Dog Tales for the Heart

Dog Lovers — This Book is a Must Read!!

"Every human child must learn the universe fresh. Every pup carries the universe within him. Humans have externalized their wisdom—stored it in museums, libraries, and the expertise of the learned. Dog wisdom is inside the blood and bones." -Donald McCraig, The Intelligence of Dogs

Excerpts from Dog Tales for the Heart:

THE BOOMERANG BASSET
By Kathy Beth Macdonald
My husband, Garry, and I manned the phones for a small, animal welfare group. The group takes in stray cats and dogs, fosters them in a home environment, and places them through advertisements and adoption days. A recently acquired foster mom called us. A friend had rescued a basset hound and wanted to know if the group could foster it. Since the woman was willing and available to foster the dog, Garry told her we could accept it into the program. First, however, her friend would need to place a "found" in the paper.

No one claimed the basset so he was delivered to his foster home after receiving a physical exam, shots and a neuter jog. Presently the dog was adopted. However, it didn't work out for the adopters. He barked too much and chewed things. In accordance with the group's policy, he was accepted back into the foster program. The dog was placed in a different foster home as the original one was unavailable.

Another ad was placed. Several people responded. The foster mom interviewed many candidates and chose a woman who already had a basset. When the foster mom dropped by to check on the progress of the dog, the adopter told her the dog ate too much food and she couldn't keep it. Besides, he barked too much.

Garry had kept a list of people who had responded too late to the advertisement. He called and told them the dog had been returned If they were still interested in adopting a basset hound, he would arrange for them to visit the foster home. A young woman adopted the dog. She just adored him. Three's a charm, we thought, as her adoption form was added to the growing paper work. A few days later the woman called in tears. The dog barked all day which annoyed her neighbors, and he had destroyed her boyfriends' video tapes. She couldn't keep him.

Normally Garry and I only did administrative work. However, all of the foster homes were full, so we told the woman to bring him by our house. Tears streamed down her face as she hugged him and kissed him good-bye for the last time. She begged us to find a good home for him. We assured her we would try, wondering if he would always come back like this.

We sympathized with those who had cared for him previously. He chewed up our sprinkler and a food dish. When he wasn't destroying things, he howled a baleful basset wail. He would not shut up. In order to keep him quiet at night, we took to sleeping in separate quarters. I slept in the bedroom without cat and dog (we were weary of our noisy guest), and my husband slept on the couch in the living room with a contented basset curled up on the floor.

A new advertisement was placed in the paper. When interested people called we were frank to the point of negativity. "He barks constantly and chews up everything," was our refrain. A few hardy souls made appointments.

One evening a nice couple with two young boys came by. It was love at first sight. We stressed to them his nasty habits. The lady said, "Oh, he's probably just lonely. I'm at home all day. It won't be a problem." They adopted the basset.

We cringed each time the phone rang. After a week passed we began to relax. The basset became a memory that had mellowed with time. A few months later the phone rang. The couple was expecting another baby. The lady had developed complications which required that they give up their pet. Would we mind if they placed the animal on their own? Since they had had the dog for a while and were concerned about where he went, Garry acquiesced. In order to keep the records complete, he asked that they let him know when the dog was placed and with whom.

The man called to let us know the basset had been placed in a new home. He then told an amazing story. A woman responded to the ad. She and her husband had lost their basset hound several months before. They were now ready to own another basset. When she got the dog home, her husband looked at it very closely. Their lost basset bore a unique mark. This dog had the same mark.

This was their long lost dog!

THE HEALER
By Suzanne Vaughan
It had been a tough year for my father. He had laid to rest a brother, a sister, and a best friend. Another tragedy in the later fall, the suicide of his only son, my brother, was almost more than he could endure. As his youngest daughter, I watched his health deteriorate... An ulcer, hiatal hernia, high blood pressure, heart trouble... the list went on. The thought of losing dad was more than I could bear.

I remembered reading somewhere that older people responded positively, both physically and emotionally, to pets that were brought into the nursing homes. What a great idea! I would give Mom and Dad a puppy for Christmas. I immediately began the search. One evening, my family and I were looking at brand new Poodle puppies. There were four, cute, cuddly, auburn red balls of fur. We each had one in our arms. The one I was holding, snuggled up by my neck, licked my cheek, and laid his head on my shoulder. I was convinced this was the dog for my Dad. We left him with his breeder until we could pick him up on Christmas Eve.

My parents came early that December. I picked up the little poodle puppy Christmas eve. Knowing it would be a challenge to keep his presence a secret until Christmas morning when we traditionally opened gifts, I hid him in the bathroom off of my bedroom. And then I kept Dad and Mom from having any reason to be in my bedroom. I wrapped a box and lid in beautiful, festive paper. It was big enough for our surprise puppy gift. I spent most of the night holding the new puppy to keep him from crying and giving away our surprise. Christmas morning, I put him in the beautifully wrapped box, placed the lid on carefully and slipped the box under the tree. I made sure that box was the first gift handed out! I certainly didn't want to suffocate its precious contents!

I handed the box to Mom and she put it back down almost immediately. She pushed it to Dad and said, "Here, it's all yours...it's moving!" Dad took off the lid. It was amazing! As if on cue, the puppy laid his chin on the edge of the box and looked up. His big, brown, puppy dog eyes met Dad's. That was it! It was all over for Dad; he loved him already. Mom was not exactly smitten. "What are we going to do with a dog? We can't keep him. I'm not training a puppy again. He'll ruin our house. How will we get him home?" I showed her both his carrying case—and his airline ticket back to their home. What could she say?

Dad named him Rusty. And the rest of the story, as Paul Harvey would say, is what amazed all of us looking on. In a matter of two months, Dad's ulcer problems had subsided. So had the indigestion problems and the hiatal hernia. Even more surprising, his blood pressure was back to normal and his heart condition under control. The doctors were amazed. I wasn't. I knew exactly what had happened.

Rusty, a cute, little, red poodle, had jumped into Dad's life, filled it with unconditional love and helped heal the pain of loss. Many times I saw Dad holding Rusty in his lap with Rusty's head nestled in Dad's shoulder. (Who was comforting who?) I was amazed at Rusty's sensitivity. Unlike some French Poodles, nervousness was not in his character, and he never barked. He was calm, loving, and intuitive.

Seven years later, Dad had a heart attack and was placed in intensive care in the hospital. We knew Dad's days were numbered. My oldest son, Jeff, arrived at the hospital one evening sporting an overstuffed Parka. He walked directly into the ICU to visit his grandpa. He closed the doors to the room and slowly unzipped his parka. We watched Rusty climb carefully up the bed and lie his head on Dad's shoulder, lick his cheek, and stay there quietly while they said their last good-byes.

OBEDIENCE TRAINING
By Elaine Kvitka
Our miniature Poodle, Sweetie Pie, an extremely bright, easy to train animal, loved to please and did a number of fun tricks. One of her tricks was to jump up on the fire hydrant located in our front lawn, curl up comfortably and watch as my husband Len mowed the lawn. One Sunday just as Len was completing the lawn the phone rang. It was his sister calling long distance. Len quickly came in, talked with his sister and then sat down with the family for dinner. Half way through dinner, we got another phone call. This time it was our neighbor. "Have you forgotten that Sweetie Pie is still sitting on the fire hydrant?" she asked.

Now that's a well trained pooch. Our children, I'm sorry to say, were never quite as obedient.

LOVE TAKES TIME
By Sue Hershkowitz
"No," I said for the ninetieth time, "we cannot get a dog. They shed, they track in mud, they need lots of attention, and they're expensive to keep. No and that's final."

But my son was eight and recently survived the break up of my marriage and he cried for a dog. My mistake was going to the pet shop. There in front of us was the most beautiful, playful puppy I had ever seen. The pet store people said he was a Springer Spaniel and that he had papers—and I had no idea what that meant—did he come with newspapers to be trained on? I had never owned a dog. We left the shop with the dog, and food, and a bed, and bowls, and toys, and a book, "Everything You Need to Know About Springer Spaniels."

"No, he may not come inside," I said. "He is an animal and you can keep him but if you want to play, you'll have to go outside with him." I was the one who went outside. Champion (Sir Shmendrick of Scottsdale for those AKC papers!) would sit and look up at me through the glass in the patio door with those large, dark, pathetic Springer eyes. (I know he was wondering why he was exiled to the backyard—after all no one else in the family lived out there!)

When the weather turned a bit chilly (we live in Scottsdale, Arizona!), I wedged bricks into the back garage door so he could come into the garage at night and warm up. He looked so sad that I'd leave the light on; that way, he wouldn't be afraid in the dark.

It seemed to get really cold that year in Arizona and I started letting him in for short bits of time. First, during the day. Then the night. And when I was recently remarried, I explained in no uncertain words to my new husband, "This is Champion's part of the bed. Don't disturb him when you sleep."

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