Merry Christmas!

I would like to wish a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to all my loyal dog readers.  I will submit another story on the weekend of January 10^th through the 12^th.  Again, Happy Holidays from your friend, Teresa

The Dog Sitter

When raising my children, we had pets.  We sometimes took vacations.  But we never left our pets at any place that boarded animals.  Instead, we relied on the good neighbor who was willing to care for them in our absence.  We never agreed on payment.  But always we  rewarded the good deed with cash or souvenirs.  We appreciated what they did for us.  I always felt the pet would be better off not taken out of his/her known surroundings.

Today we don’t take many trips.  If do, they are generally no more than a day.  This makes leaving enough water and food out for a day sufficient.  With the constant turn-over of neighbors, we have not found someone to leave our pets in the hands of.  Have things and people changed that much?  I miss the connection of neighbor helping neighbor. Maybe it still is that way in some areas.  But it is not in mine.

We were a new subdivision in the mid-seventies.  It was fine homes with neighbors around the same age.  They all had young children.  But here it is 2012.  The house next door has sold five times or so.  There are renters and owners across the street, down the street, and up the street.   Only a few original owners remain.  Their children are all grown and away.  With foreclosures hitting our street as well, it hard to really know your neighbor.  Memories of a time when things were different seep through.  It was one such memory I call to mind.  It does deal with feeding a neighbor’s dog.  Briefly in time, I would become a dog sitter.

A neighbor asked me to feed her dog while she went on vacation.  She lived two houses up from me.  I was to get her mail daily. I would place the mail on a table at the front door when entering with the key she gave me.  I was to let Duchess outside in the morning and again in the evening.  I checked and made sure food and water was out.  I allowed Duchess outside long enough to take care of business.  She never left her yard.  When called, Duchess came running.  I had recently given birth to my son.  Since I did not work, I found this routine interfered with nothing.

Upon entering the house, I always stroked the fine coat of Duchess.  She was a beautiful Irish setter.  I almost hated leaving her alone at night.  But at the same time, I knew she would be fine in her own home.  She did meet me at the door in the morning with a wag of the tail.  I guess she did hate being left alone.  The neighbor had spoiled her so.  After all, the neighbor had no children.  Duchess was her baby.  I enjoyed my time with Duchess.

It was about a year later that the neighbor moved to Texas.  With her, went Duchess and my friendship with that neighbor.  I never heard from her again.  What makes this story one of memory is not that Duchess did anything heroic.  But I do still remember that one week.  Maybe it was not as much for the dog, but how things once were.   It was neighbor helping neighbor. That was my second time to dog sit.  I had done it once before when renting our first house.  But it was my last time to do so.   I contribute it to, “The changing times.”

A Master's Personality

I have heard that if you keep a dog long enough that it begins to look like you.  I don’t know where that came from.  I never had a dog that looked like me.  I do believe though that a dog can take on your personality.  I do know of a case that I write about now.

My story began sometime after my graduation from High school.  I took on a job at the telephone company in downtown Nashville.  It was a time before the breakup of the monopoly of Southern Bell.  I had a good job working for “Ma Bell.”  But I didn’t see it at the time.  Because I wanted to work the same hours as my husband, I started working the night shift.  It was in the sixties and there I met two bosses that I would stay friends with.  Margaret was the Group Chief Night Operator.  She is deceased now.

Dot was the Night Supervisor.  She is still living and I talk to her often.  After both lost their husbands, they had moved in together to cut down expenses.  Since they lived together, it made visits to see them both easy.

They both had their own dog.  They lived in the house with them.  Both dogs were cocker spaniels.  Margaret’s dog was white and she had named her Goldie.  Dot’s dog was black and she had named him Inky.  These two dogs were as different as night and day.  But then; so were Margaret and Dot.  And they got along just fine.  Margaret was a quiet individual; whereas Dot was loud and boisterous.

The two dogs came across as comical to me.  The personality that came from each was the same as their owner.  Upon visiting them, Margaret would sit in her chair quietly holding the quiet Goldie.  Her personality and Goldie’s were both one of always low key.  Whereas; Dot’s dog Inky ran around growling at everyone.  And to a certain extent Dot had a growl too.  Dot’s words were known to bite.  I would take my children to visit with me.  On one occasion, Inky bit my son.  The dog had all shots.  He was a well taken care of dog.  But still it became in the future Inky was put in another room until the visit ended. The kids loved on Goldie, but learned quickly to keep their distance from Inky if he was left out.

Margaret would laugh about Dot’s dog and its personality.  We laughed too as that dog was just like Dot.  Dot didn’t appreciate the teasing.  But Margaret got the biggest kick out of encouraging the teasing from us too.

Don’t get me wrong.  Both ladies were good people.  But like everyone, we have our own personality.  We accept a person and their ways; or we don’t.  We accepted Dot and her dog.  And to this day, I am reminded still of Inky and Goldie.  Both dogs have since come and gone.  Dot always said, “You have that one love and nothing can replace it.”  Both Margaret and Dot had the strong bond of owner and Pet.  Neither got another dog!

Happy Thanksgiving!

          I will not be submitting a story to "My Life with Dogs" again until the weekend of December 7-9.  I am taking the Thanksgiving holiday off from writing.  With this announcement, I want to take the opportunity to wish all my loyal dog readers a very Happy Thanksgiving.  Until we share again our love of dogs, God bless you all.

Your Friend,
Teresa

  

The Barking Dog

The dog’s presence is known tremendously throughout the world.  There are 400 million dogs.  Can you imagine that?  What if they all started barking at the same time?  That would truly be something out of the science fiction.  It brings about my story this week.

As a child growing up in the country back in the sixties, I have a vivid memory of lots and lots of dogs.  There were dogs and dogs, everywhere!  And everywhere they seemed to be at many of our neighbor’s houses.  It does seem like I am running out of topics when I write a story like this.  But it becomes a memory from childhood.  It was when growing up on a farm; there was that dog.  We never exceeded a limit of more than two or three at one time.  But some neighbors had lots of them.  And what better time to realize it was when we went to visit them.

In visiting that certain neighbor with my Mother, there came the barking dogs.  In fact, several came barking at the same time.  My Mother had to maneuver the car so as not to hit one.  They seemed to be everywhere.  We were not allowed out of the car until the neighbor came to the front door of the house yelling, “They don’t bite!”  It didn’t always stop the barking. When there’s a pack of them, the noise boggles the mind.  We generally did not stay long at the neighbor’s house.

Dogs bark!  It is especially annoying if one barks all night keeping you up.  The owner is apparently immune to the noise.  But just how many have had a sleepless night from a barking dog?  I know I have.  I was so happy when the neighbor next door decided to give her daughter back the dog she gave her.  I guess the daughter felt mom living at home alone needed a companion.  But mom never showed the dog any attention.  It was her pet and required that love.  But apparently she never gave it.  If she had, perhaps there would not have been all that barking.  The dog moved to the other side of town.

I am a dog lover.  But I was still glad to see that dog move.  Once a dog starts barking, there seems to be no stopping it.  A barking dog goes on and on forever….

As I type this piece, my son gets up from his chair and goes to the front door.

“What did you see?”  I asked.

“I didn’t see anything.  I heard dogs barking.”

It never fails.  The dog can be a warning to us all that something is not right outside.  Whether it an intruder, another dog, cat or other animal, he is letting us know.  I think if known, everyone looks.  I guess it can be said, "Sometimes barking is a good thing!"

Two Wrongs Don't Make a Right

It was in the seventies and a new subdivision we had just moved into.  The world seemed like a safe place.  It was not unusual to speak to your neighbor even if the neighbor lived several houses away.  Constantly there was bicycle riding on the street.  There was walking.  You just never figured anything was needed for protection.  But today, in the same subdivision, there is less bicycle riding.  There is less walking.  If walking; the person carries a stick.  I have even seen the carrying of a golf club.  Who or what are we protecting ourselves from?  Even I don’t walk much on the same street.  I contribute mine though to being older and bad knees.

At the end of my street those many years back was an open field where many would go to ride their bicycles, ride motor vehicles, and walk.  We called this area the trails.  It seemed like many neighbors put that area to use.  But as progress came, so did the end of the trails.  The trails became more houses with more people.

It was actually fun to walk back then.  And even I rode a bicycle occasionally with my children.  But in those walks someone always seemed to walk with me.  But not so on this one day as I walked alone.  It was just before me there was a boy on a bicycle.  Before my eyes, I saw something I found hard to comprehend.

It was from a house came running a dog and he/she proceeded to head right for the boy on the bicycle.  The dog took the boy off that bicycle.  The dog began his biting.  I didn’t think twice about my own safety as I headed for the dog and boy.  I managed to get the dog off the boy.  The boy jumped on his bicycle and took off.  I assumed he was heading home.  The dog headed in the other direction.  I assumed he too was heading home.  I stood there amazed at what I had witnessed.  I received no thanks.  I believed the boy to be minding his own business.  But at the same time, I wondered what had provoked the dog?  I would soon learn the answer.  I was not the only eye witness to that incident that day.  But I was the only one who proceeded to stop it.

From a near-by house came a lady yelling at me, “I saw that!  Why didn’t you leave it alone?”

I was surprised by the lady’s reaction to which I replied, “I couldn’t let that dog hurt that boy!”

“That boy deserved it!” she insisted, “On his way to school, he always throws rocks at the dog.  He pokes sticks at him.  He does whatever he can to abuse the animal.”

“No one deserves to be mangled to death by any animal.”  I replied.

I have often thought about that incident over the years.  How long a memory span does a dog have?  Was the dog justified in his action?

Apparently other neighbors felt the same way about the boy deserving it.  I got other opinions later about the incident.  It seemed no one sided with the boy.  He had deserved it.  There were witnesses to the incident.  No one tried stopping it besides me.  As I thought about it, I wondered why no one ever tried stopping the abuse to the dog in the first place.  They had left it up to the dog to get his revenge.  And then when he did, they said the dog was justified.

Two wrongs don't make a right.  It is so wrong to abuse an animal.  It is so wrong to just sit by and watch a dog attack a human.  Again, two wrongs don't make a right.  I can't help but think I made the right call that day.  What would you have done?  Would you have made the same call?

My Dream Dog

            As a baby boomer, I grew up in a generation of family television shows.  I remember those horse shows with Fury and Flicker.  I remember later on the dolphin, Flipper.  There may have been other countless animal shows before and after.  I never saw myself owning a horse, a dolphin, monkey or others.  But I sure knew some day in my life I would own a dog.  The dog shows captivated my full attention.

I never could figure out how those dogs did all those great things.  As a child, I believed everything I watched.  I tried making every dog we ever owned into a Lassie.  I did get the hand shake, sit, roll over, and speak.  But I never got beyond that.  And even for those tricks the dog expected payment for them.  But I never wanted a Collie, German shepherd, or any other well-known breed from television or movie.  Except, maybe it was that one.  It was a St. Bernard.

My knowledge of the St. Bernard came from an old television series.  It came from a movie originally with the same name.  The name of the show was, “Topper.”

“Topper” focuses around a wealthy couple who die in an avalanche along with their St. Bernard, Neil.  Cosmo Topper finds his house is haunted by the couple, (the Kirby’s), and that of alcoholic St. Bernard, Neil.  The Kirby’s never did anything good in life.  But by haunting Cosmo Topper, they have a second chance at good.  For two seasons, it made for a good comedy.  The one stealing the show was the Kirby’s martini-loving St. Bernard, Neil.  And that was my first love for the St. Bernard.

I couldn’t think about getting my own dog until married.  Then I settled on another breed of dog.

“You don’t need a St. Bernard,” said my husband.  “He’ll eat us out of house and home!”

“Why do people say things like that?”

The research helped as I found out a St. Bernard weighs from one hundred-forty to two-hundred and sixty-four pounds.  His height is twenty-seven and a half to thirty-five and a half inches.  He eats six to eight cups of food a day.  I didn’t see that as eating us out of house and home.  He sheds a lot.  I could knit a sweater from his hair.  He drools a lot.  But nothing about him came as a deterrent.

I still see a St. Bernard as my dream dog.  Perhaps all dog lovers have a dream dog.  Most owners may well have fulfilled their desire for a dream dog.  I’m still waiting to fulfill mine.  I have not given up on getting my own St. Bernard.