My life in dogs
Growing up, the joke was that mom had me and my dad had Bilbo. Bilbo was a big ol' St. Bernard who was born right around the time I was. I grew up as he did; my stuffed animal was even a St. Bernard. Bilbo was always my dad's dog and I saw him a lot like I saw my dad the policeman: loyal, protecting, cuddly. I remember once when I was mean to a neighbor girl. Her mom came over to our house to see my mom about it. I sat back in my bedroom curled up with Bilbo, alternating my thoughts between letting him out and asking him to eat her up and feeling comforted that he loved me no matter what.
St. Bernards aren't very long lived dogs, and our next dog came after Bilbo's death. We got a Siberian Husky mix pup from the secretary at our school. Our friends and neighbors got a pup from the litter as well; they named theirs Scamp. My dad wanted to name him after another Tolkien character and my brother wanted to name him Playful. We compromised with Playful Bard, although only my brother called him Playful and only for a little while. Bard was friendly, but he seemed to view us as a meal ticket as opposed to the reason for his existence. Bard was a runner and could escape from any chain. After Bard pulled the railing off the porch, the stairs off the deck, and a tree out of the ground, my dad finally sunk a huge spring into the side of our house and attached a run to it. He told us that if the dog pulled the house down the road, we should just let it go. Among the many adventure of Bard were the time he ate Bunzer, the classroom rabbit my sister was bunnysitting, and the time he ran off and was found clear across town in the doghouse with his girlfriend who had moved from our road. That one gave a whole new meaning to the idea of puppy love.
The love of my doggy life was Kloot. I don't know what possessed me to stop at the Kenai dog pound that afternoon, but there were two little white puppies that drew my attention. The fluffy and outgoing female was being adopted as I got there, and the larger, dopey looking male was sitting silently in the back of the pen. He was the only dog in the place not making any noise. I went in, picked him up, and he peed all over me. So I took him home and he became mine. That summer he went with me everywhere, and ultimately, he was my companion when I dropped out of school and went on a 4 month road trip across the lower 48. Kloot slept with me, traveled with me, snuggled and comforted me, and was boon companion for 4 of the hardest years of my life. He was my constant companion and constant friend. I still get teary when I think of him.
Other dogs have come into my life. My mom adopted a puppy named Yzerman, which my brother had tried to hide in his room in high school. Yzerman was a strange dog and hard for anyone other than my mother to love. He & Kloot & Bard shared my parents' house at times, an uneasy truce that occasionally erupted in ruckus. Yzerman & my mom had a similar relationship to Kloot & me, although Kloot was much more well behaved and friendly.
My own family has had it's share of dogs as well. Our first family dog was Gretel, which Bob's ex-wife picked out as a puppy. When she moved out a few months later, she took the dog. The story goes that after one night away, Gretel hopped into her car and refused to get out or look at her, so she brought her back to Bob. Gretel was sweet and anxiety-ridden, but we loved her and she loved our kids. She was playing with Jed when he fell and split his lip, resulting in his first stitch. Gretel began to compulsively lick herself from anxiety, and on Bob's birthday a few years ago we realized that she had chewed off her own leg. It was awful, and it was the last of the escalating health issues we battled with her, as our wonderful vet convinced us that putting her down was the best option. Jed was a toddler, and we all went out the back and buried her underneath a big spruce tree.
Milo entered our family the summer of 2000. We had enjoyed a nice dinner and some good wine and on our way out of the restaurant saw an add for free puppies on the wall. We stopped and headed home with what we thought was a male Chesapeake/ Lab mix. Bob named him Milo, after Milo of Crotona who carried the bull up the hill every day, growing bigger and stronger as the bull grew. One extremely cold day the next winter I came home and found blood all around Milo's pen. Worried, I scooped him up and ran him into the vet. Needless to say I was surprised, and quite embarrassed, to find that Milo was actually female and had gone into heat. She is a strange looking dog, rather square in the butt, smelly and low to the ground, but she epitomizes the sweet dog. She was so sad after Gretel's death that we began looking for another dog to keep her company, and that was when we acquired Dimas.
My husband wanted a big "Alaskan" dog, especially after the disappointment of Milo not being a huge male. We looked for puppies and watched the paper and started visiting the pound. One morning the pound had 5 puppies, about 4 months old and extremely in need. They had been living behind dumpsters at the Transfer Site, eating what they could scavenge and rocks. We thought we'd be able to walk in and adopt but it turned out there was a waiting line. So of the 3 familes there to adopt puppies, we drew numbers and ended up the last to choose. The first two chose the fluffy, adorable pups that were friendly and outgoing. Lucky for us, the one Bob wanted was left for us. This was the puppy that had snuck out of the gate while the attendant tried to let us in, rn off ecstatically to visit all of the other dogs before Bob caught him, and bit Bob's earlobe while he held him. Dimas came home with us just before the 4th of July. He's a good family dog, except for the fact that he hates to be penned up and has a tendency to run off and get the neighborhood dogs all stirred up.
I feel really lucky that the dogs we've had since we've had children - Gretel, Milo and Dimas - are all excellent with kids. They've been gentle hearted dogs, often terrified and confused when visiting dogs aren't friendly. I trust them completely with my children, and with other children and dogs. As much as I loved Kloot, I'm not sure how he would have done sharing me with my husband & kids. When we got Anya last summer, I just assumed that she would have that same temperament.
Milo is now 9 years old, and sometimes her hips give her a hard time as she goes up and down the steps. Bob started worrying that she might not be around too much longer, and decided we needed another dog, again, the bigger the better. Anya was a half Newfoundland, half Malemute yearling that some folks were going to get rid of. They were hoping she would be big enough to compete in sled pull competitions, but decided she was too small. It was super rainy day when we brought her home; she was terrified of the dog carrier and the ride in the pickup truck. But she was cute and the kids loved her. We all got a bit freaked out when she was hostile to Milo, but hoped she would calm down. She was great with Jed, and he loved to wrestle with her and play. Unfortunately, her hostility continued to show itself, first with our neighbor and then finally with a horrible attack on our neighbor's small dog. Deciding that we couldn't keep Anya was one of the hardest decisions we've had to make, but we knew it was best for our family. So we told Jed that Anya went someplace where she can be happy and there aren't any other dogs around. It may not have been completely honest, but I think it was for the best.
So then Jed asked Santa for a new puppy. Maybe it's guilt, or maybe it's because we're suckers for cuteness, but we decided to get him one. Of course, once we decided, there wasn't a puppy to be had in Fairbanks that wasn't a foo foo dog or several hundred dollars. The, last Saturday, Bob found a dog in Delta Junction and we drove two hours there to get Della. She was exactly six weeks old, tiny and snuggly.
Jed is in love. He told me several times that "This is the most heartwarming week in my life" and he's spent hours just holding and talking to this dog. I don't think Jed has any idea what a big deal it is his dad told him that Della will be his dog to sleep with in his bed. When I first met Bob, he was a "dogs stay outside" kind of guy. He's come a long way.
So tonight I'm back in puppy days, watching this tiny black bouncing creature attack Jed's socks as he walks in circles around the room. The two big dogs aren't sure what to think about this little pup yet, although her tail wags her entire body whenever she sees them. I don't worry they'll hurt her, and I don't worry that they'll be ignored because they're pretty spoiled. I just hope that our kids, Jed especially, will have good dog memories.
I also hope that I get some sleep tonight because, as much as my family loves this puppy, they love me enough to let me stay up with her at night.
St. Bernards aren't very long lived dogs, and our next dog came after Bilbo's death. We got a Siberian Husky mix pup from the secretary at our school. Our friends and neighbors got a pup from the litter as well; they named theirs Scamp. My dad wanted to name him after another Tolkien character and my brother wanted to name him Playful. We compromised with Playful Bard, although only my brother called him Playful and only for a little while. Bard was friendly, but he seemed to view us as a meal ticket as opposed to the reason for his existence. Bard was a runner and could escape from any chain. After Bard pulled the railing off the porch, the stairs off the deck, and a tree out of the ground, my dad finally sunk a huge spring into the side of our house and attached a run to it. He told us that if the dog pulled the house down the road, we should just let it go. Among the many adventure of Bard were the time he ate Bunzer, the classroom rabbit my sister was bunnysitting, and the time he ran off and was found clear across town in the doghouse with his girlfriend who had moved from our road. That one gave a whole new meaning to the idea of puppy love.
The love of my doggy life was Kloot. I don't know what possessed me to stop at the Kenai dog pound that afternoon, but there were two little white puppies that drew my attention. The fluffy and outgoing female was being adopted as I got there, and the larger, dopey looking male was sitting silently in the back of the pen. He was the only dog in the place not making any noise. I went in, picked him up, and he peed all over me. So I took him home and he became mine. That summer he went with me everywhere, and ultimately, he was my companion when I dropped out of school and went on a 4 month road trip across the lower 48. Kloot slept with me, traveled with me, snuggled and comforted me, and was boon companion for 4 of the hardest years of my life. He was my constant companion and constant friend. I still get teary when I think of him.
Other dogs have come into my life. My mom adopted a puppy named Yzerman, which my brother had tried to hide in his room in high school. Yzerman was a strange dog and hard for anyone other than my mother to love. He & Kloot & Bard shared my parents' house at times, an uneasy truce that occasionally erupted in ruckus. Yzerman & my mom had a similar relationship to Kloot & me, although Kloot was much more well behaved and friendly.
My own family has had it's share of dogs as well. Our first family dog was Gretel, which Bob's ex-wife picked out as a puppy. When she moved out a few months later, she took the dog. The story goes that after one night away, Gretel hopped into her car and refused to get out or look at her, so she brought her back to Bob. Gretel was sweet and anxiety-ridden, but we loved her and she loved our kids. She was playing with Jed when he fell and split his lip, resulting in his first stitch. Gretel began to compulsively lick herself from anxiety, and on Bob's birthday a few years ago we realized that she had chewed off her own leg. It was awful, and it was the last of the escalating health issues we battled with her, as our wonderful vet convinced us that putting her down was the best option. Jed was a toddler, and we all went out the back and buried her underneath a big spruce tree.
Milo entered our family the summer of 2000. We had enjoyed a nice dinner and some good wine and on our way out of the restaurant saw an add for free puppies on the wall. We stopped and headed home with what we thought was a male Chesapeake/ Lab mix. Bob named him Milo, after Milo of Crotona who carried the bull up the hill every day, growing bigger and stronger as the bull grew. One extremely cold day the next winter I came home and found blood all around Milo's pen. Worried, I scooped him up and ran him into the vet. Needless to say I was surprised, and quite embarrassed, to find that Milo was actually female and had gone into heat. She is a strange looking dog, rather square in the butt, smelly and low to the ground, but she epitomizes the sweet dog. She was so sad after Gretel's death that we began looking for another dog to keep her company, and that was when we acquired Dimas.
My husband wanted a big "Alaskan" dog, especially after the disappointment of Milo not being a huge male. We looked for puppies and watched the paper and started visiting the pound. One morning the pound had 5 puppies, about 4 months old and extremely in need. They had been living behind dumpsters at the Transfer Site, eating what they could scavenge and rocks. We thought we'd be able to walk in and adopt but it turned out there was a waiting line. So of the 3 familes there to adopt puppies, we drew numbers and ended up the last to choose. The first two chose the fluffy, adorable pups that were friendly and outgoing. Lucky for us, the one Bob wanted was left for us. This was the puppy that had snuck out of the gate while the attendant tried to let us in, rn off ecstatically to visit all of the other dogs before Bob caught him, and bit Bob's earlobe while he held him. Dimas came home with us just before the 4th of July. He's a good family dog, except for the fact that he hates to be penned up and has a tendency to run off and get the neighborhood dogs all stirred up.
I feel really lucky that the dogs we've had since we've had children - Gretel, Milo and Dimas - are all excellent with kids. They've been gentle hearted dogs, often terrified and confused when visiting dogs aren't friendly. I trust them completely with my children, and with other children and dogs. As much as I loved Kloot, I'm not sure how he would have done sharing me with my husband & kids. When we got Anya last summer, I just assumed that she would have that same temperament.
Milo is now 9 years old, and sometimes her hips give her a hard time as she goes up and down the steps. Bob started worrying that she might not be around too much longer, and decided we needed another dog, again, the bigger the better. Anya was a half Newfoundland, half Malemute yearling that some folks were going to get rid of. They were hoping she would be big enough to compete in sled pull competitions, but decided she was too small. It was super rainy day when we brought her home; she was terrified of the dog carrier and the ride in the pickup truck. But she was cute and the kids loved her. We all got a bit freaked out when she was hostile to Milo, but hoped she would calm down. She was great with Jed, and he loved to wrestle with her and play. Unfortunately, her hostility continued to show itself, first with our neighbor and then finally with a horrible attack on our neighbor's small dog. Deciding that we couldn't keep Anya was one of the hardest decisions we've had to make, but we knew it was best for our family. So we told Jed that Anya went someplace where she can be happy and there aren't any other dogs around. It may not have been completely honest, but I think it was for the best.
So then Jed asked Santa for a new puppy. Maybe it's guilt, or maybe it's because we're suckers for cuteness, but we decided to get him one. Of course, once we decided, there wasn't a puppy to be had in Fairbanks that wasn't a foo foo dog or several hundred dollars. The, last Saturday, Bob found a dog in Delta Junction and we drove two hours there to get Della. She was exactly six weeks old, tiny and snuggly.
Jed is in love. He told me several times that "This is the most heartwarming week in my life" and he's spent hours just holding and talking to this dog. I don't think Jed has any idea what a big deal it is his dad told him that Della will be his dog to sleep with in his bed. When I first met Bob, he was a "dogs stay outside" kind of guy. He's come a long way.
So tonight I'm back in puppy days, watching this tiny black bouncing creature attack Jed's socks as he walks in circles around the room. The two big dogs aren't sure what to think about this little pup yet, although her tail wags her entire body whenever she sees them. I don't worry they'll hurt her, and I don't worry that they'll be ignored because they're pretty spoiled. I just hope that our kids, Jed especially, will have good dog memories.
I also hope that I get some sleep tonight because, as much as my family loves this puppy, they love me enough to let me stay up with her at night.
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