Thanks for this, Maura. When the history of these times is written, I hope someone records the comfort so many of us have found in our dogs. Your essay has me appreciating Benny all the more. As you know, his consumption of five big pieces of Taza dark chocolate circular bars (intended for Christmas stockings) landed him in doggie ICU for 48 hours. His heart rate raced from 100 to more than 200. So grateful he survived. We need him now more than ever.
We had a golden. Ollie. Certifiable. Until she turned six, and then, just like that, she became a wise old woman. Gentle. Patient. No longer ate poop - her own or that belonging to other critters. And, the biggest miracle of all: She came when called and then sat up waiting attentively for the next command. Seriously.
On more than several occasions, I wondered out loud if someone had come in, stolen Ollie, and replaced her with this better version of herself. She lived two more years and then, one morning, started acting sluggish and before the sun set on that day, died. Peacefully.
I have yet to figure out why Ollie came into our lives. Was it to teach us patience? Was it to learn how to be clever and creative about hiding toys, socks, and my underwear (her favorite) so she wouldn't chew them to shreds and/or eat them? Was it to be tormented by the cat whom she adored and couldn't understand why the feeling wasn't mutual? Or was it to show us that we really aren't the nice people we think we are? (Her best time was turning me from bone-weary exhausted to up off the couch raving lunatic was 0 to 10 seconds.)
I think the lesson I learned best from Ollie was that, while I adore goldens - they are beautiful clowns who love their family, adore children, and are amazing protectors of babies - I love other people's goldens more, and I should never be a golden's mother. Ever again.
Every dog has something to teach us. Cats, too. I took in a stray cat years ago with great reluctance but she was shrieking like a banshee on my back deck one cold March night, so bedraggled I figured I would give her a last meal. We had an attached greenhouse and I put her in there with some food and water. Of course, she lived. So I took her to a kind vet who specialized in old cats. Turned out she was riddled with arthritis and had other things wrong that the vet fixed for almost nothing. The nest day she had cleaned herself from head to paw and she was literally gorgeous- and her meow was normal. Turns out she just felt terrible. She taught me to listen and not make snap judgments.
Two of my three current cats are from the same litter. Tenz is a quiet fellow, shy with strangers, especially the grand-dogs (who display exactly zero interest). Eddie is a frequent lunatic, and purrs loud enough to be heard halfway into the next county. They’re both red tabbies (as was their mom and three other littermates), but the resemblance stops there. Eddie is a svelte lithe little guy with a narrow face, while Tenz is nearly twice his brother’s size and a broad flat face. The kicker? Despite the glaringly obvious differences, my husband still has trouble telling them apart.
The first time we watched Shrek, we recognized our English setter in the “pick me pick me” donkey. The golden we had when we got the setter just rolled his eyes as if to say “what do you expect?” and the next setter (yes, there was another) let him know not to involve her in his antics.
Indeed. She was on her own for an unknown period of time, but was in fine fettle when she got to us. There’s a shuttle chain that transports cats and dogs from kill shelters in the South to adoption in the north. We had a friend who ran the Vermont end of the chain, and she arranged for us to collect Hem at a truck stop on the NJ-Pa. Border at 6 a.m. it was spooky and deserted. Then a hollowed-out Winnebago came wobbling in, stuffed with 40 cats and 30 dogs. Hem was so long, I almost dropped her while taking her out of her crate.
She was suspicious on the ride home, but met June, our black Lab, and they quickly became friends.
When we went swimming, June would frantically try to rescue us. When I met Maria, I had Jack, a long-legged chocolate lab with AKC papers but way outside the standard. He loved to swim and could hail Maria and both her kids as they clung to his tail. We would also carry a tennis ball to the end of the dock, pound it with his paw, and then race off the dock into the water to rescue the ball. He hated only one person: Maria’s ex-husband.
Mutts, both rescues. One variegated brown hound, got him at 12 weeks; four brothers were available for adoption: Larry, Harry, Barry and Gary. Nobody wanted Gary, but we did. The other is a black dog, very low to the ground, part Lab and the other part something very small. We call her Hemingway, because she was found wandering in Hemingway, S.C., age unknown but probably less than a year. Whip-smart; knows a lot of words.
Thanks for this, Maura. When the history of these times is written, I hope someone records the comfort so many of us have found in our dogs. Your essay has me appreciating Benny all the more. As you know, his consumption of five big pieces of Taza dark chocolate circular bars (intended for Christmas stockings) landed him in doggie ICU for 48 hours. His heart rate raced from 100 to more than 200. So grateful he survived. We need him now more than ever.
Omg, dark chocolate is lethal for dogs!!! So glad he lived!!
I have the Lab version of Bella. By the way, does she bark at nothing on a daily basis?
Both bark at nothing that I can figure out. But at least it’s not prolonged. They have their say, and they are done!
Next summer, let's invite them to our meeting in your barn - and sit back and watch the fun!
Omg they would love it!!
We had a golden. Ollie. Certifiable. Until she turned six, and then, just like that, she became a wise old woman. Gentle. Patient. No longer ate poop - her own or that belonging to other critters. And, the biggest miracle of all: She came when called and then sat up waiting attentively for the next command. Seriously.
On more than several occasions, I wondered out loud if someone had come in, stolen Ollie, and replaced her with this better version of herself. She lived two more years and then, one morning, started acting sluggish and before the sun set on that day, died. Peacefully.
I have yet to figure out why Ollie came into our lives. Was it to teach us patience? Was it to learn how to be clever and creative about hiding toys, socks, and my underwear (her favorite) so she wouldn't chew them to shreds and/or eat them? Was it to be tormented by the cat whom she adored and couldn't understand why the feeling wasn't mutual? Or was it to show us that we really aren't the nice people we think we are? (Her best time was turning me from bone-weary exhausted to up off the couch raving lunatic was 0 to 10 seconds.)
I think the lesson I learned best from Ollie was that, while I adore goldens - they are beautiful clowns who love their family, adore children, and are amazing protectors of babies - I love other people's goldens more, and I should never be a golden's mother. Ever again.
And, I never have.
Lesson learned.
Every dog has something to teach us. Cats, too. I took in a stray cat years ago with great reluctance but she was shrieking like a banshee on my back deck one cold March night, so bedraggled I figured I would give her a last meal. We had an attached greenhouse and I put her in there with some food and water. Of course, she lived. So I took her to a kind vet who specialized in old cats. Turned out she was riddled with arthritis and had other things wrong that the vet fixed for almost nothing. The nest day she had cleaned herself from head to paw and she was literally gorgeous- and her meow was normal. Turns out she just felt terrible. She taught me to listen and not make snap judgments.
This needs to be a poem Maura, the kind people collect for learning by heart. Despite all the chaos, happy new year to you 🌺💖
Thank you, Genevieve, and same to you. It is crazy here and not in a good way. But this, too, shall pass.
Two of my three current cats are from the same litter. Tenz is a quiet fellow, shy with strangers, especially the grand-dogs (who display exactly zero interest). Eddie is a frequent lunatic, and purrs loud enough to be heard halfway into the next county. They’re both red tabbies (as was their mom and three other littermates), but the resemblance stops there. Eddie is a svelte lithe little guy with a narrow face, while Tenz is nearly twice his brother’s size and a broad flat face. The kicker? Despite the glaringly obvious differences, my husband still has trouble telling them apart.
I love cats. I have over the last number of years come to love dogs, also, but I have to have a cat in my life.
Happy New Year! I always love the dog tales.
Me too!
Awww...Thanks for the big smile on my face --shining from my house to yours.
The first time we watched Shrek, we recognized our English setter in the “pick me pick me” donkey. The golden we had when we got the setter just rolled his eyes as if to say “what do you expect?” and the next setter (yes, there was another) let him know not to involve her in his antics.
I remember that donkey!
I have Bruno and he is the Archie Bunker of dogs. But he is so loyal and so caring. It was my pleasure to pay the $1300 to remove the cancer lump!
Bruno is lucky to own you!
You captured the conundrum many of us dog owners face. At least you know their patterns; the unexpected is what stumps us!
Indeed. She was on her own for an unknown period of time, but was in fine fettle when she got to us. There’s a shuttle chain that transports cats and dogs from kill shelters in the South to adoption in the north. We had a friend who ran the Vermont end of the chain, and she arranged for us to collect Hem at a truck stop on the NJ-Pa. Border at 6 a.m. it was spooky and deserted. Then a hollowed-out Winnebago came wobbling in, stuffed with 40 cats and 30 dogs. Hem was so long, I almost dropped her while taking her out of her crate.
She was suspicious on the ride home, but met June, our black Lab, and they quickly became friends.
Labs are so good natured! I’m sure that helped . Our black lab, Lady, of sainted memory, used to let our Anna ride on her back when she swam in lakes!
When we went swimming, June would frantically try to rescue us. When I met Maria, I had Jack, a long-legged chocolate lab with AKC papers but way outside the standard. He loved to swim and could hail Maria and both her kids as they clung to his tail. We would also carry a tennis ball to the end of the dock, pound it with his paw, and then race off the dock into the water to rescue the ball. He hated only one person: Maria’s ex-husband.
Lady adored water! If we passed any body of water with her in the car and didn’t stop, she would whine.
So true! What kind do you have?
Mutts, both rescues. One variegated brown hound, got him at 12 weeks; four brothers were available for adoption: Larry, Harry, Barry and Gary. Nobody wanted Gary, but we did. The other is a black dog, very low to the ground, part Lab and the other part something very small. We call her Hemingway, because she was found wandering in Hemingway, S.C., age unknown but probably less than a year. Whip-smart; knows a lot of words.
It must make you wonder what Hemingway went through before she found a home with you…