A Guest Blog from Renee Boomgaarden
Recently we discussed our feeling about news stories, and I noted that there was very little in the news that I could tolerate, with the exception, I now must confess, of stories about animal rescue. I don’t mean shows about animal welfare officers rescuing pets from abuse and neglect-those shows just make me angry and upset. I mean stories about helping animals out of predicaments of their own making. You know the kind-goats stranded on bridges or with their heads stuck in fencing, bears who wander into town, get treed and tranquilized, and fall sleepily into the waiting nets of patient rescuers who transport them back to the woods, ducklings retrieved from storm sewers as their mother quacks anxiously nearby.
I think my favorite stories are those told friends and family. The story about the dog who decided it would be a good idea to roll vigorously back and forth over a decomposing porcupine (both smelly and painful) stands out, as does the tale of the poor, bored, Lakeland Terrier who spent hours independently chasing a ball back and forth over a paved parking lot until it had worn the pads off its paws.
My dad and my best friend tell the most memorable rescue stories. My friend grew up on a farm, and one day after checking the cattle she came upon a Great Grey Owl sitting on the ground under a telephone pole. She was able to walk quite close to it and saw that one pupil was quite dilated. It looked kind of stunned and she surmised it had had a head injury. She somehow managed to get it into a tall box in the back of her car and drove three hours to get it to a raptor center at the University of Minnesota. She never heard what happened to it after that.
My father loves dogs and has had his share of trauma with them over the years. He still speaks with sorrow over a favorite dog he had as a boy-a Rat Terrier named Diamond-who went down a badger hole and never came back up. It still bothers him. His all-time favorite dog, however, was Puggi the Pug, a dog he had after he retired. One day in early Spring, Dad and Puggi went to the city park in Luverne, right along the Rock River, to see if the ice had broken up. The river was still frozen over, but barely, and before he could stop her, Puggi ran out on the ice to get to some birds on the other bank.
A portion of the ice gave way and she went through and was pulled under the remaining ice by the strong Spring current. She was gone. Dad said he walked down stream about 100 feet and just stared, thinking to himself that he had lost his dog for good. His eye was caught by an old ice fishing hole in the middle of the river, and to his joy, up popped Puggi. She couldn’t scramble out of the hole on her own, so Dad laid out flat and advanced across the ice on his stomach. He grabbed Puggi and slithered back to shore. He figured she saw light coming through the hole as the current took her down stream and she swam toward it. He took her home and put her in a hot shower to warm her up. My mother was appalled at the risk he took, I don’t think he thought twice about going out on that ice.
What are your tales of animal foolishness?
Trail Baboon 
Glad Puggi made it-I’m guessing your mom would attribute the “animal foolishness” to your dad, and not Puggi?
I’ve only had 2 cats that have been far too smart to fit the bill.
I’m just going to sit back and wait for the great stories, I know they are out there.
I’ve gotten into the habit of checking yesterday’s blog first thing in the morning for the nightowl edition. Amazing you can be in such rare form after a day in first grade, Donna!
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Great story, Renee… I always approach these kinds of animal rescues with trepidation because sometimes these kinds of stories on the news don’t have a happy ending. The only animal rescue that I’ve been involved with is the kind where you find a dog loose on the street with no owner in sight… the teenager and I have several of these stories from over the years. (Warning… upcoming PSA… make sure all your dogs have collars and updated tags!)
Morning all!!
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Oh, you did remind me of a story from my Washington days-one of our opera volunteers was on her way to the shop, and saw this cute, little brown dog racing around rather aimlessly in the middle of a residential street, no human in sight. She stopped and picked up the dog, which I believe did have a collar with an address that she then returned it to. The door was opened by a woman who informed her that “the Senator will be so glad to see the dog” (and what font DO we use for a heavy Southern accent anyway?).
She got back to her car and turned around to see Strom Thurmond waving to her.
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I can hear the voice…the seh-nah-tah….nice.
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Good morning, Baboons! That’s a great story, Renee, especially since Puggi lived. After a lifetime among dogs, I don’t think I can match that story. My dogs have all been too smart to pull such a stunt. One or two of them would have gone down a badger hole, if I went first.
A friend of mine once collected and published a book of great fishing stories from Minnesota. Although the story I’ll repeat from his book sounds like an urban legend, Joe swore it was true, and he was always a careful guy who taught history and respected the truth.
A man was hoping to spear northern pike from a dark house on a lake in south-central Minnesota. If you sit in a dark house, you can see down in the water below your ice hole. These holes need to be large to let an angler bring up a trophy northern pike on a spear.
A large northern moved into the area below the hole, checking out the angler’s decoy. The man threw his spear. His 70-pound Labrador saw the fish and got carried away with the excitement of the moment. He went through the hole and swam down to grab that northern.
The dog found itself in deep water under the ice, and the northern shot away at a speed the dog couldn’t match. And then the panicky dog couldn’t find the hole. He swam in desperation until at last he found it. Only this was a different hole from a nearby dark house, where a sleepy fisherman sat on a bucket staring into the water.
When the large black Labrador suddenly exploded from black water through his ice hole, the second fisherman didn’t recognize the dog for what it was. Rather than staying around, he fled in terror, and I’m pretty sure Joe said he went through the side of the dark house, not taking time to fiddle with the door.
Enjoy this spectacular weekend, Baboons. I can’t remember a nicer week of autumn weather.
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I like that one, Steve.
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great story and i agree on the weather. makes me think of ways to get out and enjoy it.
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That’s great, Steve! Thanks!
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Renee, what a great story! Unfortunately, I don’t have pets, much to the chagrin of my children (I claim allergies). We had a snake for a while, but nothing exciting about that except watching it eat the mouse we gave it. I look forward to seeing other folks’ stories. Have a great day everyone — busy day ahead!
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Rise and Shine Babooners on a gorgeous day and do I really have to go to work?
Renee and Steve I cannot even come close to your animal stories. A lab coming through an ice fishing hole would be terrifying and funny. Plus now I fear I am repeating MY stories like the old fogie I am becoming. Five or six years ago during April a terrible smell permeated the family room downstairs. We could not find the source of it, but our dog kept sniffing around the fireplace and the fan that distributed the heat. I began to suspect that Santa Claus had become caught in the chimney over Christmas then decomposed during the spring thaw. However, we finally located the problem in the fan itself. A wandering squirrel came down the chimney and gnawed through the plastic covering the wiring. It electrocuted itself after managing to connect the circuit and start the fan around which it was wrapped and dismembered. My husband had to remove it with a fishing hook remover one usually uses with fish who swallow the hook. A few weeks later we had a prolific hatching of black flies.
I was up in the night with a stuffy nose and slept “late” — well for me anyway–the crack of 7:00a.m.
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gack
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We had a squirel get into our house by falling down the chiminy and crawling through the furnance. We were able to chase it out of the house. Another squirel got into our attic through a hole that I repaired. I thought it was outside when I filled the hole. However, it got trapped inside when the hole was closed , died, and was found after we started to smell a bad odor.
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My father also befriends squirrels and fed a very young, small squirrel all Spring and Summer one year. It got so tame it would climb up his arm and let Dad feed it corn and peanuts. When it started appearing at the front window demanding food, my mom put her foot down and told dad it had to stop. He was worried that it was too small to fend for itself with the other bigger squirrels so he caught it and took it to his brother’s farm near Magnolia, MN and let it go in a grove of trees right next to a bunch of corn cribs. He insists that the squirrel that comes up to him whenever he goes to the grove is the one he released there, bu ti think that’s just wishful thinking.
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Renee My family had a squirrel, Nutsy. (The 1950s were innocent; I don’t think people would choose that name in these more wicked times.) Nutsy made the mistake of biting my father’s thumb just before we went on our family vacation. We gave him the bum’s rush, driving to a woods north of town and releasing him. We were back the next day, my mother in tears, walking around the woods calling, “Here Nutsy!” Mom said, through her sobs, “Poor Nutsy thinks nuts come in cellophane bags! He’ll starve out here!” But Nutsy did not come to us and we took our vacation, my mom weeping at times.
A year later a squirrel walked out of that woods and entered a gas station repair bay. When the owner found out how tame this squirrel was, he kept it in a cage in the place for years. That had to be Nutsy. So . . . I share your wishful thinking, Renee.
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Ah squeer-els! RTS’s (Rotten Thievein Squirrels to us).
Our lot goes through the apple tree about when the apples are ping pong ball size, and like Leslie Ann Warren in Victor/Victoria, takes one bit out of each to see if any of them taste good.
Also have a friend who decided the stowing of black walnuts in the space between the studs in the garage was not going to end well, so had her husband remove the panel enclosing them. The entire thing was packed solid with unhusked black walnuts in various stages of decay–and one green tennis ball.
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teehee
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Dale said once no problem if we repeat a story — it’s like we’re family almost, and the longer you hang out with us, you’re bound to hear some stories repeated. 🙂
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Good morning to all of you and your pets,
We like dogs and cats and usually have one or two as pets. When we were students we lived in a farm house where there was a group of young cats living in the farmer’s tool shed. The farmer told us that he was going to kill the cats so we lured them onto the back porch to catch them and take them to the animal shelter. We were not able to catch one of the cats because it made a dash at a closed window and broke out the glass on it’s way through the window.
When we moved to Minnesota we lived in a farm house and provided some care for a
Golden Retriver that had been left there because it was not wanted by it’s owner. It lived outside in the farm yard. On a very cold day we brought it inside because the dog was very pregnant and needed some place to deliver it’s puppies. We helped it deliver 12 puppies which were taken to an animal shelter. Later, when we left this farm, the dog was adopted by someone who did want her.
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Ooooh. Who wouldn’t want a golden retriever…..
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I’ve had dogs and cats, but none of them have been *quite* so foolish. My childhood dog was a Boston Terrier, fairly smart but very opinionated and territorial. Not long after we adopted her, one of my parents let her out, and she spotted the dog across the street–a St. Bernard. She headed straight for him, intending to teach him a lesson no doubt, but when she reached him he just looked down…way down…at her. She was running flat-out, ears back and tail tucked, when she crossed the street home, and didn’t go into the street again until years later, when she did in fact have to teach a young German Shepherd to respect his elders (after all, he was only twice her size instead of four times–she chased him halfway down the next block but fortunately never got her teeth into him).
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THat’s a terrier for you. They are very opinionated.
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Longer on opinions than judgment. Like some people.
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“Longer on opinions than judgment. Like some people.”
… I like that Steve… Can I borrow it with Credit?
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Our Welsh Terrier was thoroughly demoralized yesterday when the young black cat from next door, Hugo by name, scratched her and chased her all over our yard. Maggie puts on such a tough front and tries to be the boss, but Hugo would have none of it. I am glad that Maggie didn’t get aggressive and really try to hurt Hugo. She does have a pretty strong prey drive, but I think she just wants to chase and play, not catch and shake the prey to death. its hared to convince a cat of that, though. This reminds me of one more terrier tale told to me by a friend who grew up on the Ft. Berthold Reservation. He said they had a Jack Russell that adopted a litter of kittens when the mother cat died. Bruce said the dog would go out and bring mice back for the kittens and would make a throaty, cat-like noise to let the kittens know that it was time to eat. It was almost like the dog was bilingual and was speaking in cat language.
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I was visiting Washington DC and decided to take a walk around the White House area and the monuments one morning. I came across a mother duck and brood of ducklings on the wrong side of Constitution Avenue near the White House. They had probably crossed the street from the park very early in the morning when the traffic was light, and found themselves hemmed in on a triangular block where there was no water or much vegetation. Mom duck was circling and quacking, apparently without a plan, the ducklings milling around her.
I didn’t have a plan, either, but couldn’t just walk away, so I enlisted the help of a few passersby – two students in Georgetown U T-shirts, and a mom with two kids around 8 to 10 or so. We thought we could get enough of an opening in traffic to get the group across if we timed it when the stoplights down the block were red. But how to get the mother duck to cross was a problem – she didn’t want to be herded. Then I discovered if I picked up a duckling and it made a cheeping noise, the mother duck would make a beeline toward me. So we waited for a break in the traffic. The stoplights were red to the west and to the east at the same time. Student #1 and I each picked up a duckling. Student #2 and the mom took up positions in the middle of the street, hands raised in classic traffic cop “stop” position. Student #1 and I backed across the street holding out the cheeping baby ducks like lures. The mom’s two kids followed the duck grouping across the street to hustle along the stragglers.
As we were crossing, the lights turned green in both directions, but the drivers appeared inclined to give us a break, and approached slowly. Fortunately mother duck didn’t dawdle. When we reached the other side she took the curb in a leap, and all the babies piled up against the curb, small webbed feet scrabbling against the concrete. The two kids gave each duckling an assist to get over the curb. Then it was over the rise and downhill to the pond and safety.
I haven’t been back to DC since, but I think I heard that stretch of Constitution near the White House is closed to traffic now. If that’s true, the ducks can probably roam back and forth at will.
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wonderful story. good for you. you are a good person.
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Let’s hear it for Linda, the Duck Whisperer!
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Great story Linda! — almost like in Make Way for Ducklings, a kids book from the 50s that some of you may remember (by Robert McCloskey) — bet the library still has it…
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My animal foolishness was just this week. My dog, Kai, swallowed an acorn and could not pass it. I was getting worried because he kept vomiting and whining. I brought him into the vet on Wednesday, and when she took x-rays, she could see that something was keeping the…um…stool…from moving through his body, but she couldn’t see what it was. He was getting prepped for surgery when they decided to flush him out. They brought him outside and out popped an acorn. Ugh. At least he didn’t need surgery 🙂
Another tale is of my first dog, Toivo. She was a chihuahua/terrier mix. Very little. We had given her to my grandparents because they had lost their Golden Retriever, Molly, to a porcupine. My grandparents lived in the woods in the UP here and needed a dog around to warn off wandering animals. Well, one day, my grandpa was going out to his garden when he heard Toivo barking. He wandered over to check on her and found that she had treed a bear. It wasn’t fully grown, but it also wasn’t a cub anymore either. I guess the bear climbed the tree to avoid her annoying bark 😉
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I wondered where you were this week Alanna. Glad to hear from you.
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That was great day for dogs when that bear went up the tree.
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I treed a bear once. Did it with laughing, no barking.
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Morning-
Great stories so far… Animals are just plain dumb sometimes. Well, maybe that’s the wrong word. ‘Misguided?’ Misunderstood? Ah– they just have different priorities! Yea, I think that’s the word…
I’ve worked with lots of cows of course, calves being born, or hurt or -yes, I have had to tip them over on occasion…
And one of the responsibilities of being on the Townboard is dealing with stray dogs… usually they really are dumped and not just lost. I’ve found homes for a few– one being our own Fox Terrier that a Sheriff Deputy picked up one cold rainy day… she, the dog, is very lucky she came to our home three years ago. (She’s snoring on a rug as I write this).
Got a call about 11:30 PM just the other night; Deputy had two stray dogs that seem well behaved and friendly– to women. Growl and bark if a Man appears. Great- so what do you want me to do!? I had them taken to a shelter…
I have three baby chickens outside that are about a week old… so far Momma Chicken is doing a great job protecting them… but it’s a big world out there… time will tell.
Gotta run- Thanks everyone, for being part of this place of sanity (?!) in a crazy world!
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when i was a kid we always wanted a dog. we had cats. siamese that were nice cuddly sleeping partners and taught us the lessons pets teach but we really wanted a dog. mom finally caved in and we went to the pet store at the strip mall and got a wire haired terrier puppy who because the pet store was the puppy mill variety had distemper so we all wailed and gnashed our teeth over the 2 day relationship bond we had formed with the little victim. then we got a standard poodle from a lady we knew who bred them and because she was so into the breeding lines the inbreeding payoff was epilepsy. poor guy had seizures regularly. we would all get the seizure training on how to hold him and help him ride it out for 5 minutes or 15 minutes or whatever it was. another interesting lesson that pets can teach. then at 16 it was my turn to pick out my own dog. i wanted a lab/german shepard sized dog so i went to the want ad homes and looked at their dogs and you can imagine a long haired hippy in a volkswagon van coming to look at dogs was sometimes an interesting sight in itself. animal people are interesting and usually understanding but there are some folks out there who would like to have their puppies go to homes that come from approved lifestyles. (another blog subject perhaps) the criteria was they couldn’t cost to much. shepherds, collies, labs, retrievers, huskies, guy dogs. you can tell how big they will be by their feet when they are puppies at that 8-10-16 week time of their lives. they are so cute but i was waiting for the magic moment to come and it finally did at the humane society in minneapolis. there he was a lab basset mix that was just a ball of energy and tongue all rolled into a black ball of fur and he jumped and turned and wagged his tail so hard he kept knocking himself off center to come over and say hello. he was a black lab looking dog with feet that looked like he would grow into a good good retriever sized dog. well i forgot about the basset half. the big feet were a basset feature and while bassets aren’t small it was not what i had envisioned in my initial search. he ended up looking just like a lab but with long ears, sad eyes, short legs, big feet and a big thick tail that wagged all the time and knocked over everything in sight. we did the travels only a hippy in a volkswagon van can do among them the time i pulled into the front yard of a friends house in salt lake city opened the door and went in to visit and when about 15 minutes later the friends father asked if my dog was really smart enough to just take off and find his way back later, i knew we were in trouble. i jumped in the van and started canvasing the area. we were in salt lake city proper and i think it was friday night so everyone was walking to church on the corner. we asked if anyone had seen a dog, looked like a black lab but with long ears short legs and tail that goes straight up in the air. they’d say no and we would ask them to grab the dog if they saw it because it was lost and call the dog catcher. he would call us they’d nod agree and we would drive a block down the road and repeat the mantra and so it went. they had a couple of radio shows on that had lost dog features on them called dog gone and by announcing the dog on those two stations we pretty much covered the city . this went on for a week all day every day. peopel would recognize the dog from the description on the radio. thye would take our phone number and it was obvious that the city of salt lake was earnestly on my side in trying to find the dog. this was to the total amazement of my friend who had moved there because of his dads job transfer and had found salt lake city to be a cold ad foreboding world. while he was with me he experienced the opposite. even though i was the prototypical hippy with shoulder length hair and a long beard (for 17 a long beard was 6 inches) that grew into two points and the mormans were not keen on hippies. we finally discovered that the beard was the reason for the acceptance. joeseph smith the founder of the religion had a beard similar to mine so i was ok. the dog was always one da ahead of us and he was looking for us. we would find people who saw him yesterday and he was there and a good dog but he didn’t want to stay , he was moving on they would say. so we kept placing the ads on dog gone and checking with the dog catcher and police and then we got the phone call. someone had him in their fenced yard. we jumped in the van and zipped over there and they took us out to the yard and there was dylan in the corner and he saw me and started doing victory laps around this guys yard and he was yipping and barking and running by so excited he couldn’t stop those stubby legs in time when he came by so he’d make another loop and come round again. the eighth or ninth time around he stopped and crashed into my knees that were down on the lawn and knocked me over crying and barking and licking and rolling and running and circling and celebrating. ahhhh a moment to remember. the guy who found him for us was in tears and it was one of those moments where the picture would never do justice to the memory in your head. i’d had that dog a year and i would have him 15 more. we did the counrty in that van a couple of times and then settled down to suburban life with a fenced yard he would dig under and neighbors who knew it was dylan who knocked their trash can over to get their garbage. but he won all of them over too and was loved in spite of his sins. he was a great dog and a great friend and when he passed i cried like i never knew was possible. loud bawling sounds came out of my body i didn’t know i was capable of. there are not too many loyalties like that of your dog. certainly not your wife, certainly not your kids. there is love but undying loyalty, forgettaboutit. dylan was my first experience with that and i will always be grateful.
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Aww… tim; you made me cry too…. Thanks for the story. Beautiful…. just perfect.
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I second that!
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Great story, Tim! Loved it.
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Dylan sounds like he was a fabulous dog. Great story. We should all be lucky enough to have that kind of companion in our life.
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Beautiful, tim. I’m laughing with tears in my eyes.
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God, tim, how to get all of us weeping like babies! And then there’s that bumper sticker: “Lord, help me to be the person my dog thinks I am.”
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I’ve seen a T-shirt that the Humane Society sells – it says “Who needs a therapist? I’ve got a dog,” and there’s a cartoon dog with a thought bubble that says “You’re perfect!”
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I forgot to tell Jacque, yesterday, that the geraniums that have been in her family for many years are a prime canidate for being offered through the Seed Saver’s Exchange. I’m not looking for more seeds to add to my collection, but I think some one at SSE would like to have this seed if you contact them or you could join the SSE flower and herb exchange and offer the seed to other SSE members. SSE can be contacted through http://www.seedsavers.org .
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Thinking on dogs and squirrels:
We had a dog growing up who was fond of taking herself on walks through the neighborhood of S. Mpls where I grew up. A favorite summer pastime was to get out of the yard and down to Lake Harriet to roll in whatever dead fish she could find (so she would smell less like “dog” presumably). Once during a week-long family vacation, the dog was brought to my grandparents house while we were gone. Their house was on the other side of 35W near Powderhorn Park. Dog was content with Grandma and Grandpa most of the week until the day we were supposed to come home and pick her up. We had gone straight to their house to pick her up before going home – and found that Grandma was beside herself because the dog had gotten away from her (keep in mind this is a woman who once sat on top of a grain elevator with an open bird cage hoping to lure home a parakeet that had escaped). She had looked and called, but could not find the dog. Well, we figured, we could drive home slowly and see if we found her along the way. And then start the search again the next day if need be. We got home without seeing the dog…and there she sat by the house, wondering what on earth had taken us so long to get there.
As for the squirrel, well he was in the house and needed to get out. The squirrel in question got into our house via the chimney, but was good enough to get itself down into our fireplace still alive (so no stinky smell to deal with). This made the cats very happy. I had to get to work, Husband was already gone, and I had a squirrel to deal with. Yikes. So I draped a big blanket over the fireplace, pushed something against the accordion glass doors on the fireplace screen, pushed something else against that and hoped for the best. Called a squirrel guy once I got to work and arranged an appointment for that afternoon to extricate the critter from the fireplace. When I got home to meet my hired professional, the squirrel was no longer in the fireplace. He had managed to squeeze his way out and had gotten loose in the house. It was clear from the evidence that there had been a Great Chase through the living room and dining room, breaking a vase, getting squirrel and cat prints on the walls, you get the idea. It was clear that the cats now had Squirrel cornered under the couch. So. What to do. No easy doors to close to contain him in that room. Hmm. Professional Guy, who was young and at a bit of a loss now that Squirrel was loose, and I found cardboard and storage bins and whatever we else we could and barricaded the living room (with the cats yowling on the other side of the barricades). Front door was propped open and then we abruptly moved the couch, hoping this would cause Squirrel to run. It did, but he didn’t go for the front door – that took some waving of hands and cardboard and general silliness worthy of an “I Love Lucy” episode. Squirrel got out and back into the wider world. Professional Guy left with an empty cage and a check for his services (such as they were). I spent the evening re-gluing the vase. Oliver the cat spent the next week convinced Squirrel was still in the house somewhere…
Happy Friday all.
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Anna: Great story. Reminds me of this classic from This American Life.
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I was just trying to remember where I heard that story before. Thanks, Steve!
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Yep; you beat me too it Steve. One of the best in its own way.
Thanks everyone! GREAT stories!!
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Will have to watch when I’m not at work…I think I remember this one, though – and it is very funny.
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Here’s the last half of the squirrel story:
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good dog and squirrel stories. sounds like the dog knew the agenda. had he been to grandmas for a week before or was this the first time?sounds like oliver needs a little more excitemnet in his life. my cats live for the moment they can escape and go out to eat grass. that and the flying insects the spot in the kitchen and the nightly mouse prowls. wonder what we’d do if our lifes program was to wait for the master to feed us then sleep and wait to get fed tomorrow. gimme a squirrle any day.
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I can’t remember if the dog had been to Grandma’s before or not – I think so. She traveled from roughly 35th St. and 15th Ave to near the Rose Gardens, so that’s roughly 3-5 miles or so, over a freeway…this was a dog with a good sense of direction.
As for Oliver – he has all the sense of a brick, so he doesn’t get let outside. He’d get lost in the back yard.
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Well, I have to say that two cats my wife and I tend have generated fewer stories than the dogs my family had before I got married. Although, I have to say that it was amusing when a squirrel outside of the living room window was bawling out our 20-pound ‘mama’s boy’ as he sat on the sill. When I came out to see what the commotion was, he looked at me with big sad eyes and cried. His farm-raised mother was just sitting on the sill, twitching her tail, asking the squirrel to ‘come just a little closer…”
My sister had a Gordon Setter that loved fishing. The dog was only about a year old and quickly got the connection that when my sister threw that string into the water and reeled it back in, there was always this cool ‘fish’ thing on the end of it that would flop around on the dock. So, it quickly got to the point where when my sister would cast out her line and, within about thirty seconds, Gilly would very politely stretch her head over, wrap the line around one of her canine teeth, and pull her whole head to the side repeatedly to show my sister how this fishing thing was done. My sister got a little ticked at me when I tipped a soda can to let Gilly slurp the last few drops of soda. Thereafter, Gilly would find all soda cans, gingerly grab them in her mouth, set them on their sides (exactly in the same place she found them), and lap the spilling soda.
My ‘little brother’ was an English Springer Spaniel that we treated like a little person. He knew each of us in the house by name. He knew what he was and wasn’t supposed to do and how to avoid getting caught when he was doing something he wasn’t supposed to. Before we let him get way too overweight, that dog was greased lightning on wheels, wandering into other dogs’ yards so that they’d bark and chase him. He’d come back in with this big panting grin on his face. We spoiled him so badly that one time, when he wanted a cookie, we gave him a Hydrox on his snack rug and he snubbed it. He just sniffed it and ‘woofed’ for a real cookie. We had one stale Oreo left in the jar and then had to go get more because he didn’t like Hydrox’s…he liked Oreos. He used to make my Dad fetch by pushing his tennis ball down the stairs when Dady would be coming up. Dad would obligingly retrieve it and put it next to him over and over again. Dad used to say that the dog ate from a fork better than my brother did. Whenever Dad would pay bills, there was always this sound of paper rustling. The dog would pester Dad until he surrendered a piece of paper or an envelope. The dog would walk a few feet away, then spend an hour holding it between his paws and shredding it because making that same paper noise was helping. We used to let him carry around bottles from the Pop Shoppe because those bottles were just the right size for him to carry by the necks. His teeth would squeak along the glass as he chewed on the necks. He used to steal my Mom’s clothespins and make her chase him all over the yard as he howled with laughing glee that she couldn’t catch him. Ah, Rockford of Greenhaven, you were a great little brother.
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Named for Jim Rockford, I’ll bet. Great description of a dog that sounds like a wonderful companion. I’ve lived with three springers. Love ’em!
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Actually, he was originally just ‘Rocky’ but not for the movie(s), the TV show, or the flying squirrel. He was predominantly black but had a white muzzle and ‘socks’ with black spots and we just thought that it fit him. But when we registered him with AKC, we wanted something a little more grandoise. And since he came from Greenhaven Kennels…
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they do take on such strong character traits that you do get to know them on a personal level. i think thats why its good to have animals around. they give you some real experience with love and death and interpersonal relationships that can get really devastating even with prior experience. i think people have the ability to deal with a loss when it comes with the realization that its part of the deal. you know it is inevitable with cats and dogs and critters and it occurs to you in time of parents and loved ones that its the same deal in a different level of loss. i even say a word over my fish before they get flushed.
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I have to go take some pictures. Hope you guys won’t mind one more dog story, although in this one the dog dies. Sorry about that.
A few years ago I worked at the MN Legislature in the House of Representatives. Fascinating experience! Of all the people I met, nobody seemed as distinctive and downright funny as Rep. Tom Rukavina from somewhere up in the Iron Range. We all have a stereotype of what a legislator is like. Tom is not that person. He has a wicked grin that made me think of the students I used to teach, those impudent students who sat in the back row and made lip farts when I wasn’t looking their way. Tom just seems like a naughty boy. He did give the most stirring political speech I will ever hear, a speech in which every fourth word was the “f-word.”
During a floor debate one morning, Tom stood and took the microphone to tell the House about the sad fate of his dog Sparky. The last time Tom had seen him, Sparky was on the porch of his home. But the home was near a wooded area. Wolves got Sparky, Tom said. Wolf tracks were everywhere in the snow in the yard and Sparky was gone. Tom couldn’t find enough of Sparky to bury.
At the lunch break, some of the pro-wolf legislators had a panicky conference. The Sparky story was doing no good for the reputation of wolves. One of the northern legislators knew Tom and Sparky, and he had suggestion for a response.
After the break, Phyllis Kahn (the tiny but iconoclastic rep for the U of MN area) asked Tom if he would take a question. Smiling broadly, Tom agreed.
“I was so sorry to hear about Sparky,” said Phyllis. “Can you tell us something about Sparky’s health when you last saw him? How was Sparky doing?”
Tom didn’t fudge or hesitate. “As a matter of fact, Sparky hadn’t been doing so well. As a matter of fact, he was dead when I last saw him on our porch. The ground was frozen hard and we couldn’t bury him.”
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Tom Rukavina may not be the stereotype of a legislator but he is a stereotype of an IRON RANGER@#$%^&*.
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i thought i liked him when i heard him in the governors race on the radio this year,. a great impassioned speech then out as it became obvious (probubaly was before he started) that he would not be the chosen candidate, but now i know i like the guy.
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Great topic, Renee! Thanks everyone for such wonderful stories.
On a fall morning much like this, years ago: I am writing letters at the picnic table in the back yard. As I was being fairly still, Mama Squirrel decides to go ahead and keep moving her babies from the martin house in the “back 40” (where she had enlarged the hole for her own entrance), to the large oak tree, complete with squirrel apartments, on the side of our house. This is probably a distance of about 150 feet. My cats are on leashes at the time (another long story about the Neighbor from Hell), and are for a while distracted enough to not see what is going on. As the squirrel gets to our back stoop with Baby Number 2 in her mouth, Slushball the Hunter rushes at her, and she drops BN2, who scurries under the back porch. Slush is now prowling and sniffing, and I have to decide whether to let Nature take its course, or intervene. Nature loses (in one way), and I put both cats in the house and sit back to watch the action. Mama is now very distraught and hunting around the porch for BN2, who finally appears in a crack in the cement blocks, but Mama can’t see him. I’m sitting there channeling “Look around the corner, Ma”, and finally after a few more minutes she sniffs around and finds him, gets him by the back of the neck again and hauls him up to their new digs. The rest of the move (BN3) goes smoothly, and I feel satisfied that I’ve done the right thing. Slush and Charlie do plenty of sniffing around when I finally let them back out.
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A second story: A few years ago I was at my sister’s place helping conduct a garage sale. While we were waiting for customers to come along, we heard a commotion going on a couple of garages down the alley. A crow was dive-bombing a tree limb and cawing loudly. Faintly we heard a low, unhappy-sounding yowl coming from the tree. It was a tabby cat, about 20 feet above the ground, clinging to a branch.
My brother-in-law got out the tallest ladder he had, but couldn’t get quite close enough to the cat, and poor puss didn’t trust him enough to meet him halfway, so we were sort of stumped. A couple of boys came through the alley on their bikes and got the lowdown on what was going on. We left the ladder propped against the tree and went back to our sale for awhile, and after an hour or so the boys came back with a woman they had heard calling for the cat a few blocks away. She climbed up the ladder and was able to get the cat to creep close enough so that she could get a hold of him and descend. He had been missing for about a day, she said.
It was awfully nice of those boys to intervene, but I wonder if maybe the real hero of the story could be the crow. I don’t know what motivated it to go after the cat the way it did, but no one would have known the cat was up there without all the racket.
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good one linda.its amazing how things get done on the planet isn’t it. the bird told you, you told the bous the boys told the lady and the circle was completed. what a world.
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Wow. Your stories are all so funny and moving. I don’t have one that comes even close.
We had a Norwegian elkhound when I was young who would bring muskrats back from his nightly forays and offer them to us at the back doorstep. He made these offerings every morning.
We had a dear springer spaniel who was afraid of shotguns. She was a real lap dog and would follow my mom from room to room.
My Cavalier King Charles spaniel, Bailey, died a year ago from complications of the mitral valve defect which is common in Cavaliers due to inbreeding. He was a wonderful dog – a friendly, tail-wagging bundle of love. He brought me through a sad time in my life and I loved him so much. I will always miss him.
Pippin isn’t old enough to generate lots of stories, but he just needs time. He eats or tries to eat everything. We were walking in Sakatah Lake State Park the other day and I could see his mouth moving. I said, “Pippin, drop.” He opened his mouth and out rolled five acorns.
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ANny estimate on how many acorns could he could get in his mouth?
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No…. I was hoping five would be the upper limit.
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Be wary of those acorns! I’ve told Kai to drop them many times (he’s 6 months old) and he still tries eating them. Maybe he’ll know better now…
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naw he won’t ever figure it out. you saw it he didn’t. he will never put acorns and blockage together but thats were the survival of the fittest and the survival of the master who is paying attention comes in.
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Just for some closure on Puggi, she lived to a ripe old age of 15. When it was time to take her to the vet to have her put down, My dad couldn’t bring himself to do it, so my husband and I were enlisted to do it when we were home for a visit. Dad dug a nice deep grave for her and had a blanket-lined box to bury her in when we returned from the vet. He said it was the last dog he was going to have, and he’s stuck to that. He’s decorated his bathroom and workroom with pug memorabilia and posters.
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wow, thanks everyone – and thanks Renee – good stories. busy days. but no goat stories; they are way too smart. but i bet they have a few to tell about me. (“did ‘ja see her fall off the milk stand the other day? too busy trying to trim my hoof to be sure she was on solid ground. all it took was a little lift of my hock, and bingo!” – chorus of bleaty laughter follows)
happy weekend, All
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Here’s a story about a friend of mine. The details may be fuzzy…
He’s got three kids, the oldest is about 10 and they’re all afraid of animals, the oldest especially…
But the kids really want a dog! They go see them at the pet store and the kids are afraid to pick it up. They go home, kids want a dog. They come to my house and I have to lock up my dogs. They get home, they want a dog… so this goes round and round for a year or two. We’ve had them around the chickens but they’re afraid of them. My wife had one of the kids, with a LOT of encouragement, petting the miniature horses. But dogs just freak the poor kids out. Mom and Dad make the unhelpful, ‘Oh, they don’t like animals’ comment enough that the kids have learned that they don’t like animals it seems…
But eventually, the kids wear Mom and Dad down… they start to get serious about finding a dog. And they find this little puffball of a dog at a shelter. It is a Mama dog from a puppy mill so it has some issues. The dog is old enough that it won’t jump. It’s so old it won’t ‘run and play’ like a dog does either. And it’s almost blind it’s so old. And it’s deaf. And it has an ear infection that requires medication. Did I mention it has some sort of tumor and requires surgery before they can even bring it home? But the kids start to get used to this dog. When the family all goes upstairs to bed, the dog can’t get up the steps so it sits at the bottom of the stairs and whines… so they bring the dog upstairs. They get it a basket to sleep in… but then it won’t pee unless it’s outside. And because it’s old it has to pee every two hours at night. Dad picks up the dog to take it outside and the dog pee’s all the way down the carpeted steps as he carries it. The dog does this more than once… because it’s an old dog you know. The family has invested several hundred dollars in this dog. The fee to the shelter, the surgery, plus the doggy bed and accessories.. and its ear medication.
It’s not more than a matter of a few days before the kids decide they aren’t that interested in this dog. They want a ‘Dog!’ dog… and the family returned this dog to the lady at the shelter who told them what a wonderful dog this was in the first place!
I’m not sure who to feel sorry for…. but it’s kind of funny… and just the sort of thing I would expect to happen to my friend…
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ben
that strikes way to close to home.
my wife was a cat person, she had one and that was all there was to it. the cat died and i started making comments about wanting a dog. after a couple years she wore down and said it was up to me to pick out the dog. well i loved old dylan from the story above and so i’m thinking lab … basset… labs are so much work for the first 4 or 5 years. training shoe chewing energy plus lets go for the basset. they are smart and good with kids, positive personality as kevin kling says ” a never say die attitude in a no way body” ” in training a basset they start out slow and oits downhill from there”. well the basset has a wonderful heart but it is not what i expected. i didn’t realize when i got it that all the stuff that bugged me in my old dog dylan were the typical basset traits. the are smart but all they think about all day and all night is where they may be able to catch you asleep at the swithch so they can get some extra food. they are needy needy neeedy if you ever pet it you are doomed. it will never forget you and never give you a moments peace. so we got back form an alaskan vacation a year after getting the basset and the son who is now the high school senior reminder me that i had promised him a wolf dog and while he had tried to appreciate the basset , it wasn’t working for him, so we go off to the animal shelter luck out get this magnificent wolf dog mutt. white wolf with mascera eyes went through training and is the most gentlemanly dog i have ever met. hes my dog. when i leeve town he won’t esat for a couple of days and when i return home he gives me the welcome everyone wishes for. gret stuff… i thought we were all set but the girls go to baseball games and everyone has these little yippers and the girls and mom decide they need a little yipper so we go to the adoption day at the local pet store where chaska chanheassen has their dogs come from foster home because they don’t have a center yet. well my little girl falls for this nmaltese who they tell us is a puppy mill stud with some issues. its a 4 year old dog and had some teeth removed. you can go to the vet and have them check it out. we go to the vet and i get a new grad who is so lovey dovey that she doesn’t do much of a check and misses the issue that she should have caught so when we discover it and realize it is going to need surgery the humane society says to forget it. the vet says he’s sorry he sold his practice to a corporate deal and they are not very nice . its all about the money. it turns out the dog is 6-10 years old had a bunch of teeth pulled but should have had them all pulled. it sleeps all day and is afraid of men. i can pet it but every time it sees me it runs and hides. it comes with us to the ball games and the girls love it and it has a better life than it would have had anywhere else. i am not a yippy dog fan and i have said i should count my blessings. this one will last 6 to 10years less than a puppy. his name is louie but i could never remember that and started calling him little dog and it stuck. so we have zeke the wolf, paws the basset and littledog the maltese furball. a couple of cats and a fistfull of fish. we are pet store dreams come true. love em all but the stories never end.
wish i was at the writers conference but no rest for the wicked. report in with the hints of the day dale.
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Just another quick squirrel story. Years ago before my parents died, they had built a beautiful house sort of out in the country for retirement. Dad’s truck wasn’t working, so he brought it to the shop. Turns out the squirrels were using the carburetor in Dad’s truck to hide their acorns and nuts. The kids were little then, so they thought that was just the funniest thing ever — squirrels hiding their nuts in grandpa’s truck engine. They probably still remember it.
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Thank you so much, all of you, for your comments and stories. It’s been a fun week!
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good job guest bloggers
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Remarkable reading Babooners! I would have posted earlier, but the cat and I fell asleep on the couch. He sprawls across me, purring and kneading with his paws. We both like cheese popcorn.
When my son was 10, our beagle was hit by a car. It was a terrible lesson in leashing. Eric took it the hardest. A few months later a pastor from our church stopped for a visit. He was 80 something and out of retirement as a temp. He wanted to talk to us about our low attendance. He said something about the importance of getting into Heaven someday and Eric raised his hand and asked, “Do you think my dog is there?” Then he dissolved into tears. So did the rest of us. The pastor was very kind and said yes he believed God had a place in Heaven for pets. He closed with a prayer that included the beagle. It helped console Eric and for that I was always grateful.
Two of my favorite read aloud books are about a pug and a squirrel. Unlovable by Dan Yaccarino and Scaredy Squirrel by Melanie Watt. My students love them!
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