D is for Dogs

When I was a senior in high school, my parents bought their first house. They had been married for about 25 years but had always lived in apartments. Now, at last, I could have a dog. I was scared to death of dogs, but I wanted one anyway. My girlfriend and I were riding around town one Sunday afternoon and spotted a sign: Puppies for sale $10. I had ten dollars; all I needed was permission. I called Mother and begged. She agreed, and I went home with Ruff, my short-haired collie. He was the cutest puppy, and my daddy fell in love with him. So we shared our new baby. He was a bit rembunctious in his puppyhood, one time digging up the septic tank in the back yard and throwing his balls in it. And then there was the time that Mother and I had prepared refreshments for my senior class play cast party. We put them out on the dining room table before going to my performance. While we were gone, Ruff pulled on the table cloth, sending lots of goodies to the floor. My dad cleaned up as best he could, and I don't think anyone knew the difference. I went off to college the year after I bought my first dog. I can't remember how long he lived, but I think it was all through my college years and maybe into Frank's and my early married years. He was such a sweet dog, and again, a piece of my heart left with him.

When Wendy, our first child, was two years old, we bought her a dog, a beautiful little black poodle, and we named her Jeanne. She had to have a French name, don't you agree? She was a good dog, a sweet dog. After we moved to Pensacola, she had a couple of litters of puppies. I remember that we kept one and named him Beau. He was a gorgeous champagne colored toy poodle. Just so cute. He was the only dog that we lost to an accident. We lived on a busy street, and Beau was run over. Our hearts were broken, but we still had Jeanne. I really don't remember how she died, but she lived to a ripe old age.

And then there was Peppy, a stray who became part of our family. She was our garbage disposal doggie. I really do think that she knew when Saturday rolled around each week because I cleaned out the refrigerator, giving her all the food that I was going to throw out. She was Wendy's dog, and we all loved her.

Jay had two dogs, Chinook and Jocko. Chinook was a Christmas present. My nail technician's big dog had a litter just before Christmas, and the only payment she wanted for each puppy was a big bag of dog food. We gave Jay a note in a Christmas card, telling him that he had a dog waiting for him. He got the pick of the litter. He chose a beautiful pup and named her Chinook. She was a sweet, well-behaved dog. Her first litter consisted of one rather homely white puppy. We didn't keep him long enough to know what kind of disposition he'd have. Jay gave him to a waitress at one of the bars where Velvet Melon played. She said he was the best, sweetest dog she'd ever had. Chinook was of a mixed determination . . . malamute, husky, and wolf, a beautiful combination. After Jay had had her for a couple of years, he bought a thoroughbred Rottweiler and named him Jocko after a musician, of course. I think he paid $400 for him, much more expensive than Chinook. Chinook loved the new puppy and taught him everything he needed to know to be a good dog, especially to howl at the full moon in typical wolf style. They were so cute sitting outside and howling together . . . mother and son. But . . . when Jocko was about nine months old, Chinook no longer looked like his "mother"; she looked like a girlfriend. And . . . Chinook and Jocko had a beautiful litter of eight puppies that looked for all the world like thoroughbred Rottweilers. Well, Jay died before we could get those puppies into good homes, so it was up to Frank and me to get them "adopted" because they were eating us out of house and home! I put signs up in grocery stores and all over my school for free puppies. I was almost to the point of giving extra credit to my students if they would take one or more! I didn't have to do that, but one of my students (now a friend on Facebook) took one, named him King, and told me at a Class Reunion years later that he was the best dog he'd ever had. I didn't doubt it.

And now to our two precious dogs that we've had since our move to New Mexico. Frank calls both of them New Mexico thoroughbreds, meaning that they were of some mix but just the best dogs in the world. Maizy was the first one. We think she was shepherd, husky, and heeler. She was a beautiful dog with the sweetest disposition . . . and in love with Frank. She loved me, but she was absolutely in love with him. They fell in love through the fence at the Espanola Animal Shelter. We had her for about eleven years before she developed a tumor on the side of her face. One morning, Frank went to look for her and found her in the yard almost unable to get up. Her right side was close to being paralyzed. He called the vet and arranged to have her put down. Our vet came to house to perform the "operation." I was so glad that I was out of town working and didn't have to watch. Wendy came to be with her dad.

Maizy died in 2015, not too long before we were having my family reunion at our house. We determined to wait until after the gathering to get another dog. Then we decided that we'd wait until the fall because we were taking two long vacations that summer and didn't want to burden Wendy and Todd with a puppy. Just before Memorial Day, Frank went with me to Gallina, NM, so that I could do inservice at a school. When we were going home, through Espanola, Frank asked me if I wanted to check the shelter. Once again, he and a dog fell in love through the fence. The next day, we took Bella and Hatch, Wendy's and Corey's dogs that we were keeping for a week, to the shelter for approval. We left the shelter with three doggies that had already become friends. They slept all over each other on the way home. Since we got our new dog on Memorial Day Weekend, Frank named him G.I. Joe, but we just call him Joe. In many ways, he's even more wonderful than Maizy . . . but I'd hate to have to make a definite determination on that one. We love that dog so much, and I don't know who will suffer more at the death of the other, Frank or Joe. I don't want to see the grief of either one, so I hope I go first!