Dogs

virgin cherry bombDogs
This is a picture of my beloved dog Tara. She is my buddy and my friend. You will find out more about her further down in the article. She is so black she hardly shows up but it gives you an idea of what she looks like.


From an early age I have been a great lover of canines. Having had a plethora of dogs through the years I feel a little like an expert on the species. Have you ever noticed that, just like humans, each dog has their own distinct personality? Every dog we ever had was as unique as the proverbial snowflake. Let me give you some examples.
Peppy, my daughter's first dog was from a litter with a pure-bred black, cocker spaniel mother, and we later learned sired by a big black labrador. Thinking we had a spaniel puppy we had his tail bobbed, as you are supposed to for this breed. Peppy never grew larger than a cocker spaniel but he had the voice of a Great Dane and a Labrador's coat. He loved my daughter to distraction and became a great companion and protector of her. We lived at the end of a cul-de-sac, on the edge of a ravine, so it was quite common for the dogs to run loose on the property. We were all outside one day when my husband decided to take our daughter to the store. As he started to back the car out he saw a black blur go past him as Peppy leaped through his open window and landed on the back seat beside our daughter. We learned that there was no way she was going anywhere without him.

Another time my husband was lying on the floor playing with Sheryl, who had just learned to pretend to cry. Before we knew what was happening, the dog had leaped onto my husband's chest and snarled at him, his teeth inches from my husband's throat. Annoyed at the dog for interrupting the game, my daughter smacked him on the nose and shoved him off. Confused, the dog slithered to the corner.

Sheryl and Peppy shared everything. If she had an ice cream cone, either Peppy had his own or she gave him half of hers. When she discovered a love of pepperoni, Peppy got half.

Our little girl was the love of Peppy's life and he demonstrated that over and over. One time while we were visiting relatives Sheryl's ball rolled into the street. Before I could stop her she darted out to retrieve it. The dog saw the oncoming car, ran into the road and shoved Sheryl out of the way. Thankfully, both were safe.

Just before I had our second child an edict came down from the apartment building's superintendent that dogs were no longer allowed in the building. That caused quite a dilemma for us and all the other owners. The choice was to move or get rid of the dog. Finally my husband's parents agreed to take Peppy to live with them so that the two would not be parted completely. What a sad day that was. We timed things so that the dog left as our baby son came home, hoping that would give our daughter another focus. She has never been sure that a dog for a brother was a fair trade.

When we first moved to Germany my children were constantly begging to have a dog, any dog as long as it had four legs and a tail. Finally I succumbed and we bought a full-grown Airedale from a German man who assured us the animal was wonderful with children and very obedient. I should have known. Robbie, alias the dog from hell, led us around by the nose and very nearly cost us a fortune. We later found out Robbie had had five previous owners whom he visited every chance he got, and believe me he made the most of every opportunity to escape. Searching for Robbie became a way of life for us for awhile. Then we became the ones being hunted, for this dear animal had very expensive tastes, mainly for poultry.

In Germany at that time, if you or your animal killed a chicken you were liable for that chicken and all the eggs it might be expected to produce in a lifetime. Well, Robbie had killed five chickens and two geese when the locals started looking for his owners. Finally he was traced to our neighbourhood and the Bergermeister (or mayor) asked my landlord (his cousin) if he knew who owned the dog. Since Robbie had been missing for several days at this point Erich said with complete honesty that he had not seen the dog around. We never did learn what happened to Robbie but the chickens stopped disappearing shortly after this.

Then there was Tasha. `Little Tasha broken ear' we called her as a pup. One ear stood up and the other lay down on her head. Tasha was my son's dog, or so he says. I think she was mine. Part German Shepherd and part kangaroo (she loved to jump around) Tasha had a great personality. She was extremely empathetic. If someone was sick she would stay by their side constantly. If you were unhappy she would lay her head in your lap in commiseration. She loved to play chase in the house, but had a hard time stopping on the hardwood floors. This usually resulted in her sliding down the long hallway on her bottom until she was stopped by the carpeting in the spare room. Did I mention that she was a coward? She was afraid of thunder, afraid of heights and afraid of people. This great big dog would run if anyone challenged her. She would bark at the door at anyone who came near but if they opened the door and walked in she would run and hide. We had this beautiful creature in our lives for nine years before she died. She was a gentle dog and loved us all.

Then there was Toby. A copper-coloured cocker spaniel Toby ruled the roost. Maybe that is why a friend once said that when he died he wanted to come back as one of our dogs. Toby was very possessive. He felt his rightful place was lying across my lap, whether I thought so or not. He was really more of an over-lap dog but very cuddly just the same. He also liked to bounce and play. He would always return the toys I threw, and return them and return them, and return them, and.... It was hard to stop playing with him because `no' in this case, did not seem to be a part of his vocabulary. Toby decided that only certain persons could do certain things for him. To his mind, my husband was the one who fed him so, in the event that the job fell to me, Toby would not eat the food. He waited for my husband. I got to be his `pet'. I was allowed to provide the love and affection, though if he was on my lap and my husband leaned over to kiss me, Toby thougth he should get one too. He never convinced Jim of that but he was always working on it.

For the last eleven years we have had Tara. A black and tan, small German Shepherd. My husband insisted we get her just a few days after Toby’s demise and I was not ready. Despite my lack of enthusiasm, Tara managed to work her way into our lives and into my heart. She is much more than “just a dog” to me. She is my protector, my companion, my safety and my friend.

I have been sick for the last several years and when he goes to work my husband says to the dog, “Tara, you look after Penny”. That dog does not leave my side. She takes her duties very seriously, until either my daughter or Jim arrives. Then she is off duty and goes to her bed.

Tara’s biggest problem is that she is afraid of thunderstorms, fire works or any loud noises and she will jump into the bathtub. That is her sanctuary. It is a serious problem because we have had to sedate her for these occasions.

Tara’s other nemesis is Penny the cat. When my grandson had to give up his cat because his brother has asthma we agreed to take her. The cat had been named after me, which causes some confusion at the vet’s office and for Tara in the beginning. She never knew if Jim was calling me or the cat and neither did I.

One day, Jim was playing tug with Tara and her rope, when out of the blue Penny came flying out of the dining room and landed on Tara’s back, her front paws swiping at the dog. Luckily, Penny does not have front claws so there was little damage but the poor dog was bewildered. Jim and Tara went back to playing and the same thing happened again. That was the end of rope pulling in front of the cat.

Penny, often lay in wait for the dog under the couch and would jump out at her but now that they are both getting older this has stopped. The latest thing is that if Tara barks when someone comes to the door, Penny, who sleeps 23 hours a day, comes tearing out of the bedroom, jumps on the dogs back and starts beating her up. The poor dog does not know what she did wrong.

As you probably can tell, I love my dogs. I cannot imagine my life without one, although Jim says this is the last dog. This is the longest I have had a dog, either because of their sicknesses or accidents and I want her life to go on forever. Tara is my love and I do not want to think what I will do when the day comes that we must say goodbye. Until that day we are going to enjoy each other’s company and just keep on loving.