For the love of a good dog...

Growing up I always had a dog. When I was very little, our family dog was a terrier mash up called Do-Do. He was thusly named because the first day we got him, as a puppy, my Mom gave him a bowl of milk and he started to back up all over the kitchen until he stumbled backwards into the bowl and pooped right in the milk. My Mom said, "What a do-do!" and the name stuck. Do-Do was my buddy. We grew up together. He was also an escape artist. Given an inch of open door, he would take off like a bat out of hell and be gone all day. He always returned but not before he found something completely vile to roll around in. His pride in his own stink was awesome. As was the defeat of the inevitable bath that was awaiting him. Occasionally, Do-Do would get caught by the Animal Control officer. Actually, more than occasionally. He would get caught so much the officer knew where he lived and started to just bring him home rather than take him to the Humane Society. My Dad appreciated not having to pay the fine for having a loose dog. Do-Do lived a long time. Long enough to move into our new house in 1970 and learned the lay out of a whole new neighborhood. Though he was far from the beloved, horrid smells of rotting alewives at Lake Michigan he found a whole new set of disgusting smells to roll around in at Lincoln Park. I swear that dog had more baths in his lifetime! He lived to an old ripe age and was loved every minute of it. When he was gone, my Mom avowed to never have another dog again. And we didn't until I was in college.

I got a call from my sister. She brought home a dog thinking her husband would be thrilled. He wasn't and now she had to get rid of it. I was house sitting for another sister so she brought it over to me for the time being. The time being meant long enough for me to fall in love with this ugly looking mutt she brought in. His named was Dudley. I called my Mom to beg her to let me keep him. She was dead set against it but my dear Dad intervened and talked her into it so Dudley came home to stay. He also became one of the most important characters in my life. I took him everywhere. He slept in my bed, ate off my plate, sat on my lap and just stayed at my side. He was another terrier mix, like Do-Do but he was no escape artist. If he got out alone he took his own sweet time stopping to smell the roses. He could be gone an hour before we'd notice and when we'd look outside he wouldn't even had made it to the gate. He loved taking it all in. He was so sweet that way. Dudley was often the only one I could tell my deepest secrets too. When my Dad passed away, Dudley's fur bore the brunt of my tears. Sometimes he would just lie next to me and gently place a paw on my cheek as if to tell me it was all going to be alright. My Mom professed her hatred for this dog but every morning she'd be in the kitchen making Dudley a piece of toast with butter and cheese and she'd always insist that I mix the extra gravy or green beans into his food. When I moved to Chicago, Dudley stayed behind. I wasn't allowed to have a dog where I lived. Dudley and mom were together at home for a long time. Finally, Dudley got old and infirmed and my sister had him put down. I still have his collar and tags and I'll always keep them.

Now, I have cats. I love them just as much as I have loved any of my pets but I have to admit there are marked differences. I want a dog and I wish I could get one but once again I am in a place where the landlord won't allow it. One day though, I know I will have another dog. I just can't see life without it. And, frankly, I don't understand people who don't like dogs! How can you not like a dog?

For the love of animals...

I have always been an animal lover. When I was little, my sister Kathy gave me a puppy which we named Do-Do. He was a little rat terrier type of dog that lived to run away and roll around in the stinkiest stuff he could find before coming home  looking guilty. Usually the stinkiest stuff he could find was a pile of dead alewives down at the harbor. He reeked and I would have to give him a bath each time but I loved that crazy mutt! We had him for years until he was old and sick and it was the humane thing to have him put down.

While we had Do-Do, there were a host of other animals that came to live with us. We had a bunny named Bunny. Now, here's the funny thing about Bunny. I "caught" Bunny one Easter. My sister helped me set a trap of a box precariously perched on a ruler with a carrot inside. The idea was that the Easter bunny would go in to get the carrot, knocking the ruler down and voila he'd get stuck under the box. We put flour all over the floor around the trap too. The next morning, Easter morning, there were bunny prints in the flour and a real live bunny in the box! I don't remember ever keeping that bunny in a cage. He had free reign of the house and would come running when he'd hear the refrigerator door open. I have no idea where he pooped! And I guess I don't really want to know now! At that same time, my Dad brought home two parakeets. He named them Mickey and Mikey. They had a cage but my Dad liked to leave the cage door open so these terrors would swoop over our heads willy nilly. They found great delight in pooping on my Mom's wall shelf where she had her Holy statues. My Mom wanted to kill those birds. My Dad wanted to teach them to speak so he bought an album that he played over and over again. It was a lady saying short phrases and the idea was the birds were supposed to pick up the phrases after hearing them repeated ad nauseum. Those birds never learned one single word but we kids ran around saying "Hello baby. Want a kiss?" over and over again. It was a prominent phrase on the album.

My brother was a good one for bringing home weird animals. Some of them were pets, some were dinner. He would bring home crayfish and cook them up in a big pot and eat them while we all stood around going, "EWWWWW!!!" When he was younger, before I was born, he met a man who had racing pigeons in a coop in his yard. My brother decided to build a coop and have pigeons of his own. He built the coop on the short roof of the restaurant kitchen in the back of our building. He put it up there because there were always stray feral cats in Mr. Freeman's junk yard and he didn't want his birds to get eaten. Now the thing about racing pigeons is they are expensive so, naturally, we didn't have money so he could get actual racing pigeons. So, my brother spent hours down town Kenosha catching street pigeons. If you've ever tried to catch a pigeon, it's not easy! They're pretty fast! Turns out the only ones my brother could catch were sick or missing parts, like a leg or a wing. After a while he had a bunch of crippled pigeons in his coop. He took care of them religiously though they never raced at all. He had to get rid of them when there was an accident involving my older sister. My brother went to Boy Scout camp for a week and my older sister was given the undesirable task of going up on the roof and feeding the pigeons. Reluctantly, she did just that but when she opened the coop the pigeons all took off. Now, they were crippled but they could run and "flutter" a bit so they all took off to the edge of the roof and "fluttered" their way down to the ground and ran away. My sister, knowing she was about to be in trouble, ran after them...right off the edge of the roof...like a cartoon character. She landed on her ass in the junkyard. My mother was down in the restaurant kitchen peeling taters at the sink. She saw a flutter of pigeons followed by the thud of my sister whizzing past the window! Talk about a commotion! My sister had a slight concussion but she was okay. It marked the end of my brother's pigeon racing career.

My other sister, when she was in high school, liked to think she was being way cool by doing things that were strange and interesting. She purchased a white mouse at Woolworth's and for about three months carried it with her wherever she went - including school. Now this was okay until the good Sister's at St. Joseph High School found out she was toting a mouse in her pocket. My mother was not amused.

When my other sister was in high school we shared a room much to her dismay. One Saturday when my Mom was out shopping she brought in a cage with two rabbits in it that her then boyfriend had given her. Now back then my relationship with her was contentious, to say the least. I was the bratty younger sister and the baby of the family to boot. But she needed me now to cover for her so she bribed me. She wanted me to attest that these bunnies were just there temporarily and she was watching them for a friend. She gave me some albums and promised me all sorts of goodies if I just went along with this. For me it was a win-win situation. I loved the bunnies and I was getting a load of goodies. Of course my mother did not fall for this ruse at all. The bunnies were returned to the boy friend and my sweet deal was null and void.

I've already written about Dudley, the little black terrier I brought home one day. He was my faithful friend til the end. And now I have Arnie and Belle. Arnie is my big boy - a sweet love of a cat that wants nothing more than to snuggle with me as much as possible whenever and wherever he can. And Belle, AKA Lil Mama - She is Alex's girl. They have long, loud conversations with each other and she sometimes gets distraught if he just goes into the next room. These were both rescue kitties and have been the delight of our home for the past couple of years now. I spent a long time without a pet and I can tell you, in no uncertain terms, that a pet makes a huge difference in a life. They are living, breathing examples of unconditional love. They are always there when you need them and seem to know exactly when that is. Their sense of caring is immeasurable and they make our lives so much better. Yup, I am an animal lover and I know that I will never go another day in my life without an animal  companion again.