I could pay to my pal, my Rip, was a small wreath of roses which I placed on his grave. As Dotty and I knelt beside the mound, and as I saw that tearstained, innocent face, I thanked Him that Rip was able to save her – for I knew that Rip, in dog-heaven, if there be such a place, was glad, too.

If I believed in the transmigration of souls, perhaps I’d still be waiting for my beloved terrier to come back to his little bed beside mine---to run again after the ball he loved, or to chew up the socks that now have stayed so long, unbothered, in their places. At night, I sometimes awaken, and feel that I hear his pathetic, little whine, but soon I realize that it’s only the sympathetic wind singing over his grave.