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.

The Markdown

A grocery truck pulled up in front of a super market.  The driver jumped out of the truck and began unloading boxes and bags of different food.  He threw down all items on the same skid.  His route included a weekly visit to this store.  He did his job quickly.  After unloading, he would then pull the skid by his hand jack to an area where store employees would then sort and stock their shelves.  In his haste, he tore open a large bag of dog food.  He was unaware of it, but it was noticed by another.  Instantly there came a yell.                            

“Ouch!” was the cry that came from under the torn bag.  “Be careful, Buddy!  You’re spilling all over me!”

“I’m sorry,” replied the torn bag.  “I have no way of controlling my contents.”

The first bag yelled to the other bags that came off the truck.

“Hey guys, we’ve got another torn bag.”

“If he’s torn, keep him on your side.”  There came laughter from all.

“It’s not my fault I got damaged,” said Buddy.  “I am a high priced bag of dog food.  Can’t I still be sold?”

“Yes and no,” replied the first bag.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Well, I’m the bag you landed on.  I’ll explain it to you.  My name is Earl and your name is?”

“I’m Buddy!” He replied.  “You had the name right the first time.”

“We all have started out as a new bag of dog food.”  Earl continued, “Because you are torn, you will be sold for less.  Undamaged, we will be sold to customers for full price.”

“That doesn’t sound fair.”  In a loud voice Buddy insisted, “I think I am still worth as much as you!”

“In a good sturdy package, freshness stays in.  Your bag is torn releasing freshness.  Besides, any customer isn’t going to want to pay the same price for a torn bag.”

“The way you talk, I will be lucky to be sold at all.”

“No, not so.  You will be sold.  Some customers will see you as a bargain.”           

“I may be damaged, but I’m still in good shape,” Insisted Buddy.  “I bet I get sold before any of you.  I bet I am some dog’s meal by the end of the day while the rest of you are still sitting on the store shelf.”

Buddy was not off from his prediction.  He was placed in a cart of markdown items.  He was picked up quickly by one of the first customers entering the store.  As he passed by all the other bags of dog food on the pet aisle, he spoke where only they could hear.

“My bag may have been damaged and taped.  But inside I’m as good as I ever was.”

Buddy found himself laughing all the way to the checkout line.  He knew some dog would be eating a fine feast tonight.

The Unwelcomed Visitor

           Teresa happened to be off work that Monday morning.  As she came out her front door heading to her car, she heard what she thought dogs fighting in her backyard.  But it couldn’t be as her dogs, Santana and Snyder, got along fine.  Looking into the fenced backyard, she saw what was causing the ruckus.  A Pit Bull was inside the backyard beating up on her little Labrador retriever, Santana.  The pure-bred husky, Snyder, was left alone.  Immediately, she yelled for help.  Luckily at a neighboring house several men were outside.  They came running and got the Pit Bull out of her backyard.  The repair to the spot where the dog had dug under the fence was done.  Later the same day a Pit Bull was seen being walked down the street by two boys.  Hopefully, it was the same dog and the problem apparently solved.

          It was one month later, August 25, 2012, that once again a Pit Bull was found in the fenced backyard.  Santana was once again the victim.  The only explanation to why choice of Pit Bull’s victim may have been that Snyder was neutered and Santana was not.  Whatever the reason, Santana was not a match for the Pit Bull.  It was a Saturday and the dog pound closed.  Teresa called the Police while her husband Dale tried separating the dogs.  Being extremely cautious, he used a ladder stretched across in both arms to get the Pit Bull on their wooden deck.  He held it across the doorway enclosing the Pit Bull within.  It was a vicious dog apparently on the prowl.  A policeman came and sit in front of the house until someone from the dog pound came.  Upon arrival, they immediately took the Pit Bull into custody.  They took pictures of Santana’s injuries.  Santana had bleeding around the neck and an eye showed injury.  As for the Pit Bull, there were apparently no injuries.  The information was taken and now they would be in search for the dog’s owner.  Blocks had been laid across the entrance where the Pit Bull got in the first time.  Those blocks had been moved and the same entrance had been used this last time.  Hopefully with more secure method of blocking, no dog would be able to enter again.

           It has been a few weeks now and Santana’s injuries have healed.  With the injury to the neck, there is not much question as what the outcome may have been if the presence of the Pit Bull had not been detected when it was.
           Once again, Santana and Snyder are at play in their own backyard.  There’s the tennis ball or toy thrown to enhance their play.  They have not a worry in the world.
           Together they are once again in what is believed to be the safety of their own home.
            If a sign was posted on the fence it should read, “Please!  No unwelcomed visitors are welcome!”


Update:  After apparently paying a fine at the dog pound, the owner took the dog home.  For the third time now the Pit Bull has gotten in the backyard, apparently jumping the fence this time.  Will a solution to the problem of an unwelcome visitor coming into a fenced backyard and attacking Teresa’s dog ever be found?                   

The Heart Of Dixie

This was written by my daughter, Karen Gillespie. She said that I could share it on my blog.

My niece, Rachel, was expecting her first child with her boyfriend, Thomas.  They were young and excited and completely unprepared for what was to come.  At six months along in Rachel’s pregnancy, Thomas thought it would be cute to purchase a puppy for Rachel at the pet store in the mall.  It was tiny, white, brown, and curly all over.  It was a Maltipoo.  For those of us who aren’t familiar with all of the new-fangled dog breeds out there, a Maltipoo is a cross between a Maltese and a Poodle.  Rachel was thrilled with the puppy and named her Dixie.

            Rachel loved Dixie.  Rachel was also impatient for her baby to arrive so that she could begin her role as “the little mother.”  Well, since she had Dixie now, she could simply love, cuddle, and “mother” Dixie until the baby arrived.  That is exactly what she did.  Rachel hand-fed Dixie cut up lunch meat and cheese.  She carried little Dixie around all day long in her arms. The puppy never walked on her own through the door to go outside to potty.  Rachel carried her every time and set her neatly on the grass.  Dixie was rarely left to her own devices, much less set on the floor to freely walk or run on her own four legs. 

            When Thomas broke things off with Rachel and left for Marine basic training, Rachel’s babying of Dixie only grew more severe.  Family members began to warn Rachel that once the baby arrived, Rachel wouldn’t have the time or space in her arms to carry Dixie around anymore.  The warnings came mostly from her mother, her aunts, and her grandmother.  These were the women in her life who had, had babies and knew this to be true. Rachel dismissed all of their warnings.  She never got angry.  She quietly disagreed and continued to over indulge the puppy.

            Well, you can guess what happened.  Rachel’s son, Isaac, arrived.  He was all of seven pounds and completely demanding.  Lack of sleep, bottles of formula, endless diaper changes, and what seemed like a steadily crying bundle, took every bit of Rachel’s time and attention.  Dixie suddenly had to eat out of a food dish! What ended up happening was Dixie whimpering in a corner with an exhausted Rachel furious to find that Dixie had used the bathroom in the house yet again.

            Rachel yelled at Dixie and immediately regretted it.  She stopped what she was doing, took a deep breath, picked up little Dixie, and made a phone call that changed two lives forever.  Rachel meant to call her grandmother, but the person who picked up the phone was her grandfather.  He is known to the family as Papaw. 

            Papaw was the only member of the large family who never got attached to animals.  However, he had just retired AND had just lost his elderly father.  It was a time in his life where he found himself with extra time on his hands and a lot of sadness.  He listened to Rachel despair over trying to take care of a spoiled puppy and a newborn.  He asked Rachel if she felt like she could allow him to have Dixie for his own.  Rachel thought on it for a moment, and then said that she could.

            No one ever thought Papaw would grow so attached to an animal, but from that point on, the two have become inseparable. The man and the dog are the two whose lives have been changed forever. Papaw takes Dixie in the car with him and they run around on all sorts of errands. Papaw takes Dixie out on the boat with him when he goes fishing.  We laugh because Papaw continues to hand feed Dixie her lunch meat and cheese when it is meal time. He has gradually supplemented her diet with dry dog food.  He carries her around the house and takes her outside when it is time to potty. Sometimes, though, he just opens the door for her to go out on her own. He has spent some quality time encouraging her to develop some independence.  We often see her walking around on her own four legs. 

            Rachel’s son, Isaac, is three now.  He is healthy, happy, and well-cared for.  He is not spoiled.  He is very independent.  Either he has that strong type of personality genetically, or Rachel learned not to over indulge him after practicing on Dixie.  When Rachel and her son come to visit Papaw, Dixie always greets Rachel by sitting on her back legs and lifting up her front paws.  It’s like she is asking to be picked up.  Rachel always picks her up and nuzzles her for a few minutes.  Afterward, Dixie enjoys running all over the place at Isaac’s heels. 

            It is very obvious, though, who Dixie’s heart truly belongs to.  Her heart belongs to Papaw.  She sleeps next to his side of the bed every night.  What happened with Rachel could have ended a number of ways. Sure, Dixie could have learned to cope, even though the changes were abrupt.  But Papaw needed a friend and Dixie probably needed a little more babying along the way that Rachel could no longer provide.  If you ask Papaw who his best friend is, he will tell you it is Dixie.  His heart belongs to her as well.

How Abby Got Her Name

            My daughter was expecting her third child.  If a girl, she would be named Abigail.  If a boy, he would be named David.  And so; it happened, David was born.

My daughter’s husband was an avid hunter.  He heard of Labrador retrievers for sale.  He was offered a good deal with one for two hundred dollars less than usual cost.  With both my husband and daughter in agreement, they purchased a female Labrador retriever puppy.  At first they talked about breeding the dog, but later decided on having her spayed.  She was to be trained as a hunting dog.  The name of the dog came easy as Abigail (Abby), not given to their baby, was given to her.  As her husband went hunting less and less, Abby became the family pet.  She never did get trained for hunting.

Abby became a companion to the three little boys.  She went everywhere the family could take her.  They went to the park.  They went to the lake.  They went camping.  They went bicycle riding.  Abby was having as much fun as the rest of the family.  At night, she took turns sleeping in each one's room.  She sat with them as they played computer games.  She watched television with them.  Abby had the best of a life any dog could ask for.  She was loved by all and she loved all them.

David would often have ear infections.  Abby did too.  Off to the pediatrician David went.  And off to the veterinarian Abby went.  It was soon my daughter was asking, “What are the chances of one who was to be named Abby and the one getting the name Abby having ear infections the same time?”

“It’s just coincidence,” I answered.

“I know,” she continued, but she kept using similarities.

“David loves to go to the Pediatrician.  Abby likes to go to the veterinarian.  They like to see Abby come.  She is such a friendly dog.   She shows her happiness with the wag of her tail.  David shows his happiness with non-stop talk.  I could name lots of things they have in common.”

“They do live in the same house.  There are bound to be similarities.”  I said, “But remember; one is a dog and the other is a little boy.  They do have a bond.  I think any pet and owner can create things in common if love is there.”

In visiting my daughter and her family, I saw the love between the dog and the boys.  It especially showed with David and Abby.

How a dog is treated is what makes his/her personality.  Abby is treated with love and affection.  She receives no abuse at the hands of her masters.  Why anyone would mistreat a helpless animal puzzles me.  A dog wants to be loved and will return that love back.

It won’t happen, but saying it did, I would take Abby in a minute as my dog if they ever wanted to give her away.  She is a gentle and loving dog!

Christopher to the Rescue

The old wood house

There were no fine brick homes in the country I grew up in.  It was so many years ago.  Our house made out of wood with shingles as its siding.  The neighbors all had similar dwellings.  The house was open door in the summer time with a screen door to keep flies out.  It was only latched at night.  It was hot!  But it was something we got used to as we had no air-conditioning or fans.  But winter brought a different story.  The door stayed shut as the house was always so cold.  The front room had its open fireplace and half way in the middle of the seven room house was an old wood burning stove.  The attic door always left open with hopes heat would rise.  Upstairs was where the boys slept.  I still remember how there never was enough cover to keep the toes warm in bed at night.

            In the day time everyone fought for their place in front of the fireplace.  The old wood stove was seen as dangerous.  The fireplace was not seen that way until that one day.

            We had just come in from playing outside in the snow.  It was bitter cold.  It seemed everyone was as always fighting for their place in front of the fireplace.  With six of us fighting for a spot, one was sure to get pushed.  And so it happened, six year old David got pushed right into the blaze.  He was left standing, but his pants leg caught fire.  In panic, David went to shouting and then went running.  He opened that front door and ran outside.  An older sister came running from the kitchen.  She saw the front door open.  She took an instant head count as she was babysitting that day.

            “Where’s David?” she asked.

            “He ran outside!  He’s on fire!”

            It was not only the sister who ran after David.  But before her, went running our dog.  He tackled David and had brought him to the ground.  Whether that dog was playing or whether he was in a rescue mode, I really don’t know.  But he stopped a running kid from getting more seriously hurt.  It made it easier for the older sister to get to David and roll him on the ground putting out the fire.

            The pants that burned away from David’s leg revealed one awful burn on the back of his leg.  It was a burn going all the way down from the knee to the ankle.  It appeared deep in the flesh.  Since Mother did not believe in taking anyone to the Doctor, David’s burn was treated by her.  It was a lot of pain he suffered until eventually the burn healed.  But it left a forever lasting scar.

            What I saw from the whole experience was someone taking all the credit for rescuing David.  The older sister, who was babysitting and supposed to be watching, took all the credit herself.

            “I saved David,” she said.  And it is like a sibling never to let anything die down.  She constantly reminded David of her heroic conduct often. 

            It has been said, “If you are too close to something, you don’t always see the truth.”  Simply stand back and you see.  The only hero that day was not my older sister.  After all, she did not act alone.  Maybe her taking full credit was to stop any repercussions by mother who had left her in charge.  Regardless, I saw the actual hero as being our dog, Christopher.  He was outside.  He was in the right place at the right time to stop the running boy.  Some dogs don’t seem to do anything outstanding.  But when a real emergency comes about, I wonder how many of them would jump into action?  I think any dog is about protecting its master.  After all, the dog got the name Man’s Best Friend somewhere.

The Garage Sale Dog

             After taking the children to school one morning, I saw a sign for a garage sale.  I was at the time into collecting old records and bells.  I decided to stop on the way back and see if I could find these items.  It was early and not everything was put out yet.  The lady holding the garage sale kept going in and out of the house bringing things out.  I wasn't the only one stopping early.  The theory on this was, stop early and find the best deals.  Or at least, I thought that was the case.

                I felt an apology necessary, “I hope you don’t mind my coming early.”

                “No.  Not at all!  Just look around and see if you find what you want.  If not, simply ask as I may just not have it out yet."

                It proved to be what I thought; a useless stop.  And so it was for others stopping.  They left before me.  But then, I saw a large box under a tree.  I walked over and saw three little black puppies inside.  I reached out and started to rub one.  The lady had everything out now and saw me bent over the box rubbing a puppy.

                “Would you like a puppy?” she asked.

                “No, we have a dog,” I answered.  “But thank you anyway.”

                I had opened myself up for conversation.  Before I left, I took with me a little black male Labrador retriever puppy.  I didn’t need another dog.   But I still was sure this little fellow would be accepted by the children and husband.  And so, it came about as Scotty became a member of the family.  I wonder how many pets a person can own in a life time.  There always seems to be room for another.

                Scotty did not become an inside dog.  Our other dog, Zundel, was not one either.  The big size dogs lived outside.  Since we had just bought our house, we didn’t yet have a fenced in back yard.  Zundel never went beyond the yard.  She was an older dog now and was more settled in her ways.  Scotty wondered away.  He was always back for feeding though.  We kept fresh water out.  And of course, the food was given at the time of his coming for it.

                I couldn’t wait until that fence was put up around the back yard.  I figured Scotty was becoming a nuisance to some of the neighbors.  Besides, both dogs need that fenced yard.  I couldn’t see chaining either dog.  It seemed wrong.  But I guess others might see allowing a dog to run free as wrong too.  We can’t and don’t always make the right decisions.

                An appointment with a fence company was made.  Because of a heavy back load, it would be a week before the fence would go up.  The fence did finally go up, and one dog would call the back yard its home.  Zundel, who went nowhere, was put in the fenced yard.  But where was Scotty?  He failed to come home.

                I wonder to this day whatever happened to Scotty.  I know after his disappearance and the passing of Zundel, we never got another dog. There are so many ways of disappearing.  There is picked up by a dog pound.   There is an attack by other animals.  There’s the abuse by someone.  And so; the list can go on.  Sometimes it is better not to know.  You can hope the best happened.  He was a pretty dog.  He was so healthy.  I am in hopes that his disappearance came from someone who really cared about dogs and took him as their own.  But still, I wonder, as closure to this day has not come.