My Dog Story

I grew up with outside dogs.

Humans were happy in our home, and I thought dogs were just as happy outside. Frisky, our last family dog, slept under the deck and ate the same food we did. When I walked the roads and trails, Frisky was at my feet, going to the same places I went. I would push our boat into the water to go fishing, and if he were not already in the boat with me, he would almost always spot me in the water as the boat was leaving the bank. It seemed like part of the fun for him to jump from the pier to the boat, sometimes four or five feet. At the end of one jump, I had a broken fishing rod.

After marrying Kathy, I learned that Frisky had not been a happy dog because he did not live in our air-conditioned home. He did not have toys and dog treats. He did not have a cushy dog bed. When we went on vacation, we just asked someone to feed him; I never thought he was abandoned— I thought he was happy at home, doing the same things without us that he did with us. Everybody loved Frisky, so I never worried about him getting lonesome.

Three years into our marriage, when I returned from a business trip to Houston, I saw that we now had a little chihuahua in our home, and Kathy had a little "please like the dog" smile on her face.

The dog had been named Chrissy because Kathy had asked our four-year old son Chris to name him. I did not think it is common to name a dog after a family member, but I had already learned to go with Kathy's flow if it did not cost too much. Of course, in those days, if it cost much, we could not have it. We did not even own a credit card.

Everybody loved Chrissy, and she was with us almost everywhere we went. Several years after we got her, Chrissy slipped out the front door of our retail business. Within minutes, a customer at the gas station next door scooped her up, took her home, and gave her a new name.

Fortunately, the gas station attendant saw it happen and knew where the lady lived. We were so happy to get Chrissy back, and we never gave her the opportunity to scare us like that again.

Chrissy was the best dog anyone could have. When Chrissy died, I realized how attached one can get to a lovable inside dog.

Our next dog was Tramp, a bad-tempered shih tzu that Kathy and our daughter Leslie bought at a flea market.

They were uninformed about such things at the time, but undoubtedly, Tramp was the product of a bad breeder. This dog only wanted to be with Kathy, and I think he just tolerated her. After a few years with Tramp, I did not want another inside dog, much less a big dog like the already-large border collie puppy that someone in a Walmart parking lot gave Kathy fourteen years ago.

We had recently moved back to the community that we left when we moved to the beach, and Kathy decided that it was the right time and place for a big dog.

I did not have a problem with a big border collie at our new home— I had a problem with a big border collie in our home. I liked Daisy immediately, but I thought that I could like her just as much in our backyard as in our house. Kathy and I played a little game for a while: I would put Daisy on the deck, and a little later Kathy would bring her in the house. After a while she was not staying outside much. More time passed and Daisy was only outside when it was her choice, or when she was walking with us.

We began walking the trails near our home and arrowhead hunting became an obsession. Neither of us was working at the time and we were empty nesters, so we had all day, every day, to spend searching and roaming. The three of us spent more time in the woods than we did at home. Daisy learned the words “arrowhead” and “found one,” and each time we said any of those words, she would walk over to the arrowhead and dig near it, looking for more, we guessed. When she saw me take my camera out of the case to take a picture of the arrowhead before we picked it up, she would always try to get in the picture.

A couple of years after getting Daisy, Kathy decided to use the nursing license she had placed on hold for twenty-five years.

One night after work, Kathy entered our home with a big puppy: “Look what I found in the carport.”

I replied, “She must be someone’s lab. Take her back to the carport and she’ll find her way home, or maybe the owners are looking for her and they’re not going to find her in our house.” That did not make a bit of sense to Kathy. I took the puppy to the carport a couple of times, and Kathy brought her back a couple of times. After that, I arrived at the conclusion that this dog belonged to Kathy because someone was giving puppies away at her work. That is how we got Maggie.

I took our two dogs for long walks in the woods while Kathy was at work, and the four us spent a large part of every weekend in the woods. Daisy had fun running with another dog and they were temperamentally suited for each other.

The most memorable time I had walking with the dogs without Kathy was the day Maggie and Daisy left the trail and only Daisy returned. Daisy and I waited about an hour before we left without Maggie. While walking towards home, I turned my head every minute or so to see if Maggie was behind us, and on one of those turns, she was. She was walking slowly, with her head down. A snake had bit her. One thing I remember from that day is how easily Daisy was going to leave Maggie in the woods: “Nice knowing you girl. I’m going home.”

After four years of work, Kathy left nursing. She really did not have time on her hands after quitting her job because we have always stayed as busy in our free time as the time we had to spend, but Kathy is a multitasker.

She did not know what Facebook was until she left nursing. When she found it, she found dog-rescue groups. We did not keep count of the dogs that spent time in our home, but it must have been a couple of hundred. Kathy would occasionally become attached to a dog because of the usual things, primarily appearance or behavior, and she would hate to see the dog go. During those times I mentioned to her the reasoning behind letting them go: if you begin keeping them, you cannot keep fostering them. I knew Kathy was not going to permanently heed that warning-- it was just a matter of time.

Bella, a beagle, came into our home about five years ago. She had been part of someone’s animal horde.

The owners had ceased feeding their dogs, and they were all near death; some had to be put to sleep. Bella was skin-and-bones and too weak to move. She did not bark for three months. Kathy said numerous times, “I can picture Bella as a little boy’s dog. She is the perfect dog for a little boy.” That little boy wherever he was did not get Bella.

It was months before Bella would willingly leave the inside of our house. She was undoubtedly happy to be where she was, and she was afraid she would have to go back to where she came from. At one point in those first months with Bella, Kathy had family business to take care of in North Carolina. When I thought it was time for Bella to go outside, I had to corral the furniture in the den and keep moving it until she was forced out the back door. Then she would not go any more than a few feet from the door.

A year or so later, Bella was begging to go walking with us and having fun with Daisy and Maggie.

Two Years ago, Lobstah arrived.

His leg was broken when he was found at the Bessemer Flea Market. Strays and abandoned dogs are more easily adopted up North, and like all the dogs that rolled through our home, that is where he was supposed to be going after his leg healed. The walks that we took him on ended up being short ones because of his pain.

About the time that he was well enough to leave, Kathy said, “I want to keep him.” I was expecting that, and I had made up my mind not to offer any reasons why we should not keep him. Kathy renamed him Foster, and he began responding to his new name almost immediately.

Foster put an end to the fostering at our home.

Kathy knew that we did not have any room for more dogs in our home even if they were just passing through. The four dogs live in our home quite well, but there is a point where even the most extreme dog lovers should say “enough.”

I would have reached that point before we had four big dogs in our home, but Kathy is a princess. She has earned and deserves everything she has. The saying is “happy wife, happy life”’ Actually for me, if Kathy wakes up happy, I likely have a ticket to paradise that day— likely but not certainly. We are not one of those married couples who never have an argument. We are both passionate people and sometimes buttons are pushed before we realize they are pushed.

When I have riled Kathy in the past, I have tried: “Look at all these dogs we have. You just adopted Foster last week, and now you’re mad at me for this tiny little thing I’ve said.” Kathy’s reply: “These dogs are family. Why are you using them in an argument? You don’t love them?” Me: “If I had thirteen kids, I’d love them all, but I don’t want thirteen kids. I didn’t wake up one morning and say, “I want another dog. I got another dog because I love you!”

And that is true!