It’s no secret that I am a ridiculous dog lover. If I had the means and the property I would have one of each breed, and then some. They bring such unconditional joy and love into our lives. I wasn’t always like this, though.
When I was a teenager, we had a cat and I just always thought I would have a cat in my life. Dogs frightened me. I had a scary experience as a child and it kind of stuck with me that dogs were just dangerous. I was small and they were big German Shepherds that were chasing after me. I had no idea that they just wanted to play and that they were harmless. Wouldn’t hurt anyone, so the owner told me. But, I was young and impressionable so there you go. Cats it is! They don’t run after me and make loud, scary barks. In fact, they don’t even care if I exist as long as I feed them.
For many years, I had cats. Then I married my Hubs. He didn’t like cats and always loved dogs. He had them when he was growing up. I don’t know how it happened, but I was introduced to a friend’s Bassett Hound puppy and that was it. I had to have one. We did not educate ourselves on the proper care and habits of a Bassett but Ben was so cute and cuddly, and those eyes! We had Ben until my youngest daughter was born. She was so tiny and I was so tired, I couldn’t take care of him the way I used to, and Hubs was working a lot. We found a family that had a house on a large bit of property and a small boy. They loved Ben and took him as their own. I was sad to see him go but happy that he would get all the attention he deserved and all the property for endless sniff-snoffs.
Chipper came into our lives by accident. We weren’t looking for a dog because we still had Ben at this point, but we were in a pet shop buying food for him. This was before we knew the horrors of pet shop pets and where they came from. I looked at one kennel that had two tiny puppies. the cutest things! Just as I was about to walk away one of them put his tiny paw up on the side of the cage, as if to say “please take me home with you”. I told Hubs we weren’t leaving that place without that puppy. Enter Chipper.
Chipper would come to work with me, delivering newspapers to apartments. He loved running up and down the hallways. He was such a joy and delight and so wee! He was very easy for me to take care of while my daughter was still small but toddling around the house. We had Chipper for about 12 or 13 years. One Halloween Eve, he started acting very strange, having trouble breathing and it looked like he was having seizures. The next morning, I took him to the vet where he proceeded to have a heart attack and passed away in my arms. His heart had grown so big, there was no room for it to beat anymore. I was devistated.
Before Chipper passed, I had given birth to my son and youngest child. To help my daughter with the transition from being the only baby in the family, Hubs brought home Katie, a six week old Golden Retriever puppy. Katie and Chipper bonded pretty well and the kids adored her. She was such a good dog. If I had any complaints at all, it was having to clean the floor every day because of her fur. She helped us all get over the loss of Chipper, when that time came. She missed him too.
Katie was about 12 when she had her first seizure. The vet told us that is was age-related and there wasn’t anything that we could do. A year later, we lost Katie. I don’t think any of us are completely over her even today.
Enter, the Kismet years. Kismet was another tiny puppy. She was a Doxiepoo and cute as a bug. She was definitely a lap dog although not one who liked to be hugged on. But she was mine and followed me everywhere.
While we still had Kismet, we got a puppy rescued from a family whose dogs had a litter by accident. This was to be a Christmas gift for my oldest daughter who lives with us. Nicky is a Dachshund – Min-pin – Chihuahua mix. Kismet tolerated him but he adored her.
In 2018, I lost my favorite aunt and my mother one month apart from each other. Some months after that I lost Kismet. She was 13. Pretty much the same thing that Chipper had; a heart that was too big. This was all too much for me to handle. By now, the kids were all grown into adults, my husband’s job takes him away for months at a time and I lost interest in my job and quit. It was such a difficult time.
My oldest daughter found Sofia on a rescue Facebook page. She was only just a year old and had been rescued from a hoarding situation. Sofia and I needed each other. She is a Dorkie, a Dachshund/Yorkie mix. Such a treat! She helped me adjust to grief and I give her all the attention she should have. She doesn’t have to share me with anyone else and gets along great with Nicky, being that he is only one other dog and not multiple. She doesn’t have to be afraid that her food will be eaten by another dog who is more aggressive than she is. (She was quite under-weight when we got her.)
So, for now we have Nicky for my daughter and Sofia for me. Lately, though, I’ve been feeling the itch for another dog to add to our family. Another tiny dog, like a Yorkie or Maltese or Toy Poodle. I’ve grown enough of a lap to accommodate two small dogs and Sofia isn’t as small as I had grown used to after Katie. She’s still cute as anything and I love her to pieces.
Do you have any pets that have added that extra ounce of love to your life?
Feature photo: Nicky and Sofia
Dipped In Sparkles 
I’ve always had dogs…and cats. A few horses along the way. I couldn’t begin to name them all. I could, but this would go on for ages because…yeah. we’re talking…30? More? Currently, there is just Jake, of the canine variety. Boone, our oldster passed at 17 this past spring. He was half Newfoundland/half Golden. He was a rescue and outlived several of his contemporaries. After we lost Cooper, our full-blood Newf, unexpectedly four years ago, LG (aka Lawyer Guy(ret.) my hubs) kept his eye open. He saw a dog at a local rescue on Facebook, sent me the link, and he called them. Jake had just been adopted. LG told the nice lady that if they got another Newf or Newf mix, to contact us immediately. Jake is Newf/Great Pyrenees. He kept looking for others. A week later, the lady texted him. The adopters had brought Jake back. We made arrangements to see him the next day after the rescue did an adoption fair at a local Petco. We took one look at him, petted him, and had to have him. She kept asking us if we were sure and then finally said that he’d been adopted out previously.
Jake’s story: A county deputy heard gunshots and it wasn’t hunting season so he headed down a section-line road. He stopped when he saw this big black and white dog running down the road toward him. He got out of his SUV and before he could react, the dog had jumped in. That’s when a pickup truck came roaring up the road with two kids in the back, one waving a shotgun. They saw the deputy, did a J-turn and sped off. Yes, he got the tag number and they were dealt with. He took the dog to the rescue. They got him vettered and put him up for adoption. While they had him, they discovered that crates were a big NO! The first adoption failed because they were DINKs, both worked long hours, and crated him. He ate the crate. The rescue tried again. After each failed adoption, they learned he 1) had claustrophia; 2) had separation anxiety and would claw at doors to get out; 3) had food anxiety so scattered trash; 4) well, he was just too big. Sadly, we hadn’t taken other critters’ paperwork (vet stuff) so we couldn’t get him for a few days. When we showed back up, Boone’s and Adidas (our ancient tabby cat) vacination records in hand, we couldn’t decide if the rescue director was relieved or apprehensive. I assured her that we had experience with both Newfs AND Great Pyrenees and with “troubled” dogs as we’d rescued more than our share. Jake and Boone got along fine and Jake mostly ignored Miss Deeders but was always gentle with her. When we left, we put the kitchen trash can up out of his reach. Footstuffs (bread/chips/etc. including cat food) went to the top of the fridge. I worked from home and I still don’t go out often. Then I started having some physical problems. When I’d get up from my desk, Jake would suddenly appear and he’d walk beside me. If I wobbled, he’d press against my leg. So I trained him to be my service dog. Now he goes everywhere. Walmart. Stores. Restaurants. Grandson’s sports events, inside and out, school programs (if they are in the gym but not the church sanctuary–he goes to a private Lutheran school. Sanctuary doesn’t really have enough room between the pews and I don’t like leaving him in the aisle.) His vet told me the other day that he has the most soulful eyes of any dog she’s ever seen. He does. He was a very old soul and the very bestest boy ever!
I must also mention the cats. Loki arrived as the runt of a feral litter unable to keep up when mom moved them. A black void (until he goes tummy up and you see the tux markings) he ended up in our driveway during a rainstorm. He arrived shortly after Jake. Adidas lasted for a few months longer, though she didn’t have much to do with Loki, and vice versa. She was 18 and arthritic. Pete is a TNR who showed up one day. I’d through leftover dogfood out in the driveway for the crows and Pete would come eat. I started calling him Pistol Pete because he is orange and we’re OSU Cowboy fans. There’d been a previous feral (we have an amorphous colony of ferals that the neighbor and I feed) whos was huge and orange and I’d called him Cowboy. Anyway, last winter was rainy so I’d leave the garage door rasied enough for a cat to scoot through and I left food, water, and a bed in the garage. Pete made himself at home but would skedaddle when we appeared. Then it got brutally cold and LG, a self-professed non-cate person, fixed the cat door. He also set up a space heater. Peter made himself further at home. Last spring, I’d left the door open while doing loads of laundry (w/d in garage) and Pete sauntered inside. He’s now made himself at home, going in and out but always showing up at night to sleep on the bed.
So that’s our current crew. LG still scans facebook and yeah, I get rescue emails for News and Pyrs. I can’t imagine life without one or more furry child. Each one is special and precious and I mourn them when they pass before giving my heart to another who needs love too. ❤
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Lordy! The typos! 🙄 Too bad I write for a living. LOLOL But this is why I have an editor. AND a proofreader! Anyway, ignore them. I think you can parse them.
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I’ve had so many dogs I’m not going to list them here. My first was in my teens when Mum was away on holiday with my younger sister (I was working). I bought a Jack Russell puppy who was soon joined by another and then we kept one of a subsequent litter.
Since that first dog gamily, I’ve usually had three or more dogs. Chidren came along and the dogs adapted brilliantly. Once the children were old enough not to pester a nervous dog, I rehomed from the RSPCA and other sources. Best of all was Pickle, a Staffy brought up by my youngest son who we looked after for several months at a time when he was working away, and who eventually retired with us when I retired. She loved being part of whatever pack we had living with us at the time. She didn’t quite make it to 18, and died during lockdown.
By then we had taken on a Jack Russell/Yorkie cross. We didn’t want her to be an only dog, so took on a puppy who was supposed to be a Jack Russell, but definitely has some dachshund forebearers. I hadn’t intended to take on any more pups, but we adapted! At 74, these will probably be our last dogs… but if an ageing Staffie came along in need of a home and tolerant of other dogs, I’d jump at the chance.
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