I don’t think I’ve ever
lived in a place where so many people bring their dogs to work. The new pope
would love this place. Wild turkeys run the neighborhood and you can’t go into
a store without finding man’s best friend somewhere on the premises. I’m not
complaining. In fact, it really just goes along with the vibe here – sort of a
canine “don’t worry, be happy” attitude.
I’ve never been a
great “pet” person. I wish I was. I wished I was when I was 9 years old and I’m
still wishing. My parents always used to say, “Wish in one hand, shit in the
other.” That saying has puzzled me for years too. Anyway, I think it may have
started back when I was a little girl and my parents let me bring home one of
the pups of my grandparents' gargantuan Great Dane, Bridget. Their other dog was
named General and you had to throw his food over the fence to feed him. He was
a boxer I believe. I was terrified of him. I think if memory serves me
correctly – and I think we all know that’s iffy – Bridget and General were the
parents of the puppies and I brought mine home and named him Jip.
If you’ve ever read the Marmaduke comics, you
have a pretty good idea of what Jip was like. He was big and he was goofy. Anytime
we left him alone, he destroyed property. Every single time. Poor guy probably
just didn’t want to be left alone and that was long before crates were popular,
and I’m not sure they made them big enough for Jip.
I remember a
particularly bad incident when Jip chewed the fur collar off Mom’s best coat.
Another time he had a wrestling match with a feather pillow. Jip liked to put
his paws up on the countertop and drink straight from the kitchen faucet. I don’t
know if he just wasn’t trainable or with four kids and full time jobs, our
parents just didn’t have it in them. Whatever the issue was, my parents decided
it was best to find a home for Jip where he could run around outside like the
colt that he truly was. It was sad, though. Even Mom shed a tear when the new
owner took Jip home with him. Did I mention Jip also feasted on an entire set
of encyclopedias? I don’t remember which offense was the last straw, but there
was definitely one that broke the camel’s back.
Years later,
when my parents were older and my baby brother Eric wanted a dog, they picked
out a Great Dane puppy and named her Dodo after my mom’s nickname. That dog
could do no wrong, much like my little brother. She lived to be 10 or 11. One
of my fondest memories of Dodo was when I came home from college for a visit
and Dodo had delivered a puppy. Just one, I believe there had been another but
it didn’t make it. A huge Great Dane and she had one live puppy. It was the
only time she got pregnant and I don’t think my parents ever figured out how it
happened. She was an older mother though, and didn’t have much use for her
puppy. My parents didn’t tell me about Dodo’s puppy until I got home for the
weekend. I nearly fainted. Mom and Dad didn’t even know Dodo was pregnant. She
went into labor and my mom called Dad home from work. My brothers and sister
loved the fact that one of us could have walked home dragging a bloody stump
and my dad would never have left a job to come home early. Dodo goes into labor
and he clocked out and came home.
So I don’t have a
great pet history. We left behind a beautiful terribly-behaved St. Bernard when
we came here. We knew we weren’t likely to find a rental receptive to a huge
dog. And he really had never been properly trained – completely my fault – and would
go after other dogs turning a little bit into Cujo. We found him a great home
before we moved but it took a lot out of our family. He may not have been well
behaved but he was certainly well loved. I’m not sure when we’ll be ready to
try again, but for now we’re happy to pet other people’s pets.
This reminds me a
little bit of my good friend Danielle’s son, Jonah. He was about five years old
and wanted to show me his new fish or his new tree frog, I can’t remember
which. And I hope it wasn’t his fish now that I think about it because I was
left in charge of feeding it when their family went on vacation and I
apparently sucked at that as well because the fish was dead when they got home.
Anyway, I digress. Little Jonah turned and said to me on the way up the stairs to his room, “We’re
not really pet people.” I have to admit, I’m not either.
Who loves me loves my
dog also. — St. Bernard de Clairvaux
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