DOG DAYS

Hello again.

August 26th is apparently "National Dog Day," a day to...post your pets to Social Media. (I guess there has to be an established day to do this).

Anyway, growing up, I was always a CAT person. That being said, with a father that was extremely allergic to cats, and a sister who eventually developed her own allergies to the creatures, I had ONE childhood cat that I got when I was in 5th Grade.

Anyway, my dad really did put up with a lot and Snowball lived inside with us for his earliest years. In fact, he'd "sleep" on my bed (lay on my chest, purring at me all through the night, and make eye contact as if trying to hypnotize me into spending all night stroking him. Why not; it's not like I got much sleep with his new position).

Then, my sister started to get actual hives; and kitty was the culprit. Out he went into a wooden, multi-tiered, heated shelter where I knew right where to find him if we wanted some time together.

But THIS is about "National Dog Day."

Since I was ten, Snowball was really MY pet; if we got him as a kitten in 1995, he passed away in 2007 (and I had to field THAT call from university). WE (as a family) were dog people; dogs such as...

DOLLY

Dolly was really our first dog once my sister came along.

She had started out as grandma's puppy (the same grandma who had taken care of Kate and I when we were little, where I left from and returned to after kindergarten, where I watched most of my television, and responsible for most of my G.I. Joe/Masters of the Universe figures of youth; THAT Grandma). I don't quite remember if Dolly was deemed too hyperactive of a puppy to be an indoor dog or the whole story there; but, one day, she just became OUR dog.

As she grew passed her puppyhood, Dolly proved to be a very sweet lady. Sadly, she and Freckles (more on her in a minute) were relegated to living outside in a heated coop where they were fed, watered, and had one another's companionship; but, beyond that, I didn't really exercise them all that much (I think dad might have).

Dolly, however, was a good girl and took her life in stride. It was rather difficult to watch her get older and more feeble about standing upright (made worse by the fact that Freckles could easily knock her over with her own antics).

When I did let the dogs out for roaming and play time, Dolly was just perfectly pleased to have some attention and would walk calmly alongside someone if they'd pet her on occasion.

She was so nice and calm, in fact, that, one day, I was picked up from school and wouldn't have known that she was in the backseat of the car had I not felt a pair of eyes on me and looked back to find her lying there, patiently waiting for me to return eye-contact.

FRECKLES

I can't precisely remember how Freckles came to live with us. I'm pretty sure that the story goes that dad had found her wandering one day, missing her tail and getting rocks chucked at her by some rowdy youth or something. Anyway, she had found her way onto our property and she was "home" now.

Dolly, officially, had a "sister," and, somehow, was declared my sister's dog.

SOMEONE had to take Freckles...

Freckles was a Springer Spaniel. That meant that she had a lot of excess energy and liked to...well...spring. She also had a lot of energy and lived in a dog pen with only Dolly as her constant companion. That meant that she would regard the gate in her way and bark. A lot. Barking and Bouncing. Bouncing and Barking. I really wasn't the caretaker that she deserved as I wasn't ready to tolerate these behaviors (and this was when I was still a CHILD myself).

A dog with so much energy needed OUT to ROAM sometimes. Begrudgingly, I'd let the dogs out on occasion and watch Freckles take off down the property while Dolly mostly kept in step with whoever had freed them.

Upon time to come in, Dolly would be plum tuckered out by now and return willingly. Freckles would approach and look up at me with deep soulful, youthful eyes that lovingly declared...

You've gotta be KIDDING, right?

Why, no, I was NEVER kidding about when it was time to return and THAT was our lasting argument.

Freckles and Dolly lasted with the family through a move from South Haven to Bangor. By the time I was away at GVSU, a particularly nasty Winter got its cold clutches around Dolly and, at what must have been 14, she was no longer with us. Eventually, Freckles had had enough of being without her friend and went to go look for her. One day, dad found her remains as well...

In hindsight, I should have been a better companion to Freckles. I could have done almost everything a whole lot differently...

SPIKE

Spike was the family's first indoor dog.

The days of the enclosed dog pen were behind us now.

The call that I received with this bit of news within my second year at GVSU went as follows...

Kate (having come home from a day at Senior Year to discover)...: "WE GOT A DOG!"

Me (out and about on campus and probably on my way to class) : "...I'm sorry?"

(CAT person here; remember?)

Dad was DETERMINED that Spike, the Labradoodle, would be his constant traveling companion to and from his work at the marinas.

Oops.

There was just one little problem...

Spike must have been the defect of his particular litter. He was supposed to be hypoallergenic with poodle hair; yet he constantly deposited behind lab FUR. This turned out to be the least of his defects (at least to me, who hadn't struggled with pet dander yet).

Spike was also taken away from his mother at too young of an age and, therefore, had severe attachment issues (90% of which were to dad in his puppyhood).

He could also be extremely noisy and hyper when the mood caught him around (which was a vast majority of his waking hours).

A loud, boisterous, excitable pup (with dog FUR when he was supposed to have HAIR) wasn't the best car riding companion for anyone; save the fact that he could announce that he and dad were coming from almost three blocks away.

So, gradually, Spike didn't go on car rides save for special occasions. And on those "special occasions," he, naturally, couldn't have known how to act as he was out of practice.

However, his misbehavior in a vehicle paled in comparison to his behavior about staying home.

Starting at about the age of two, Spike figured out that a whole magic neighborhood existed beyond our property's borders; and he was NOT TO BE DETERRED! Granted, he had a very nice fenced in yard in which to share the news of the day with the neighborhood but...COME ON, MAN; THAT'S NOT THE SAME THING!

Upon learning of a whole new world beyond our property line, Spike was almost unstoppable if a mood caught him to turn into "Free Range Fido." You had to be incredibly quick to get out a door without him; and then, be absolutely POSITIVE that that door had sealed behind you (I still remember him managing to open the door and chase the Corsica down the driveway as dad headed for a marina job).

Anyway, once Spike was on an adventure, he could be kind of hard to catch in a vehicle as he knew RIGHT where he would head back to. He was nearly IMPOSSIBLE to recapture on foot.

So, Spike started out as dad's companion; they had both agreed on that until Spike's passing day. Somewhere down the line, something had changed...

My mom's family in Florida had began having health problems requiring my parents to leave Michigan a lot to go be with them. In the mean time, Spike had to stay SOMEWHERE with SOMEONE.

Guess who?

Right around the end of my first week staying with Spike as his sole companion, a bit of humanitarianism clicked over me and I invited that Spike sleep on the floor of my room rather than on the cold concrete basement floor. He followed me with what must have been suspicion. ("What does he have in mind? DAD's the nice one to me!")

We survived the arrangement of my sleeping with my door open for the dog to come and go. Spike officially had a new go-to companion for when dad was on the road; and I found Spikey a lot easier to tolerate when he was asleep.

We established some comradery this way. Eventually, when dad was away, Spike accepted me as surrogate under the condition that I maintained an open-door policy on my bedroom at night; I, in turn, promised to like him more when he was asleep and NOT running away, barking, begging for (food/attention), etc.; basically, everything that was EXPECTED of a dog.

Eventually, trips to Florida to care for mom's side of the family or to take care of the logistics once her brother was the last to pass away became trips out to sea for my parents on their brand new boat; Spike and I were to be companions; him to keep me on my toes and me to keep him in line to the best of either of our abilities.

One day, my family moved from Bangor to South Haven and Spike got to experience town life rather than life slightly off of the beaten path. Come Spring, he learned to run away all over again in a much closer neighborhood to the excitement of a town. Being eleven by now (and a 76 pound labradoodle) had made him slightly slower and lazier around the house; it had done nothing to deter his speed if he saw an open door and felt no leash to restrain him.

Eventually, he slowed down more and more; and he was an indoor dog, so we watched it happening. Soon, he constantly panted not just because he was always a happy boy; but, honestly, because he had trouble breathing. Some days, he couldn't keep food down. Some days, he had difficulty in picking himself up at all. He was now quite vocal about his joints going from standing to laying, or back, at all. Three constants remained...

A) His vestige of youthful excitement was an open door and a human who wasn't fast enough to fix it.

B). I did NOT appreciate that particular character trait of his when it resulted in a foot race to get him back.

C). I would find him like so at the end of the day; and everything was okay in our relationship again...

All good things have to come to an end; and, on July 10, of 2019, I was awakened at about 2 AM to be informed that Spike was "gone."

His pain and suffering was over; and I'd never have to fear chasing my pet pal again.

"Bye, buddy; be g' boy. I see you later, 'k?"

MENARD

One day around the Summer of 2012ish, a wayward Stafforshire Terrier Mix puppy "found my sister" by pursuing her around a store parking lot.

Guess which store?

Their relationship was love at first sight; OUR relationship's first defining moment was that she had brought him to Bangor with her one weekend and the two of them stayed in the basement to keep the dogs separated. Then, I opened the basement door to head downstairs and get something from my room. Only a young Mr. Menard didn't have x-ray vision; and if he had seen me on the stairs, we didn't quite know each other yet. Our first defining meeting was a young pitbull doing what a protective and appreciative dog was going to do for his new mommy.

Kate and Menard only grew from there. He's ten (maybe 11; I can't remember) now and has seen her through great days, stressful days and many broken-hearts.

And our relationship...

I'm not saying that Menard is perfect; though he's perfect for Kate. His temperament to this day is questionable at best around toy-sized dogs and small children. If he DOESN'T know you, he can be defensive; if he DOES know you, beware of drowning in attention and affection.

Yes, he and Spike were buddies as Menard would come barging into the house and promptly take-over food dish and toys (when it came to a four-legged friend visiting HIS residence and doing the same thing, you guessed it, he took issue). And, yes, post-July 2019 when he came to visit, Menard barged into the house like normal and...looked around for a certain someone. He sniffed around in confusion as he would pick up Spike's scent and it would never lead to his companion ever again.

Kate's current boyfriend has a labradoodle of his own named "Bear" and, after a lot of trying, Bear now fits the role of "surro-Spike;" at least as far as Menard is concerned. He has a pal again...

At present, Menard lives with Kate as my "Nephew Dog," (Menard the "Granddog," does far too good of a job of monkeying with his "grandpa's" allergies and dad has enough of his own health issues right now). Menard's visits are few and far between now and we are an "empty-dog" house much of the time. This status is fine with me, and surprisingly, with dad. Mom, no big fan of Spike's behavior when he was around, is now the one of us who wants a dog again.

In the meantime, THIS established cat person loves that other dogs live in our neighborhood. THEIR owners are bringing up very nice pets and I very much look FORWARD to little five-minute visits with someone else's well-behaved dog.

As for me and cats ever again, now I'M beginning to develop that allergy to pet dander, so it may never happen for me again. (And dogs and I are good for brief little visits)...