by Amy Newmark
As I approached, I saw a very large animal standing squarely in the middle of the deserted road, right in my path. In Spain, there has always been a tradition of using very large herd dogs to deal with cow control. The animal I found blocking my way was a prime example of these creatures. It was huge. No wonder they were able to control cows; this dog could have intimidated a rhino. His huge eyes were focused directly on mine as I approached. I looked around, hoping perhaps to see a man in a top hat carrying a chair and whip who could control this beast and allow me to pass! But I was alone, and so I advanced slowly, making myself as large as possible so as not to look like a small, tasty morsel.
The dog’s gaze never faltered, and he stood his ground. I moved off onto the grassy edge of the road, and he positioned himself very purposely to counter my move. There was no alternative for me but to pass closely by his salivating jaws. Carefully, I sidled past him, hoping not to touch him or to make eye contact. To say that I was terrified would have been an understatement. Up close, he was way bigger than from a distance; he came halfway up to my chest. I had never seen such a big dog.
When at last I had slunk past him, I was aware that he had turned and was now following close behind me in my walk into the village. Relieved, I made it to the safety of the café where I ordered up my café and bocadillo sandwich. As I was hoping to eat my lunch at an outdoor table, I looked out the front window and was glad to see that my tormentor was not visible.
Once back outside, I had no sooner sat down at the table when the dog reappeared, looking even more menacing, if that was possible. Just as I was about to retreat back into the café, he sat at my feet and stared up at me with huge, sad-looking eyes. At that point, I realised that it might be my sandwich that had his hungry attention and not me. The drool coming from the side of his mouth was one of the clues. I broke off a piece of my snack and proffered it in his general direction. It disappeared as if by magic. There was not a lot of chewing done as far as I could see; he just seemed to inhale it. In the end, he got more of my sandwich than I did. At least my coffee didn’t hold any attraction for him, so I was allowed to have that for myself. Leaving my backpack in the dog’s care, I went back to the café and bought another two sandwiches — one for him and one for me. We sat together in the sun and enjoyed each other’s company for the short time available.
With a long walk ahead of me, I got to my feet and pulled on my backpack. The giant dog also rose to his feet, stretched and fell in behind me as I made my way out of the village. I was escorted to the village limits where he stopped, sat down and yawned. I came back and stroked his ears. He stood up, rubbed his huge body against me, and licked my hand as if in gratitude. As I climbed a hill leading out of town, I could feel his eyes watching my progress.
Thinking back now, I realise that he had worked out an efficient little scheme. He would sit and wait for hikers passing through town in the hope that they would visit the café and share their snacks with him. Then he would escort them out of town before returning for the next victim/pilgrim. In the short time I spent with him, I could see that he was a smart animal and had a friendly disposition in spite of his huge size. From that day on, I never felt intimidated by any dog I met on my journey. I felt I had been privileged to have interaction with a doggie ambassador. I also came to realise that I should never judge a dog by first impressions.
~James A. Gemmell
Bailey’s Best Christmas
Fun fact: Visitors to Kent, England, can visit the Dog Collar Museum at Leeds Castle, which contains more than 100 dog collars dating as far back as the 15th century.
I will never forget our Labrador Retriever’s sixth Christmas. Our sweet Bailey was solidly built, with a shiny chocolate-colored coat and a happy smile. Adored by family and friends for his gentle disposition, he was the kind of dog that liked everyone. Useless as a watchdog, we always joked that if a burglar intruded, Bailey would just wag his tail and lead him to the silver.
Like any beloved child, Bailey had his own Christmas stocking. Nothing fancy, but it was always filled with some special treats for Christmas — usually something to chew on and a plush doggy toy, although most of the doggy toys seemed to go missing eventually.
But this particular year, Bailey’s nose might have been a bit out of joint, because we had a new baby in the house. Anika was stealing some of the attention away from Bailey, who’d been spending a bit more time in the laundry room than usual, sulking.
My mother had knitted Baby Anika a beautiful Christmas stocking that I’d hung on the mantle with the other hand-knit stockings. But a few days before Christmas, that new stocking was missing. The rest were still in place — but Anika’s was mysteriously gone. That’s when I remembered that I’d spotted one of Anika’s favorite baby toys out in Bailey’s dog run a few days earlier. The plush yellow duckling that sang “Singing in the Rain” had been lying beak-down in the snow. I rescued the kidnapped duck to find that it was in good shape and still able to sing.
Curious about the missing stocking, I looked out the kitchen window. There, on the freshly fallen snow, I spotted the red-and-green sock. Relieved to find it was in perfect condition, I gave Bailey a good-natured scolding and then returned it to its hook with the others. That’s when I noticed Bailey’s stocking hadn’t even been hung yet. Was he trying to give me a hint? So before long, Bailey’s Christmas stocking was hanging too, and we all had a good laugh over it.
Christmas came and went, and the following weekend I joined my mother and sister for a little getaway. That evening, my sister asked if I had liked my Christmas present from her. Caught off guard, I tried to remember her gift, but came up blank. She described the packaging (she’s known for beautiful wrapping) and informed me that it contained a very special handmade bracelet. “And there was something special in there for Bailey, too,” she said with concern.
Suddenly, I remembered how Bailey had snatched Anika’s duck and Christmas stocking and wondered if he’d taken anything else. It actually seemed out of character since he’d never been that kind of dog before. But having a baby around had been an adjustment for him. So I called home and explained the mystery to my husband. He promised to do some investigating and called me back a few minutes later.
Now, I must explain that Bailey’s kennel wasn’t just an ordinary kennel. It started with a doggy-door that led from the laundry room out into a pretty nice doghouse (with two rooms). And that led out into a large, fenced dog run that he could freely come and go from. Pretty posh for a dog.
“I found the wrapping paper and ribbon and box outside,” my husband told me. “So I could tell Bailey was responsible.” But he explained that the items that were supposed to be inside the box were missing. “So I crawled into Bailey’s doghouse with my flashlight. I found the bracelet and a leather dog collar with beadwork that says ‘Good Dog.’ ”
Of course, we had a good laugh over that one — the “good dog” that had stolen a present from beneath the Christmas tree. My husband reassured me that both items were in excellent condition. “He didn’t chew them or anything. But what surprised me even more was that he’d decorated his doghouse.”
“Decorated his doghouse?” I wondered if I’d heard him right.
“Yeah. You know the boxes of Christmas decorations that you’d left in the laundry room?”
“The ones that just had leftover decorations?” I asked.
“It looks like Bailey helped himself to some of those decorations. And he’s put them in his doghouse.”
“You’re kidding!”
He laughed. “No, I’m serious. Bailey decorated his doghouse.”
It took a few seconds for this to even register. “So Bailey found his Christmas present under the tree, opened it up, then took it into his doghouse that he’d already decorated?”
“And that’s not all,” my husband said.
“There’s more?”
“Yeah. Bailey’s got a collection, too.”
“A collection?”
Now my husband laughingly described how Bailey had all his plush doggy toys lined up against one of the walls of his doghouse — all the toys that he’d gotten for previous Christmases that we thought had gone missing.
“They’re all clean and in great condition,” he said with wonder. “Almost as if Bailey and the toys were having a Christmas party together.”
We had a good long laugh over that, and after I hung up, I told my mother and sister the story. We marveled over how Bailey had known which box actually contained a present meant for him and how he’d carefully opened it and taken it into his doghouse. And they could hardly believe that not only had he decorated his doghouse with Christmas things, but he had neatly arranged his stuffed pals against a wall, as if to celebrate together. I’m not sure what motivated him, but I think Bailey’s Christmas was a good one. And the words on his new collar, “Good Boy,” couldn’t have been more fitting. He truly was a good boy!
~Melody Carlson
On the Furniture
Fun fact: The American Kennel Club (AKC) was founded in 1884 and has the largest registry of purebred dogs in the world.
Furniture is for people, not dogs. This had been my steadfast, non-negotiable rule for three decades. My family knew my rule, and dogs, husband and children obeyed.
This was before Landon came into my family’s life as a twelve-week-old Golden Retriever. The no-furniture rule was easily enforced at first because none of Landon’s new family used the furniture anymore. My daughter sat on the floor propped up against the sofa to watch TV so she could play with him. I lay down on the floor with a few throw pillows to read so Landon could climb all over me. My son had puppy-wrestling matches on the carpet. I sat cross-legged on the floor to groom him and give puppy massages. Landon didn’t care about the furniture because we were always joining him on the floor.
When Landon was six months old, I decided he was big enough to stay in the back yard rather than in his indoor crate when we were not home. But I was concerned that he would be afraid all alone in our private, fenced back yard. One day, I went out to run a few errands. I intended to be gone for a short time, but it took longer than I thought. I hurried home in a panic. Would my poor little puppy be scared, lonely, and quivering at the back door?
I parked the car in the garage. Leaving the groceries, I rushed through the house to the back door. No Landon. I searched the shady side yard. No Landon. I looked to the oak grove that surrounded the deck. On the deck is a two-seater glider. And on it was Landon, sprawled across the full length of the glider gently swaying in the breeze. I called his name. He raised his head in a sleepy greeting and rolled onto his back, making the glider rock even more. He looked content, happy and, of course, adorable. “Well, it is only outdoor furniture,” I rationalized. Looking back, I suspect this may have been the exact point in time when Landon determined there was a crack he might slip through in my “no dogs on the furniture” rule.
Landon grew into a handsome young dog. He was a superstar in training classes. He learned many words and commands. He passed the AKC Canine Good Citizen exam. He didn’t bark or dig in the back yard. He came when called. He picked up items I dropped. He was delightful to new people. He got along well with other dogs. The staff at the boarding kennel and veterinary office adored him. And every chance he got, he made himself comfortable on the furniture.
All too often, I would walk into the family room unannounced. There would be Landon snuggled at one end of the sofa with his head on the decorative pillow. “Off,” I would command. “Now!” He would obediently and with great effort get his legs underneath him. Then he would carefully steady himself. Once positioned, he would contemplate the floor as if it were twenty feet away. Then he would look at me as if questioning my cruelty. Eventually, his front legs would slide to the floor, and his hind legs would clumsily follow. This was painful to watch, and it took a minute. It was hard to believe this was the same dog that hiked rugged trails, nimbly bounded up and over boulders, and swam for hours in the lake.
Years later, Landon would stay alone in the house during inclement weather. When he heard my car pull into the garage, he would come to the door to greet me. I would kneel down and offer hugs and kisses. He would have such a sleepy look on his face and would be so nice and warm. I never thought much of this until one rainy, cold day. Returning home from an exhausting day of work, I greeted Landon as usual, then plopped myself in my husband’s chair, resting my legs on the ottoman. Both the chair and the ottoman were all warmed up for me. Landon stood by the chair and put his head on the armrest. I glared at him. He lifted his left eyebrow, then his right, and then his left. He would not meet my gaze. No words were spoken, but much was said.
My daughter moved back home after completing college. Although she had few belongings, she asked if she could bring just one item of furniture into our home — her antique upholstered chair. We rearranged the furniture in the TV room and found a spot for the chair. Landon, always part of any goings-on, watched with great interest. We positioned the chair. My daughter, satisfied with the location, went to fall back into the chair, but was not fast enough. Landon jumped on to the chair, curled up and gave a sigh of approval. “Landon, you are like having a bratty, little brother,” my daughter said. Thereafter, just like siblings, my daughter and Landon grappled over who had first rights to that chair.
It has been nine years since Landon came into my life, and he and I are now in our senior years. We spend much of our time together. We both have agreed that rules, once so important, are no longer necessary. Now, Landon is invited to join me on the sofa when I read. I sit outside on one patio chair drinking my morning coffee, and Landon sits in the other. We somehow both fit, but not comfortably, on the chair and ottoman to watch TV together. We have spent countless hours on the glider made for two — swaying, thinking and being. I have enough wonderful memories of Landon to last a lifetime, but it just may be that the most cherished memories I will have of this dear dog happened on the furniture.
~Elizabeth Greenhill
Posh Poodles
Fun fact: Poodles have a wide variety of coloring, including white, black, brown, parti, silver, gray, silver beige, apricot, red, cream, sable, phantom and brindle.
Their names were Nicky and Xandie, and they were two of the cutest apricot/white Toy Poodles you ever saw. Littermates, we received them at ten months of age via a rescue site for Poodles. Their owner was forced to move due to her profession and was unable to take her precious babies with her. We had just lost our black Poodle after thirteen wonderful years, and my son’s heart was broken. It began to mend the day we brought the puppies home.
Nicky and Xandie became a very integral part of my childcare business. It was up to them to entertain the many children who passed through my care facility during those years, and entertain them they did! The children also learned how to love and care for a pet, which was something their parents appreciated. Some also appreciated that their child could interact with a pet in my home, leaving theirs “pet-free.”
Our newfound loves were very particular about their personal appearance and would groom each other daily. Then they would come to me for “inspection” and strut away proudly when I responded with, “Oh, what a pretty good girl (or boy) you are!” This compliment seemed even more important to them than any edible treat I could have offered them.
Nicky wore a blue rhinestone collar and Xandie a red one. If I accidentally placed the red leash on Nicky, he would sit down and refuse to move until I had the blue one secured to his collar.
We lived in Colorado at the time, and winters there can be brutal. Neither dog would go into the yard for their “daily duties” when it was snowy. My husband had to shovel an area just off the patio for their personal use.
Christmas had just passed, and we were in a severe bone-crushing cold snap, with temperatures well below zero. Adults, children, and dogs were confined inside for days on end. Nicky and Xandie were in “dog heaven.” They were the cen
ter of attention among the children and they loved playing tag and hide-and-seek (yes, they knew how to play both games), with their only reward being the squeals of joy and hugs from the children.
I had the remains of my Christmas prime rib in the refrigerator and one cold day I got it out to make soup. The dogs looked longingly at the bones and tried everything to get me to give them each one. They were begging and standing on their hind feet, twirling like little ballerinas. Finally, I relented, offering them each a bone with quite a bit of meat on it. My only stipulation was that they had to go outside and chew them on the patio. I let them out the French doors leading to the patio but no sooner had I turned around than Nicky knocked loudly on the door. I opened the door and they both ran into the house with their bones.
“We can’t eat greasy meat in the house,” I told them, opening the door again and letting them out. Immediately, I heard a pounding on the back door. They ran back in with their bones again.
This went on twice more, and I finally had had enough. I made them drop their bones beside the back step before I brought them into the house. They both gave me a scathing look and proudly walked down the hall to my bedroom, where their beds were.
I turned a bit later and saw them coming back down the hallway. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing — Nicky carrying his blue sweater and Xandie carrying her red one!
Laughing, I put their sweaters on them and let them out again. This time, they didn’t come in until the meat on those delicious prime rib bones was completely gone.
I removed their sweaters, and they once again sauntered down the hallway… to a much-deserved nap.
~Bette Haywood Matero
Don’t Ever Do That Again
Fun fact: A famous Husky named Balto saved hundreds of Alaskan lives in 1925 by delivering the diphtheria serum to their remote area in harsh weather.