Puppy Le Pew

I woke to the smell of poo.  Charlie slumbered in his dog bed, his head dangling over the cushioned edge and hot morning breath drifted directly into my face.  I carefully lifted him to reveal the small treasure below that had escaped during the night.  "Gross!" I told him as I carried him outside to see if he needed to relieve himself in another way.  He did.

As I was ready to leave for work, I carried him downstairs to my parent's house.  Mom had just returned from her morning walk with Abby and Dolly.  Abby was especially energetic and attempted to greet me with cold nose kisses.  "You were right", Mom declared.  I was confused and it clearly showed on my face.  "The dead animal tail at the top of the road," she continued.  "It was a skunk tail.  It smelled when I picked it up."

I looked at her ungloved hands and asked where she left the tail.

"Oh, I don't have it anymore.  Abby jumped up and snatched it right out of my hands."  Mom threw her hands up as if to demonstrate what had happened.  "She ate it."

My dog that had been kissing me just ate a skunk tail.  I must have looked ill and Mom added, "I did try to get it from her but she clenched her teeth so tightly that I couldn't, so she ate it."  Mom decided that something was wrong with my dog's behavior.

I called my husband to share my morning woes.  In the afternoon, there was a flower delivery to my office.  The card read "Just Because Wieners, Skunks and Mom".

Midnight Caller

I pulled into my parent's driveway after a long night at the Aiken County Museum for the annual S.H.O.P. (Sassy Happy Outrageous Party) event.  My feet were sore, my fingers prune-like from an hour of dish washing and my eyes bleary due to the late hour.  My headlights captured a flash of white and orange and I thought I spied Chase on the front porch.  I knew this was impossible as he was supposed to be tucked in bed back in Georgia.

With a groan, I pulled myself from the car and approached the front door.  Nothing.  I could hear Dolly on the other side tap dancing, whimpering and whining.  I grasped the handle of the door and pushed it open.  A large orange and white Brittany spaniel shot by me with a short wiry terrier hot on his heels.  I was not sure how I had suddenly acquired two more dogs for my parents and I debated on how to separate the boisterous gathering in the living room.

Thankfully my mother came into the room and I tried to provide an explanation for the additions to her dog family.  She opened the door and ordered "Bullet" and "Finn" out.  

"Great", I thought, "she's already named them".  I looked to my mother for enlightenment.  For several months, Bullet, a young Brittany spaniel and his brother Finnegan Flannigan had been visiting Dolly each time their human down the street let them outside.  Finn would knock on the front door several times a week in order to play with Dolly.

Mom reached for her cell phone and dialed a number.  "Yes", she said into the mobile device.  "They're here.  I'll send them on home."  She opened the front door and ordered Dolly inside.  She told the other dogs to "go home" and turned off the lights.  Dog friends.  Late night visits.  I thought I had seen it all.

Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice

My mother and grandmother discovered Dolly on a December morning while delivering Meals on Wheels. As Mom approached the weather worn trailer with a foil-wrapped meal and sweaty carton of milk, she noticed a tiny brown puppy huddled against the moldy stairs. Upon greeting the meal recipient, she inquired about the new dog. “That ain’t my dog!” the lady rasped.

It was enough for Mom. She coaxed the shy puppy into her minivan and discussed with Grandma their options. They knew that my father, recently retired and ever-present in the house, would not approve. Grandma fell in love with the dirty, quivering bundle of matted fur instantly; however Mom decided that the only choice was to take the puppy to the animal shelter.

For two days Mom thought of the puppy. Finally, mind made up, she returned to the shelter to retrieve her. It was nearly Christmas and both my sister and I were in town. The small puppy looked clean but had awful tufts of brown, red and black fur that stuck out in a Medusa style of snaky cowlicks. She huddled in a pile of Chase’s plush animals and reminded me of the scene in E.T. when the alien hid amongst a shelf of toys.

Mom told everyone that she was merely fostering the dog she had named “Shy” until she could find a suitable home. Liz and I didn’t think it was appropriate to name the dog after an adjective and began to call her “Dolly”. Dad was not amused and began to refer to Chase as “the real dog”.

Because Mom needed to work and asking my father was clearly out of the question, Liz and I took Dolly to her first vet appointment. I gathered the paperwork from the shelter in case it was needed. Browsing through it, I found an adoption agreement and a receipt for seventy-five dollars…proof that my mother wasn’t fostering this dog! Even worse, she could have had the dog for free if she hadn’t brought her to the shelter in the first place.

Chase and Dolly’s initial meeting was not love at first sight. Dolly was huddled under the piano bench, her odd colors blending in with the assortment of toys she had surrounded herself with for protection. My five-year-old dog poked his nose beneath the bench to be greeted with snarls, snaps and growls. Now, more than two years later, Dolly charges him, knocking him over, and greeting him with barks of happiness and kisses. One mention of “Where’s Chase?” and she races through the house searching and whining.

It is amazing to see the two dogs, equal in size, run through the woods together. Side by side, their wavy fur is a perfect color contrast: his white with freckles of orange and hers gleaming brown with the sunlight catching flecks of amber.

Mom routinely takes Dolly on walks in the woods each day. Any dogs who are visiting are welcome and encouraged. Dolly has even guided them, sans human, down the pine needle littered trail revealing all of her secret places. She is a gentle dog, not easily excitable or high strung and a perfect companion for an older person.

On her continued Meals on Wheels route, down the narrow sand-packed road where Mom first spotted the wary bundle of fur, she still looks for Dolly’s potential parentage. The possibilities have been pondered and argued numerous times: Chow? Irish Setter? In the pet store there is a pricey mixed breed DNA kit available that would certainly end the debate once and for all, but I prefer to borrow from an old childhood rhyme. “Sugar and spice and everything nice”, that’s what Dolly is made of.