Service of Pets
March 15th, 2010
Categories: Pets
I dedicate this post to Marita Thomas, a dear friend whom we recently lost, who adored her precious dog Lucy and who planned to contribute to if not write the post.
Murrey
I woke up yesterday-Sunday–to a story on WCBS radio news that tenants with dogs in Trump Village in Brooklyn were to be fined. The New York Daily News covered the same story, “Trump Village co-op in Brooklyn puts new bite in no-pet rule: Threatens fine, loss of parking space,” I adore my pets and sometimes, just to torture myself, I wonder if my husband became allergic to one of them, what would I do? So would I move if I lived in such a place?
Pets can be disruptive. I moved to a co-op where a board member interviewed one of my neighbors who attested to the manners and compatibility of our almost dachshund, Prunella, our friendly, perky, quiet, perfect apartment dog. We all passed the board and moved in.
Our next dog, Cassie, whom Bide-a-Wee assured us was full grown at 35 lbs, grew to 68 lbs but by then, we were in love. A mix of Doberman, German Shepherd and x, she was a nutty, high-energy, rough love-dog and was she vocal! As dainty and polite as Prunella was, Cassie was the opposite. Even after dog school, while she no longer jumped on the dining room table when it was set for dinner guests, she’d bark for hours when we were at work. She was the kind of dog that is quiet when burglars come because she welcomes the company. Lucky the apartment building was so well built because her daily conversations weren’t heard by too many people.
Pets can save the day. My cousin’s husband and mother died within months of one another. She said that without Toto, a 50 lb shepherd mix, she didn’t know what she’d have done. Cassie helped me through a bad stretch-her walk schedule forced me out of the house when I’d have preferred to hide and we’d dance together in the kitchen when a favorite song came on the radio.
Neighbor Sadie frog hunting
Trump isn’t alone when it comes to landlords, but he’s out of step with most people in his lack of enthusiasm for pets. Dogs or goodies for dogs are featured all over the place-in the pages of recent issues of Town & Country, Country Living, Elle Décor, Veranda, New York Magazine, The New York Times and in an ad for windows in Architectural Digest. David Reich just wrote “Going to the Dogs, and Cats, Parakeets and Gerbils” in his blog, My 2 Cents. Regarding the bond between humans and pets, Reich illustrates its strength on anticipated sales of pet products hitting $72 billion by 2014 according to Packaged Facts.
I’ve been thinking about this subject for months, all the time hoping for Marita to get better, and keeping a file of pet coverage. What was glaring? There were no cat stories and no photography featuring felines in recent issues of decorating magazines while dogs were included in family shots taken in the kitchen, on front steps, stretched out on a carpet, sofa or bed. [Only one magazine had a shot of a lethargic cat in a vet's health advice column.]
Neighbor Cibie
So where’s the cat lobby? While more households own dogs than cats-43 million vs. 37 million-in 2007 there were more domesticated cats living at home-81+ million vs. 72+ million, according to a study on the American Veterinary Medical Association website.
Caramelli Cat
I’m currently stepmother to a cat. While originally oriented toward dogs, I love Caramelli, my second cat, as much as my first one, Cat, and as much as my dogs. Cara’s shenanigans make me laugh, hugging her makes me happy-I scoop her up in my arms and with my husband, we all hug. Her gentleness on this occasion, given her roots as a tough Poughkeepsie, NY street walker is always a surprise and we confirm her approval by the clarity of her purring.
As with all my pets, what she ruins-rugs, upholstery, walls-I forgive and forget [though that rug she's shredded in the living room looks like no other it is so frayed]. By the way: I’m not that forgiving when people ruin my things. One complaint: it’s hard to remove her hair from things, but dog hair is similar.
Loki's cousin Dehlia
In his post, Reich, one of the most sensibly frugal people I know, notes that he spent some $5,000+ at the vet on Loki dog-whom he calls his third child–this year. Cara cat had an infected tooth removed [requiring anesthesia] and is on a special diet as she’s allergy prone leading to ear infections and skin issues, so her non-allergenic venison and pea food pellets cost a fortune and her bi-yearly checkups add up. While I am always on the lookout for specials for our meals and we take generic drugs when appropriate, Cara gets whatever she needs, no questions asked, no substitutes. I don’t want to add up what she costs us as she’s priceless and I don’t want to know [though I'm sure my husband does to the cent].
BeBop Wyman
I wasn’t on speaking terms with many cats until we bought a house that came with a cat. The first real dog I loved, apart from Poodle and Golden Retriever step nephews Lucky, who slept at the foot of my bed like an angel when I babysat and Auggie, who never forgot a car that visited his property and step Cousin Abigail, a Lhasa Apso who sang soprano, was a Beagle named Snoopy. Snoopy, a mature pup, was my neighbor on an Air Force base in Turkey. When we dog sat for him, we’d guard our dinner plates as he was quick as a puppy when he found an occasion to sneak food. And when reprimanded and sent to his bed, Snoopy’s head drooped so dramatically and his tail wrapped under him so tightly, his remorse was hard to watch.
I’ve gone on far too long and could write so much more but I’d love to hear from you.
What are some of your favorite pet anecdotes and memories? Have any pets come to your rescue? What do you think of landlords who don’t allow pets?
I had a dog named Diana and a dear friend named Diane. Diane, the friend was staying with me for a few days while her apartment was being painted. Another friend stopped by to join us for dinner. When the telephone rang, the friend who had stopped by answered and I heard her say into the telephone “Which one would you like to talk to…..” She looked at us and then crippled over with laughter realizing she had thought of Diana as a human! Diana was trully just one of the girls. I think of her often and hope she is happy in Dog Heaven….
I told Beep [Bebop cat] that he is now a media star. He said he couldn’t care less. Which reminds me of that profound observation by Nan Porter, “If cats could talk, they wouldn’t.”
Labs have a well-deserved reputation for exuberance and mischief. Our dog “G” (who shall otherwise remain nameless to protect the guilty) was equal parts super-dog and super-trouble. After exercising “G” in the park one day, I noticed upon returning home I had lost my glasses. After eliminating possibilities one by one, I concluded I had lost them in the park.
The next day I returned to the park, unleashed “G” and let her run. She ran across the grassy expanse, found something and brought it back happily to me. She had found my glasses, undamaged. Next day at home she “found” my glasses again and happily chewed them to bits.
Some time later she “found” my hearing aids on a coffee table and demolished them too. (My dispenser laughed and said, “You don’t know how many times I”ve heard that story. We’ve even joked about offering a free dog with every pair of hearing aids.”)
Then there was the time that “G,” having spotted some Canada geese across a frozen lake, ran across the ice until she fell through and frightened off the geese. She refused to come out until I removed my shoes and socks and entered the ice-cold water to fetch her. But my favorite story was the time I walked “G” in the woods one day before I was to leave on a trip. When it was time to go home, I called “G” several times, without response. Alarmed, I searched the woods for a good hour without success, until darkness approached. Now I was really worried and concerned not only about her safety but about how I was going to explain my carelessness to her breeder, with whom “G” was scheduled to board the next day. As I returned to the car by the side of the road in the last minutes of daylight, I found “G” resting patiently next to the car, She had taken a shortcut, and no doubt was exasperated by the stupidity of humans. She had to wait because I had the car keys.
Oh what a great topic. Although a non-pet owner, I’ve been fortunate to have a series of dogs living next door and each one, from Samantha the St. Bernard, to Patches, the lovable mixed breed, to Teddy and Charli, both chocolate Labs, brought joy to their families and to me.
But perhaps the most memorable story involves Bear, as close to a Newfoundland as I’ve come, who was visiting us at our lakeside cottage with his owner, a dear and long-time friend. We left Bear in the cottage to take a brief walk and when we returned, we were greeted by Bear with a pork chop in his mouth. The refrigerator was open, of course, which he had opened and selected his tasty treat. His owner said he did this at home and they have yet to come up with a way to prevent his opening the refrigerator. But how could one do anything but laugh after looking into Bear’s big eyes and friendly face.
Sadly, all the dogs mentioned in my response are gone to Doggy Heaven. But I’m sure there will be other great dogs that will become neighbors and friends.
I am truly a dog person, starting with a border collie named Roque Guinart (can you guess the origin of that name?) that my parents got us when I was about six years old. Roque was with us until he was 14 years old, and in really poor health.
After Roque, I took an eleven year sabbatical from dog ownership. At Christmas of 1977, though, my wife treated me to a puppy, a golden retriever that we named Rob Roy. Rob Roy, like most young golden retrievers, was a nut case. He was all over the place, all the time, and always denying responsibility. We didn’t care, in proof of which I offer the fact that a couple of years later, we acquired another GR named Rory Mohr. He was Rob’s half brother, and came from the same breeder–they had the same sire.
Experts and idiots will agree that golden retrievers are addictive. Since Rory Mohr, we have had nine other goldens–never more than three at one time, and only very short terms with none. One was a half breed (50% golden, 50% shelty, we think), and all the rest were “seniors” (8+ years old) that we adopted, most from a rescue service in Hudson, MA. We have loved them all.
My favorite stories concern Leah, Buddy (the half breed) and Cayman. These amazing guys had an astonishing sensitivity to the presence of pain in the room. Case in point: my wife took Cayman to visit a nursing home in our area. In particular, she visited an elderly lady sick with terminal cancer and depressed–she hadn’t moved or spoken in six months. Upon entering the room, Cayman in seconds identified who was in pain, went to her and put her head on the lady’s bed, and elicited the first response from the lady in six months.
But I have benefited myself from this ability my pups have demonstrated. Several times, while experiencing post surgical pain, various of the dogs have demonstrated their caring natures in the same way.
I think that I shall always have to have a dog, and fortunately, my wife agrees. We’re down to one right now–a wonderful eleven year old named Zachary, who we adopted on Veteran’s Day last year. What a guy! And so it goes…
I love cats and dogs.
I like living in an apartment building. Mine does allow pets… BUT: In the building they have to be leashed! [I'm not sure but within the NY City limits, that may apply as well?]
In any event, WHY can’t dog owners follow that simple indoor rule ?
WHY must I have their precious “Fifi”, with muddy paws, jump on me in an enclosed, unescapable box known as the building’s elevator? I’m glad they have, and love, their pets. But in the situation I mention: I DON’T LOVE THEIR PETS!
I saw your post and was so excited seeing Sadie’s picture and showed Gerard.
Sadie [dog] took it in stride. Great pictures of all the other pet stars.
I LOVE all cats and dogs. One of my dearest friends is a Staffordshire Terrier named Murrey Pasquino. He had his second birthday on Saturday, March 13. His owner is a dear friend. Murrey’s bff is a Yorkshire Terrier he met at doggie day care.
Jeanne,
My mother and father loved Scotties, and growing up there were always one or two of them and occasionally their pups around the house. (Incidentally, I know that their love of Scotties wasn’t because of FDR’s Fala. Both my parents were good Republicans, and would have shuddered at the thought!)
Scotties are funny dogs that started out as working terriers but were bred in Scotland to be pets perhaps a 100 years ago. My parents’ Scotties were almost all independently minded, curious, not particularly affectionate, unfriendly to most strangers, and were fiercely loyal and protective of us. Their adventurous natures seldom led to their living into old age.
Floodle, named by me at age five, was different. The bitch runt of one of Jock and Jollie’s litters, she was born in Naples, Italy in 1938. A scrawny, sickly, lazy pup with dull hair, she always looked miserable and depressed. Nobody wanted her.
In 1939, she moved to Belgrade, then Yugoslavia, because my mother couldn’t bear to put her down. A year later the Germans invaded France, and my mother and I were evacuated. Again my mother couldn’t bear to put her down. Floodle immigrated to America.
Floodle liked America, and American dogs liked Floodle. During the four war years, she produced three litters of illegitimate pups, each seemingly with a different father. Unfortunately, though, romance did little for her looks, which by then had become even more scraggly than before.
Then came 1945, and it was back to Italy for us. Yet again my mother couldn’t bear to put Floodle down. Wartime or no, my father decided that she was to come with us.
In the summer of 1945, the only way for civilians to get to Europe was by steamer, and only the SS Gripsholm, a Swedish liner, was sailing the New York to Naples route. A few days before the ship sailed, my father visited with the ship’s New York agent to tidy up passage arrangements. (These specifically included a statement that pets were not permitted.) He delicately brought up the subject of Floodle and told the agent the story of her life. The man looked my father in the eye and said, “I didn’t hear a word you said.”
That’s all he had wanted to hear. He took my mother’s hat box – there were such things in those days –and had Floodle hop into it a few times closing the lid after her. The bitch showed unexpected depths of understanding, and did exactly as she was told, silently each time.
Come boarding day, we went to the dock with numerous suitcases and trunks, and one hat box and Floodle. Before passing through immigration and what then passed for security – it was afterall still wartime, my mother gave her an aspirin and popped her in the box. She then carried the box through officialdom, up the gangplank and on to the ship.
There a steward attempted to carry the box for her, but was rebuffed, which confused him. Finally we all made it to our small cabin, where I was put in the toilet with Floodle and told to keep her quiet. Indeed, all of this had taken the better part of an hour, and the dog had never uttered even a whimper. (Anyone who knows Scotties knows that they love to bark! Floodle was different.)
There was a stream of visitors coming to and from the cabin over the next few hours, to deliver suitcases, to say, “Good by,” or to serve drinks, all making noise. Throughout it all, Floodle sat in the box silently like patience on a monument.
Finally the ship sailed, then some hours later the pilot went ashore. Finally Floodle could go on deck to relieve herself, something which by then she desperately needed to do. Throughout the rest of the voyage, the ship’s officers studiously ignored her, but several mildly irate passengers questioned how she had got on board when they had had to leave their pets behind.
Floodle drowned some years later in Rome, but in dog old age, after falling into a water cistern which held our home’s water supply. She was a wonderful lady.
The moral of the story is that there is hope for all of us.
Jeremiah
LW: I wasn’t able to add Murray’s photo in your comment, but his photo is now in the post. Thank you for sending it. He’s a wonderful pup.
Ann L: I loved reading about Diana–who no doubt was part human.
Frank Paine’s dogs were also! Dogs are so smart, intuitive and observant. I used to walk Prunella wearing a pair of rundown moccasins. When I left for work, I’d put on decent shoes. As I’d reach the door, Prunella would slink under the bed. One day, I left for work, and Prunella stayed by the door wagging her tail happily. I figured she had some plans that day and that she’d changed her habit. I got half way to the subway when I looked at my feet and my moccasins were on. Rushed back to the apartment, put on work shoes, Prunella dragged herself under the bed. She knew I’d be back, or that it was Saturday. She amazed me.
KF–Bear reminds me of Cassie Dog. It wasn’t my first date but the first time my date was coming to dinner at my apt. I had prepared a cold meal set out on a platter so I could be a guest at my own party. I went upstairs to speak with a neighbor and when I returned, the platter was empty. Cassie had snacked on our dinner. All of it.
So I asked the doorman to tell my guest that I’d be right back, told him what happened and that I had to dash to the deli for something to eat and to please let my date in the apartment and explain why I wasn’t home. When I returned, with some sliced ham and cheese, [Brooklyn didn't have good food places at the time], the doorman had said nothing about why I wasn’t there, my date [and future husband] was in the apartment and Cassie dog was happy for the company and looked innocent.
Hank: I’ve known people who act with their children as some act with their pets: As though there is nothing about them that the world wouldn’t adore. One mother giggled as her young child peed in my hallway and left my home without making the slightest attempt to clean up.
JX: Nothing was safe from Cassie dog. When she was first with us, she’d grab a piece of clothing just as I jumped in the shower. I’d hear her galloping around the apartment and when I got out, the slip or blouse or whatever she’d taken had what I fondly referred to as “dog lace.”
Jeremiah: Speak about a smart, intuitive dog. I am so sorry little Floodle ended up drowning. She’d been through so much! Oh, my.
I apologize to Murrey [dog], whose name I misspelled in the previous comment and in the original caption.
A friend of mine was walking by the East river, uptown, where the city has turned the walk close to the river into a park. She and her husband thought it would be a good idea to take their beloved dog Juanita for a walk there. Shirley had wrapped the leash around her arm when suddenly someone threw a ball and Juanita took off.
Shirley was still on the other end of the leash. The next thing she knew she was face down on a pile of rocks, blood gushing from her head and a useless right arm now with two broken bones in it.
An Ambulance was called and she was hauled off to St. Luke’s.
The interesting detail is that all the orthopedists were at a conference so she has not seen one yet because there aren’t any at work until tomorrow. The ER staff took good care of her but she has to see a specialist.
Anyway, like they say “Birdie can’t fly on one wing.” The doggie is fine.
Hit’em where it hurts — at the cash register!
After years of shopping on a regular basis with my dog at the Bed Bath & Beyond in my neighborhood, we were turned away yesterday! New policy: “No Dogs Allowed” unless they are placed in a shopping cart. My former dog, a Labrador Retriever would have been mortified and my current dog, a Standard Poodle was horrified! No more shopping for us at BB&B. We redirected our shopping to Gracious Home to buy a high end coffee pot where my Poodle and I were happily be greeted at the front door and rode the elevator downstairs to the housewares department. And yes, both dogs were, and are, extremely well behaved.
Debby,
I have noticed a whole bunch of sweet dogs in my Manhattan neighborhood sporting canvas belts around their muzzles. There must be something afoot in the insurance world that causes dogs to be treated this way.
I wonder if BB&B has a new rule in all stores, or just the one you formerly shopped in. Had someone explained the situation to you, you might not have felt so literally put out.