If you have been keeping up with Micki’s newest blog, Navigating Hectivity you know that we rescued a dog last week. I was not thrilled about it, because we already have three dogs in our family, two cats, one college student home for the summer and regular visits from our friends or friends of our boys as well. Also, we typically get light-headed looking at our current vet and pet medicine bills. One more dog would only add to that expense. I was very much against it. Going out to the porch to await the delivery of this creature, I was mad as a hornet in a hail storm.
When they opened the cage, and I saw the poor thing, I must admit that just carrying that pitiful, shaking, starving little dog into our house, I also knew that we would be keeping her. My defenses were gone. I wasn’t angry at all anymore and I even checked on her throughout the night.
I have to admit that, regardless of what front I try to put up, I’m a bit of a softy when it comes to our four legged friends.
Well, when it comes to any animal, really.
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve swerved to miss a squirrel, or slowed for a crow partaking of a meal care of the previous driver who didn’t swerve to miss a squirrel.
In fact, we have a bit of a reputation among the stray animals in our neighborhood, since our latest feline friend actually followed Micki and our son home after Trick-or-Treating at Halloween. (That’s why we named him Hal.)
I suspect that the squirrels tell the crows who broadcast it around the local community that any stray dogs or cats can find some human friends at our address willing to feed and provide shelter and a much needed snuggle. I’m just grateful that most dogs and cats don’t speak crow.
Since I was a very little person, dogs have been in my life. Honeygirl, my brother’s wire-hair terrier, was on the scene when they brought me home from the hospital. Ginger, my uncle’s Collie and German Shepherd mix, was our guide and safety when he brought us on our first hikes into the woods.
When we moved to my step-father’s house when I was five, he had three dogs. Heike (pronounced hikuh), Gretel and Schatzie. Heike and Gretel were Doberman Pinschers and were mother and daughter. Somewhat vicious, they seemed to get a mutual laugh out of plowing into a human pup at high speeds, knocking my feet out from under me, or circling me in opposite directions and waiting for me to try to make a break for it. Then, if I could get away, they would make chase, tackle me and lay on me.
Schatzie was a tiny dachshund who was blind, deaf and slightly mad. Honeygirl, who was as much a newcomer to that house as I was, seemed to like the company of that little crazy dog.
I still remember how crushed I was when Honeygirl, an old lady of fifteen had to be put to sleep. Ginger, my uncle’s dog, didn’t last much longer. Heike and Gretel were around but Heike was old too, and was gone by the time I was seven or eight. Gretel was hit by a car. Schatzie died in her sleep after a long stint barking at an old boot.
Head spinning and heartbroken, their losses made a big impression on me, and I will never forget them.
Not long after that, in an attempt to assuage everyone’s grief at the sudden doglessness of our house, mom and step-dad came home with Heike 2. She was the best Doberman there ever was. Loyal, steadfast and constantly on guard, she followed me everywhere.
Let it be known that Dobermans aren’t very sharp. I once read a description of their temperament which suggested that they were fiercely loyal and terrific guardians, but little else was to be expected beyond that. They have a slightly ‘dippy’ personality. Nevertheless, we got on like best friends, and she and I spent long years playing, running and barking at cows. (It’s a guilty pleasure. You should try it.)
As the years went on we rotated through pets. When Heike 2 got sick, we never replaced her, but my uncle’s dog and that of my step-brothers, were always there. Later, when I was forced to move in with my dad and stepmother, my step-sister’s dogs and cats were my companions.
When I moved out into the world, my landlady’s dogs became my friends.
Only a short time after we got married, we found a tiny puppy who clung to Micki’s arm at the pet store. She was hooked, and so was I. Jack came home with us. Our long stint as dog-people (and multiple pet people), was just beginning.
Unfortunately, Jack had some issues. We are not sure exactly what happened, but he would become suddenly violent. He snapped at our oldest boy, who was minding his own business on the livingroom floor, drinking chocolate milk. A moment later, the chocolate milk was in the dog box, and a fierce low growl made everyone’s hackles stand up. He began biting, snapping and attacking us. One moment he was fine, lovable and playful. The next he was snarling and growling. He was not well, poor chap, and we were not able to help him. My boys will probably never forgive me for taking him to someone who we hoped could help, and coming home without him. I’ll never forgive myself either.
Soon enough, however, we had the most amazing dog ever. Our pain over Jack was quickly healed when Trixie came into our lives. Micki met her at a fundraising walk, and we were soon making room for our new girl.
Trained, well mannered and smart, Trixie taught the cats to ‘ring the bell’ hung on the door when they wanted to go out. She would guard the boys as they played ball in the cul-de-sac, and would even ‘go deep’ for the occasional fly balls. Whereas Jack had been a constant escape threat, Trixie accidentally got out of our back yard one day, and stayed right by the gate until we got home from work.
Ever since then, she’s been training and monitoring our cats, keeping tabs on our boys and their friends, and training (or trying to train) our more recent dogs. She knows at least sixty verbal commands, several non-verbal, and quite a few hand signals. She is loyal, trustworthy, affectionate, protective and too smart for her own good sometimes.
Kobe, our pug, who is a rather big handful, has been her biggest challenge and also our biggest hint at her intelligence. She actually figured out that the best way to train the young pug was to set a good example for him. He actually caught on. He can sit, lay down and is a good guardian too.
Annie, our newest girl is still recovering from her homelessness. She likes to keep a low profile, and spends a lot of time snoozing close to one or the other of us. The cats like her (and by this time are used to us rescuing pitiful creatures) and Trixie is glad for a companion a little less youthful than Kobe, to lounge around with. Annie fits right in.
I guess when it comes to dogs, (cats, crows, birds, squirrels, mice, chipmunks, rabbits, etc.) we are all big softies.
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