Dogs are cool.  Under what circumstances did you get your buddy, and how's
it going now.  Is it a dog of lineage, or a blender special.  Pup or 
crusty gardian?

13 responses total.

At this point, I don't have a dog....but the one that I did have was a
purebred black curly haired Miniture Schnauzer.  Most intelligent dumb dog
I've ever met. :)  We got him from a breeder in town....my parents picked him
out of the litter because he was the one running around nipping at plant
leaves as he went past them.  He lived to be almost 14.  Good dog, was he,
if a bit goofy and prone to illness.

I currently have two great dogs.  Both mini-dachshunds, and each a character 
unto itself.  DeeDee the Devil Dog, and Buster-boy.  Each are dogs of great
lineage, having come from a prize winning breeder of fine, healthy,
long-lived dachshunds.

Dachshunds can live to ages from 12 years to 18 years.  They maintain
their puppy-ness well into late middle age.  Look in the dictionary for
the word mischievious, and there will be a picture of a Dachshund.

Both of our dogs are loving lap dogs.  Frequently when sitting and watching
television in my  easychair, one or both will take advantage of the 
crevice my legs create and push their way along the trench, stretching
their long body as far as they can reach.  Since my lap has limited space,
there can be one comfortable on my lap, with another snuggled into my hip
waiting for the moment they can poach the spot.

Buster is the clown.  He is barely 7 lbs, but his jaw can hold a tennis
ball with a solid grip.  He will spend hours running down the hill chasing
the thrown ball and returning with it to play keep-away.  He also likes to
show off his catching ability, and can nearly always catch a reasonably
aimed toss or bounce in his direction.  Even errant aim will produce some
amazing speed and catching ability.

DeeDee is the guardian.  Buster takes most of his defensive cues from
DeeDee.  She will often be the first to defend the sidewalk or property line
from neighbors, walkers, other dogs, and some wildlife.  While she has
never nipped a stranger, she has an amazing quick dance, sharp bark, and
shows virtually no fear, all of which is very intimidating to those who
are unfamiliar with her 11 lb whirlwind of fury.  She loves to explore, 
which shows up when there is any implication of a walk around the 
neighborhood, or if the car keys jingle in just the right way.

Both dogs sleep in our bed, under our covers between Barbara and I.  Every
morning promptly at 6:25 am, they stir for morning duty and breakfast,
even on weekends.  The spring and fall clock changes fool them for only
a few days and then they are right back on schedule.  

Each one fills a special place in our home.  Even so, I still have 
melancholy memories of our first cutie, CoCo, who died of lung cancer
at the tender age of 12 and a half years old.

  So I don't have a current pup, but I feel somewhat obliged to share with
you stories of all the dogs that have come in and out of my life. (What the
hell else do I have to do? Sleep? That's for the weak!)

  Rusty- 
    Came into my life when I was a few hours past 4. He was at the house when
I came home for lunch. We were inseparable for 3 years when he was finally
found dead in the backyard of the new house we moved into.

   Claim to fame- Ate 6 of my mother's prize Jackson and Perkins Chrysler
Imperial roses that she paid $20 each for. 

  Tippy-
    Best therapy for dead doggie is to get a new one. Mom and Dad bought a
collie from a friend who raised collies.

   Pongo and Perdita-
    101 Dalmations at the Drive In, and desire for dalmations was rabid in
my Dad's head. Pongo was aquired from a friend who couldn't keep him due to
abuse from neighborhood urchins. She told Dad that he would need a lot of
love. He got it from Marlene and me. Perdita was aquired in hopes of starting
dalmation empire. The only downside to that was----> Pongo was world's first
gay dog. Pongo also hated bathing or getting wet, despite numerous attempts
to get him in the swim. 
    Claim to fame- Spots in rows. 
Pongo was found dying due to someone feeding him rat poison.
Perdita hit the road, never to be seen again.

   Tippy got hit by a car while AWOL.

   Angel and Duke
     More therapy for grieving family. Dead doggies=more dogs to be aquired.
Duke arrived as a puppy no bigger than a 5 inch handprint who grew into a 75
pound devil may care dog about town. Duke was a labrador puppy which was
aquired in hopes of training him to be a first class retriever. That plan
never worked out because it later came to light that the only thing Duke was
proficient in retrieving was hamburgers from McDonalds.
    Angel was a tri sable colored collie and was my Mother's dog. Duke and
Angel found each other one night and The Puppies arrived. Nine little wonders
that peed on everything in sight, but were too cute to give away. They grew
into full grown collielabs, and eventually hit the road for parts unknown.
Duke was my dad's companion and best friend. Every little errand that my dad
ran in the van, Duke was sure to be riding shotgun. When my dad died, Duke
howled like a banshee, and was inconsolable. Found later dead hung by his tie
chain.

   Claim to fame- Duke was noted for coming on command. During one of his
unplanned AWOLs, he was retrieved by a yell "Duke, dinner". He was seen
clearing the back fence by mere centimeters, and less than 20 at that.
We almost wound up calling him Duchess.

  I would love to have a dog again.

'Shiki' - full name "Murashaki Shiki Bu" was named after the first
female author in Japan of note.  It was a pure bred mut of alaskan
'husky' - japanese 'akita' and 'german shepard' or something like that.
Whatever her breed she looked like a 'wolf' amd was the terror of many a
Jehova Witness who between her and my father preaching back never came
back when we lived in that small town in michigan.  We moved elsewhere
and 'Shiki' was 'dogknapped' a few years after the half a year
quarantine to 'import' her there.  

I remember two things about 'shiki'.  One was the time the local police
officer tried to sue my parents over the damage caused to his car when
his car hit 'shiki' and knocked her out (driven by his wife - drunk at
the time).  "Ok, you pay for the vet bills, I'll pay for the car
damage", said me Dah.  (Before 'No fault').  'Shiki' was fine after she
'woke up' and the officer's car was 'totaled'.

The second was after a 'dogknapper' had stolen 'shiki' and realized that
a 'spayed' pet was not going to probably breed more money making
opportunities.  Anywhile, there is a scene in the remake of _From here
to Eternity_ where the director placed 'food' out on a large area in
order to gather a large number of 'feral' dogs to get the scene.  There
is a rather large dog that goes rather methodically from one stash to
another and ignores everything else to eat that I personally believe is
"Shiki-bu" even though I don't know for sure.  I'll likely continue to
think that although I'll never get over the feeling that there was
something I coulda done to bring "Shiki-bu" back home that she was alive
and well fed back then.

We found Lucy in a local pet shop and fell in 
love with her.  Toy dachshund, reddish fur.
Shocking price tag, but by then it was too
late.  Named "Lucy" after Lucille Ball.  Her
papers show her full name as "Lucilla Bellissima."

We had Mitzi when I was growing up. Looked a lot like Lassie. My mom was 
her primary caretaker, so Mitzi was very protective of her. (The name 
was from some old man that had a whole bunch of dogs, though it was not 
a puppy mill situation. She'd already had the name and parents didn't 
see the point in changing it). 

We got her when I was three or so, so I couldn't remember a time without 
her. She was great with kids, but a little scared of men she didn't 
know. She and my dad would wrestle with an old sock. :)

Mitzi was adorable, a sweet dog, but a little bit prissy. She'd sit on 
the stairs with her front paws crossed, very ladylike. She'd never jump 
on people. Would growl only if she felt threatened, or if one of us was 
threatened. 

Mitzi lived to be 13 1/2. She became terribly arthritic and could barely 
 move her back legs. So we had to put her to sleep. She's buried in my 
parents' backyard with a little angel statue to mark it.

The summer before we got Casey, our apricot poodle (_standard_ poodle, not
one of those evil miniature things), my younger brother won a giant-sized
bag of dog treats in the raffle at the Anglican Church Regatta while we
were up in Canada.  At the time, he was doing some pretty strong lobbying
to get a dog, and my parents were opposed to the whole thing -- we had two
cats already, and not an especially large or dog-friendly property.  So he
insisted that this was a sign, but my parents disagreed.  He ended up
giving the dog treats to Holly, the apricot poodle belonging to the Tapley
family, who owned the cottage we were renting. 

Anyway, that winter, my parents finally relented and agreed to get a dog. 
We've always gotten our cats from the Humane Society, but my parents had been
strongly cautioned against getting a dog the same way, and likewise had heard
horror stories about bad breeders.  So we decided to go to the breeders of
a dog we already knew; we ended up deciding we wanted a poodle, so we wrote
to the Canadian breeder who had sold the Tapleys their dog.  A month or
two later -- including an extra delay due to cold weather, since the puppy
was being flown to us and the airline refused to take responsibility in
case the cargo hold lost heat -- he arrived.  

He's a pretty well defective
poodle, though.  They're supposed to be very bright water retrievers, but
he took forever to learn 'fetch', hates water, and can be remarkably dense
when it suits him.  (He also managed to hurt his leg as a puppy and damage
one of the growth plates, meaning even after copious vet bills he has one
leg an inch or two shorter than the other, and he sort of hops rather than
walks.  Doesn't seem to bother him in the least; I think it's because he
doesn't realize how ridiculous he looks bouncing along with his ears
flopping up and down.)

The closest thing I ever had to a dog was my grandfather's dogs, Muffy 
and Quincy, with whom I spent a great deal of time whenever I visited.  
They were mutts, but they were good mutts.  Quincy was something of an 
old man by the time my memories came out of the fog, having shed his 
distinction as a tree dog some years earlier.  I first met Muffy as a 
puppy, and I was scared out of my wits the first time I opened the car 
door and saw her.

We would spend hours running around the family homestead in the country 
north of Toronto, or running down to the railroad tracks to see if 
there was any traffic (I was big on trains in my younger days).  Muffy 
would tear along ahead of us, Quincy would cooly jog behind.  

They've passed on since then.  Quincy aged quickly, and died a long 
time ago.  Muffy was put down as an old lady last year.  

I don't think Muffy ever forgot who I was.  Years later, shortly before 
she was put down, I was visiting on my own and showed up at the house.  
Muffy was still there, greeting me eagerly, asking to be scratched 
behind the ears.  I sort of wish I had spent more time with her.  I 
don't think I will have any other dogs.

They were the perfect dogs for a kid, on the perfect property for it.  
It was nice.

My parents have a lovely German Shepherd named Dutchess. My brother Jim has
strongly been lobbying for a dog, as the family hadn't had one in years.
The last dog was an Airedale named Dusty that I barely remember, she went
away when I was really little.  Before that they had a black leb, Fritz, who
was supposed to become a guide dog- and he passed all the tests, except
stairs- so my parents got to keep him.  So, I was 13 and Jim was really really
wanting a do gna dmy dad saw an ad in the paper about two german shepherds
whose owners had moved, leaving them at the humane society. We went and looked
and Jim fell in love.  The female was Dutchess, the male Duke. Well, a few
days later we took Dutchess (the secretary at the place spelled 'duchess' with
a t and we rather liked that spelled and it stuck.).  Awhile later my dad
found out that Duke was still there, and he thought we should take him too.Not
a whole lot of logic in that thought- Dutchess was two and full grown, fairly
small for a shepherd, Duke outweighed Ditchess by 20lbs and was only 6 months
old and half-grown, and half-housebroken.  It ended up not working with Duke
in the house, Dutchess did NOT want him there and wouldn't leave him alone.
So my dad gave him to a friend of his who lived out in the country- more room
for Duke (the big galoot) to run around.

Dutchess is getting old now, but she's still a great dog. She almost flunked
obediance school though (she's a free spirit, when told to 'Sit!' she climbed
into a chair and sat down.).  Every once and awhile she'll take herself for
walks without a person being with her, but she always comes home, or the
neighbors will call us to come get her.  She was hit by a car once- her only
damage was a 1 inch or so long cut that my mom (an RN) stitched closed.  We
got a cat shortly after getting Dutchess and she just thought that was great.
She's so much bigger then cats that she scares them, but she really just wants
to be friends. My sister's kitten used to lie on the dog's front feet and
slowly clean them, and the dog would just look up at us after awhile with an
expression of "Umm... how much longer is this going to take?"

Okay, I'll stop babbleing now...

(okay, now linked to the pets conf.)

My parents have two dogs, whose stories and personalities are a study 
in opposites.  
  Brandy is a beautiful Brittany Spaniel, acquired from a breeder at 
some cost (I believe, I wasn't involved in the acquisition process) 
after a great deal of research and debate about what kind of dog to get 
(there was a strong beagle faction, as I recall).  She's one of the 
most intelligent dogs I've ever met, with big, clear eyes and a very 
expressive face.  She is very energetic, and will cheerfully and 
violently play with anyone who gives her the slightest encouragement.  
They say dogs and their owners come to resemble each other, and this is 
certainly true of Brandy and my father.  It's highly amusing to watch 
them roll on the floor wrestling.  
  Banjo, on the other hand, is a classic Mop Dog.  We acquired him from 
my grandmother, who unfortunately no longer has the energy to take care 
of a dog.  I have no idea what breed or combination of breeds he is, 
but he's one of the ugliest dogs I've ever laid eyes on.  His eyes, 
whose existence is doubtful unless you look carefully from the right 
angle, are small and beady.  His mouth is filled with crooked, stained, 
and/or missing teeth, and is surrounded by fur that is matted down and 
stained with something, probably water or drool.  This creates a dark 
brown ring that stands in stark contrast to the rest of his fur, which 
I would swear was fake if I didn't know better, and is the color of a 
badly overbleached blonde.  He's about eight inches tall, and his top 
speed is a slow waddle.  He has this nasty habit of making retching 
noises, as if he's about to cough up a hairball or something, which, 
combined with the ever-present stain around his mouth, is really 
disturbing.  
  They get along with each other quite well, though.  Brandy doesn't 
terrorize Banjo too much, since she asserted her dominance from the 
start, and Banjo never puts up too much of a fight.  Banjo has gotten 
more energetic.  My family treats them with approximately equal love 
and attention, which isn't hard to do, since they're usually together.  

Banjo is a great dog name, IMO.

Our dog also does the occasional-pointless-retching-noises routine.  It seems
to happen most when he's excited about something, and usually petting him
slowly and calming him down helps.

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