Seasons Change

 

We have had heartache over the past couple of years.  The original four-pack of Molly, George, Chase and Charlie will forever hold a special place in our hearts.  Abby has gained beautiful silver streaks on her face and she is the new, self-appointed leader of a four-pack that deserves new posts.

Throw Back Thursday - George

George had to carry something in his mouth.  He would greet me at the door when I got home and something was always in his mouth.  Sometimes it was a toy, other times it was anything that was nearby:  safety glasses, a shoe, an empty Fanta box.  He could also communicate to me that it was time for a walk and would carry his leash in his mouth.  He even tried to walk Chase by taking his attached leash and pulling him toward the door! I've discovered that it is the little things I miss now that he is gone.

Before and After

My last month there were lots of trips to the vet.  I ate mozzarella cheese even though I knew there was a pill hidden inside.  I ate canned food mixed with my favorite green beans.  Sometimes I even ate the moist dog food packets.  I knew the other dogs envied my new food.  I no longer slept in my crate at night but had my memory foam dog bed in the master bedroom next to my mom's side of the bed.  I wore a dog diaper and was able to roam freely through the open dog door at any hour.  I could still bound down the slope in the backyard with my long ears flopping and howl at the sirens in the distance.  The other dogs in my family would join in, too.

My last week I took a trip to Florida to drop the younger English boy off at his new home.  I ate chicken and waffles for lunch outside of Warner Robbins, Georgia.  I rode in my favorite spot in the car, at the very back on my dog beds piled three high so I could look out the window.  I sniffed around a parking lot in Florida but the journey made me tired.  The Englishman found a vet that was open in Gainesville, Florida and we stopped for a visit.  I pretended that I needed to go outside and dragged my mom through the slick, black parking lot in the rain.  The vet gave me a pill and I felt better.  I had sausage and pancakes for dinner.

My last night, I couldn't sleep.  I went into the backyard that shimmered with the silver moon and howled.  My mom came out and got me.  She tucked another pill into cheese and brought me back to my dog bed.  I was restless so she pulled her pillow and blanket to the floor and slept beside me.  I fell asleep with my head on her chest.

My last morning, the Englishman made bacon for breakfast.  I had the lion's share.  The older English boy arrived and I had a video phone session with an old friend from England.  I was wrapped in my blanket and sat on my mom's lap for a final drive in the car.

The first hours after, we couldn't return to the house so we went to a movie.  I don't think either of us remember it.  The Englishman secured a small orange collar with dog tags dangling like a miniature wind chime around his wrist.

The first day after, the Englishman had to leave on a business trip.  As I sat in the living room, I heard a voice clearly stating "I love you".  Gathering my courage, I went to the kitchen to explore and found Molly, holding a Build-A-Bear teddy bear that George had cherished.  I didn't realize the bear talked and Molly had set off the trigger.  I later found Chase staring at George's crate relentlessly.  I had to move it to another room.

The first week after, I returned to the vet's office and picked up a small box.  I couldn't speak.  I sat in the parking lot and cried.  I then placed the box in the passenger seat and took a slow drive around town with my former friend riding shotgun. He would have approved.

The first months after, the house was so quiet.  Sirens would sound and the three dogs wouldn't even blink.  The silence seemed so loud.  I would return home from work and remove four treats from the jar on the counter, remember and slowly put one back.  My hand naturally held four.  We folded one dog crate and stored it in the basement.  I still had his small pillow at the foot of our bed.  The material still smelled like him.

Ten months after, I heard Charlie start to howl from the deck.  He hadn't forgotten.  I looked at the Englishman and he said, "I was thinking of him, too".

Packing Peanuts

I placed my empty Stonewall Kitchen box on the floor, careful to close it up so the leftover packing peanuts wouldn’t escape.  I thought that I might be able to reuse the peanuts and the box for Christmas gifts to England.  Over the next few days, as I walked past the box, I always crouched low to close it, puzzled as to why it stubbornly opened on its own several hours later.

And then, one evening as I walked by the box, I caught Molly with her nose buried deep inside.  She was gorging on the packing peanuts.  In fact, it looked like she had been eating them for days as the supply had been depleted by more than half.  I secured the box shut once again, sure that she wouldn’t be able to undo the lid this time.  Molly brought backup in the form of George and with teamwork, they opened the box and began scarfing peanuts with wild abandon.  I removed the box from the house and placed it in the garage.  

When I told the Englishman about the incident over Sunday supper with his oldest son and daughter-in-law, I learned that packing peanuts can be made with biodegradable starch and are safe to eat.  The Englishman demonstrated by retrieving a peanut from the drool-covered box and popped one into his mouth, chewing vigorously.  He declared it quite tasty and mentioned that if we had a zombie apocalypse, he would head to the nearest warehouse to stock up on the edible delights called packing peanuts.   He patted his clever canines on the heads and sat down to finish his dinner.

Give a Dog a Shoe

George has a love affair with shoes.  Kick off a shoe in the house and one will go missing.  The very first thing George does each morning is to grab a shoe and trot joyfully through the house holding the footwear du jour triumphantly in his mouth, tail wagging and Mohawk tilting from left to right. Upon arriving home in the evenings, I am greeted at the door by George, shoe planted firmly between his teeth.  When George wants to go outside, he waits impatiently at the back door with a shoe.  Ever the optimist, he hopes that he will go unnoticed and successfully sneak it outside. It happens more often than I would like to admit.

On a moonless night, George managed to sneak by me with the English Boy's loafer.  I yelled at the devious dog and ordered him to halt but, as usual my commands fell on deliberately deaf ears.  I ran into the inky darkness of the backyard, searching for the disobedient canine whose fur is mostly black. It was like searching for a needle in a haystack.  Haystack...I spied movement on top of the pile of grass clippings and carefully turned in that direction, avoiding potential landmines that four dogs have a tendency to leave behind. George was on top of the pile digging furiously.  He stopped as I approached, then darted back into the house without the loafer.  I patted the clippings without success, aware of my severe allergy to the mountain of grass.  Defeated, I returned to the house and attempted to interrogate George.  That went well.

The next day the Englishman was sent on a search and rescue mission for the shoe.  It was buried deep within the grass pile and a spider had taken up residence.  I was glad it wasn’t my shoe.

Sneakers, loafers, pumps, sandals, flip flops and boots.  George doesn't distinguish between them. For him, if the shoe fits...carry it!

Ice-capades

I felt like I was in an episode of "Lassie".  Molly and George had returned to the house, barking and herding me into the backyard.  Once they were sure that I would follow, the two English Cocker Spaniels raced ahead to the edge of the pond and looked at me to proudly show their discovery:  it had frozen during the night and there appeared to be small paw prints on the surface.  Dog paw prints.  Their paw prints.

Before I could order them back, Molly and George spread their webbed paws, widened their legs and carefully waddled onto the surface, happy barks echoing across their winter wonderland.

For the remainder of the day, the pair took advantage of the rare ice skating opportunity, undaunted by the slippery cold surface.  By the next afternoon, the ice was gone.

Molly and George, ever the optimists, continued to check the pond's surface, waiting for it to transform once again.  Despite the unusual deposits of snow and ice during the course of the Georgia winter, the pond remained elusively liquid, forever hiding the memories of a moment when two small dogs joyfully took center stage.

Sock Monkey

Mom graciously agreed to dogsit while I was in California for the week.  She also provided up-to-the-minute reports via Facebook and several phone calls where she would produce such gems as "your dogs are snoring" and "your dogs are farting".  As much as I appreciated the daily dog reports on my four-packs' bodily functions, one morning update on George brought a smile to my face.

George likes to carry things around the house in his mouth:  a boot, a dust rag or his cherished stuffed animal du jour.  He also attempts to sneak these items out of the house and I have spent many a time in the backyard on a impromptu search and rescue mission.  George's favorite stuffed animal was a black and white monkey that Charlie de-stuffed in order to seek and destroy the evil squeaker hidden inside.

All that remained of the monkey was a single leg.  George adored that monkey leg and trotted around the house a few times before making a break for the back door with his treasure firmly gripped in his jaws.  Mom was too quick and headed him off, snatching the leg from his mouth and unceremoniously depositing it in the trash can.

Mom returned to her chair and whatever mundane human task she had been doing.  Moments later, George sat in front of her and demonstrated his trademark howl.  Mom ignored his charming behavior.  George strategically placed his head beneath her elbow and pushed up.  Nothing.  Several howls and bumps later, Mom finally looked at George.  Her sock was dangling from his mouth and he was backing away very slowly, taunting her with his eyes.

After a brisk game of follow the leader, Mom was able to retrieve her sock from George's determined jaws.  He may have been satisfied but his message was clear:  an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth...a sock for a monkey!

Pavlov's Dog

George loves Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I’m sure of it. I have been working my way through the complete box set and every time the theme music plays, George bounds into the living room barking and spitting so violently that his front paws lift off the floor. He bares his teeth and continues to bark and spit until the last guitar stroke fades. And while the casual observer may interpret his behavior as a sign of deep hatred for the show, George’s stubby black and white tail wags during this display. A sure sign of dog happiness and it is completely my fault.

Once upon a time, George had no opinion of Buffy. He did not concern himself with vampires either. He would sleep soundly in his bed while I indulged in my guilty pleasure of watching a TV show from beginning to end. Somewhere in the middle of Season One, I started doing a crazy dance to the rocking guitar music that signaled the start of the show. George did not approve of the crazy dance and barked madly at me. Around the start of Season Two, as soon as the theme music started, I called out softly, “George….” and he would leap into the living room, barking and snarling until the music stopped. During the middle of Season Three, as soon as the music started, George would rush into the living room and sit in front of me, barking along with the music.

I realized that I had recreated my own version of Pavlov’s Dog from Psychology 101. I also discovered that I had created a nuisance by conditioning my dog. No longer did I need to do a crazy arm-waving, fist pumping Buffy the Vampire Slayer dance around my living room (which George would still express his disapproval over), all I needed to do was watch an episode and the barking would commence. I know that I could skip the introduction or even press mute, but this is my special time with George. He is the sole canine companion that joins in the quick dance-a-thon with such enthusiasm and its all because of Buffy.

The “Howl”elujah Chorus

Nearly every day I am treated to a special a cappella recital by George, Charlie and Molly. George begins with the prelude as a low whine from deep down in the secret, dark places of his body. The whine turns into a wail and as it begins to grow louder, Charlie joins in with perfectly harmonized staccato yips, performed with a unique falsetto. As the wail becomes a howl flowing from George’s lungs and increasing in volume, Molly adds another level of low moans in a lovely alto voice. The trio continues for a brief moment until the finale. Molly and Charlie abruptly end their serenades while George finishes the masterpiece with a quivering cry quickly descending into silence. Once the canine cantata is complete, the dogs resume their normal activities of eating, drinking and sleeping…unless a special encore is required.

All Paws on the Poop Deck

It was a hot summer and it rained frequently. For the first time in years, Georgia was not experiencing a drought. The grass and weeds were healthy, green and tall. Very tall. Tall grass was not a problem for Chase. He trampled it, rolled on it and used it as camouflage to remain invisible as he stalked birds. The height of the grass proved daunting for Charlie, George and Molly who had considerably shorter legs. None wished to venture into the backyard jungle to do their daily doggy business.

The three vertically challenged canines solved their dilemma simply by lifting a leg to my potted plants on the back deck. Even Molly, the sole female of the bunch, lifted her leg in solidarity. Determined to end this rotten behavior, I armed myself with a bottle of non-environmentally friendly bleach and a hose. I blasted all traces of residue away from the upper deck as the three dogs scrambled out of the reach of the spray to the lower deck. I approached the railing and peered below. To my dismay, that area had been utilized as the “poop deck”. I could feel my blood boil as I raised the hose and blasted the lower deck clean. The dogs jumped into the grassy jungle for safety and I continued on my mission for cleanliness. They scurried to the back stairs and were now peering down at me from above.

I stomped up the stairs and led all three as far into the yard as possible where I ordered them to go to the bathroom. I was fully aware of the ridiculous scene and prayed that the neighbors weren’t watching. As I surveyed the yard, I spied the small green dog pool discarded beneath a tree. I gingerly gave it a tug and shrieked as a brilliant blue and green salamander slithered into the undergrowth. I looked around for my pack to rescue me but they were back on the poop deck. I dragged the pool to the lower deck and filled it with water. It was large enough to prevent any additional squatting in that area and provided a great summer activity for sixteen hot paws. Molly, George and Charlie pushed their way into the pool and splashed around in the cool water while Chase continued to roll through the weeds.

Still unconvinced, I hoped for the best and prepared for the worst. I placed the hose within my reach and decided I would blast away any future bad behavior. Completely pooped, I retreated into the house with my dog entourage and called it a day.

Cookie Monsters

My mother planned a cookie baking session with her friend and three children on the same weekend that I was coming to visit with my four-pack. The dogs were thrilled to have three pint-sized humans to play with and eagerly showcased their favorite toys. After a quick lunch of sloppy-Joes, the cookie making production began. Although it was a beautiful day outside, none of the dogs wanted to leave the mouth watering smells that wafted through the house. In fact, they preferred to hang out in the kitchen, amidst the entire cookie baking activities.

The first cookies planned were a kid-friendly chocolate chip cookie made according to the original Nestle Tollhouse recipe on the back of the chocolate chip bag. The two older boys helped measure ingredients in between playing Nintendo games on handheld devices. The youngest child, a tiny blonde girl, kicked off her Sponge Bob flip flops and climbed a chair she had pushed against the butcher block island. Armed with a cookie scoop, the five year old carefully measured the dough and dropped each cookie ball onto a metal sheet. She paused momentarily, face scrunched in concentration, as she counted the dollops on the tray. Her right arm, with the scoop clutched tightly in her tiny fist, dangled below and Chase was ready with his tongue to lick the dough clinging to its sides. I smiled at the Norman Rockwell moment but quickly rushed in and grabbed the scoop, admonished my dog and washed the drool covered gadget in the sink.

Mom pulled trays of cookies from the oven and held them for the boys who used spatulas to remove the treats onto cooling racks placed on the kitchen table. Once the last cookie was removed from the oven, my grandmother began to make her delicious “S” cookies. This was an old shortbread-like recipe that was mixed by hand. The cookie was formed into an S shape before baking in the oven. After baking, a generous dusting of powdered sugar coated each cookie.

Mom, her friend and I took a break in the living room until Grandma began yelling for help. Mom ran into the kitchen and discovered that George had climbed up onto a chair next to the table and retrieved two cookies! He and Molly were on the tile floor enjoying their pilfered cookies. All dogs were banished outside along with the children who ran them ragged. Tennis ball throwing and front yard races to determine who was the fastest runner…boys or dachshunds? The dogs and children frolicked until it was time to leave. I wasn’t sure who was more tired but I smiled as I surveyed all of the cookie monsters napping in the living room, paws twitching slightly, and wondered if they were dreaming of cookies.