The pucture at left is of my dog Duffy, actually Colonel Hamish MacDuff of The Maples. Duffy, a Cairn Terrier (which is an old Scottish breed), for reference, is the same kind of dog that Toto was. He is really more Bill's dog than mine, and that does bother me, but not as much as I thought it would. Being pretty damned crippled with arthritis and having worsening diabetes-caused cataracts and glaucoma in both my eyes, I can't really do as much with Duffy as I'd always done with the dogs that came before him. My dog, MacTavish, actuallyLady Fiona MacTavish, was five years old when I married Bill and she came with me. She was Bill's and our sons' first pet and she lived to be fifteen. Because we thought that MacTavish was on her last legs, we got our Yellow Labrador Retriever, Aspen, from Seeing Eye of Morristown, NJ. He had arthritis in this front right leg so he couln't be counted on to work every day without fail. We lucked out and got him when he was nine months old. He was an excellent dog. He had had some previous training, but I trained him the rest of the way by myself. After MacTavish died four years later, we found that we liked having two dogs at a time, so we bought a pure bred blond Cocker Spaniel named, Brandy, actually Meriadoc Brandybuck. We paid a ridiculous amount of money for him. Six hundred dollars. I know. I know.
If I could have that six hundred dollars back right now I'd ... I was just going to say that I'd buy us something that we really need, but I'd just be kidding myself. I'd probably put some of it away so I could talk Bill into another Cairn. Heh. We have to finish training Duffy before I can really think about that. If we had had enough money when we bought Duffy from the breeder, we would have taken two puppies. It's just as well that we didn't - Duffy's enough!
After Aspen died, we had to have him put down on June 4th, 1992 because he had leukemia, we had Brandy alone for a while and then we got a huge black part Irish Wolfhound, part Black Lab from the shelter. He was 8 months old and sick, but I loved him the moment I saw him and he loved me. Mike wanted another big dog and so did I, so I kind of hornswaggled Bill into letting me have him. His name was Boomer and he turned out to be a helluva good dog. When Brandy was nine years old, he developed a liver disease suddenly on the Friday after Thanskgiving. I took him to the vet on Monday morning, when he was put down. We kept Boomer by himself for a while, but I had become increasing crippled and had arthroscopic surgery on my left knee, during which they found what the surgeon called "a fair amount of arthritis." That was in 1998. Now, ten years later, my right leg is the "bad" leg, although the left one could never be called good. >g< I am going to have to have two knee replacements one o' these days. However, that's for the future. Ten years in the past, I couldn't do much of anything. The day before the surgery on my leg was the last day I could really work as an assistant pre-school teacher.
I was never able to go back to work. I was recovering from the knee surgery when I decided that I wanted to get another dog. I thought it was time for a puppy, but since I was hobbled, maybe a rescue again like Boomer. I feel in love with our next dog the instant I saw her. Bill thought we were leaving and I bent down and whispered to the little four month old, part Blue-tick Coon dog/part retriever, "I'll be right back." Bill and I left and as I stumped toward the car he said to me, "You really want that little white dog, don't you?" I shrugged. "I guess so," I said, keeping my eyes down. And Bill, sweet man that he is, said to me, "Okay. You go back in and bond with the puppy while I go to the AMT machine."
When he got back with the $43.oo, I was sitting in a chair with a little wriggling puppy in my arms.
We were going to name her Maeve, but I remembered the sitcom Mad About You, in which the two cousins, Paul and Ira had called each other "Splinky" when they were little boys. Splinky! That was the perfect name for this odd, dear little puppy. My sons always called her "Spunkler", but then they also called Boomer, "Boner." Go figure. When we had to have Boomer put down at the age of 14, it was the first time in a long time that we only had one dog, but we'd gotten a little black kitten which we named Chloe O'Brien, after a character on the TV show, "24." Our cat, Rags, also 14 had also been put down several months before and we had another cat, Kato, who was also 14. Splinky, Kato and Chloe O'Brien were enough. At the age of ten, Splinky was doing fine. She was well-loved, as were our cats, and we were a very happy family. One morning, however, Bill woke me to tell me that something was terribly wrong with Splinky. Bill had come to love her as much as I did and he was very worried. She was sitting on the kitchen floor, slumping to the side and she couldn't sit up, although she valiantly tried to. She was slobbering and, for the first time ever, I saw what is meant by "foaming at the mouth." Bill said he though that she had earlier had a seizure. Right then, she had another seizure. We took her to a new vet of Bill's choosing. The vet wanted to do lots of tests. I said we couldn't afford tests. It got a little tense and there were words said. I left and Bill came out to talk to me. I thought we had been bringing Splinky to probably be put to sleep. We could not afford the hundreds of dollars that this vet person was ready to charge us. I told him that I thought my dog had had a stroke or some other brain problem. He said he needed to do tests. I left it up to Bill, who told the guy to do some preliminary testing. Then we had to leave our Splinky there since I had a doctor's appointment. We got a call from the vet. He said that our
dog had another seizure and he had her on fluids and was watching her.
Later that day, close to evening, Bill called me to tell me that he was coming to pick me up, that the vet had told him to come to say goodbye to our dog. It was time to put her to sleep. Bill picked me up and we called our son, who met us at the vet. We found out that Splinky had suffered seven more strokes before the vet decided it was time to put her down. She would not have suffered those strokes if the vet had just listened to me early that day. I felt terrible that my Splinky had suffered for one extra minute.
The vet came in and we apologised for our argument that morning. He said he understood that I had been under a lot of stress. Then he gave Splinky the two injections and she passed peacefully away.
Bill sobbed as he held her close to him. Our son gave her a pat and then had to leave. It was too sad for him. Bill and I stayed with Splinky for about 20 minutes and then sadly left after signing the usual "cremation, no ceremony" paperwork. As we left the vet gave Bill a bill for his services. More than $500.00 for the one day and the freaking useless tests. We have since gone back to our vet of more than 25 years.
That was back in May. On Mother's Day, so also in May, our 14 year old Kato sneaked out of our house on a forbidden jaunt for the last time. He was hit by a car and killed that night.
Now we had our cat, Chloe O'Brien. Just the one cat and no dog. Bill and I realized that it was the first time we did not have a dog since we'd been married thirty years ago. It was such an odd feeling. All my life I had wanted a dog and my Mom finally gave in when I was 23. My Dad let me put teeny tiny little MacTavish on his American Express card. She cost $285.00 That was 36 years ago, in 1972.
When I married Bill in 1977, MacTavish was five years old and became Bill's very first pet ever.
In the thirty years since, we'd had five other dogs and several cats. This was the first time we were without a dog and we felt bereft. We needed a dog. I knew that Bill wanted to downsize from Boomer, s0 he and I went to the shelter in our town and a few other shelters. We were appalled to learn that the shelters wanted to charge us 200 t0 600 dollars to adopt what was essentially a stray dog. The shelter personnel were not able to tell me how old the animals were, what breed and how big they were going to get. Both Bill and I figured that if we were going to have to pay that much for a stray dog, we'd much rather use the money to buy a dog that we knew all about! We were very willing to get another rescue dog, but not at that price! What about a sliding fee? What about our track record? I remain appalled.
I knew that Bill wanted a smaller dog and that he'd always loved Cairn terriers so I began to search online at the Cairn rescues. I saw a few dogs, but we'd decided that since we have the "empty nest" at last, we had the time for a puppy. I looked online for about two weeks and I and I found a breeder in upstate New York who had Cairn puppies, 12 weeks old. The moment Bill and I saw Duffy, we knew he was the one for us. He will be seven months old on September 12th and he has become a very much loved member of our family. After we had him, Bill began to pine for another cat, so he went to the shelter and chose the smallest kitten he could get. He didn't realize that she was only 1 month old. Oh. The same shelter that charges $200.00 for a dog, puppy or adult, charges only $50.00 for a cat or kitten.
Duffy is one very stubborn puppy. He's nearly seven months old, is about 95% house broken, walks nicely on the leash, sleeps quietly in his crate at night and when we need him to stay in it and sits and stays on command. He also can beg for a treat and we are working on him giving his paw. He's getting better at that. Right now I am teaching him the "down" command. We use the word "off" if we want him to get off the couch or stop jumping on people, so we can save the "down" command for just making him lie down. He also fetches things and brings them back to me almost all the time in the house, but he brings the fetched item near me outside.
His worst fault is that he is a very stubborn little guy. Many breeds of terriers can be stubborn, so they need more work than other breeds like retrievers or poodles. Duffy does not come when he's called. It's selective hearing because he knows his name. He just doesn't come on command. Both Bill and I are quite worried about this because he's gotten away from Bill at least twice and he's a runner. He's certainly faster than Bill. I want him to learn to come every single time. We may have to take him to a trainer if we can't teach him this. I will be working on it outside in the park behind our house as soon as I can find some way to attach the leash to my mobility scooter so that I can take him for walks alone.
Duffy absolutely adores Bill. If I were dying on the living room floor and Bill was coming in the front door, Duffy would jump over me to get to Bill. They love each other and it's so nice to see Bill with his little buddy. Unfortunately, the main reason that Duffy loves Bill best is because Bill never makes him do anything that's not fun. I am the one who trains Duffy and I am the disciplinarian, even though Bill spends much more time with him than I do. If I were Duffy, I'd like Bill best, too. Bill, although a lovely man, a good husband and father and an excellent Counselor, is an utter failure as a dog trainer.
He has let Duffy have the run of our house since Duffy was 4 months old, no matter how many times I told him that you can't housebreak a puppy unless you confine him to one place. Since we have a back yard, Bill almost never takes Duffy for a walk and dogs, especially puppies, need to learn to walk on the leash and just need to walk for the fun of it. Bill has finally realized that the crate is not a punishment.
We were away at my brother's house for 2 weeks while he and his family were on vacation.
We stay at his house to care for their dog and cat and watch the house. He has an in-ground pool, so except for the fact that his house has a lot of steps for me to deal with, it's a pleasure for us to stay there.
Their dog, Zoe, is always happy to see one of her doggy "cousins." She and Duffy run each other ragged!
Zoe is five years old, so is a bit slower than Duffy, who is about 1/3 her size. Duffy, having much shorter legs and being still a puppy, has a harder time running up and down the wooden stairs that go from the deck down to the yard and fenced-in pool. They wear each other out. We used to keep Duffy in his crate in the living room. Bill always falls asleep with the TV on with the volume down. Since he has always snored, he has always at least begun the night on the couch until I was asleep. Besides, I take up an awful lot of room in the bed, being a generously zaftig woman.
Anyway, even though Bill was there with him, Duffy kept whining and barking for the first two nights we were there and neither Bill nor I got any sleep at all. So I asked Bill to try putting the crate in the master bedroom with me. Bill did, put Duffy in it and left, closing the door tightly so that Zoe wouldn't nose her way in. As for Duffy .... not a peep. Not a single yipe, yelp, bark or whine. He put his head down on his stuffed sheep and went to sleep and didn't wake up until I got up at six the next morning. Sometimes he wakes Bill up at four in the morning at home. The next night, Bill came in to hang out and watch TV with me and Duffy began to whine. The minute Bill left ... not a peep! Duffy might know who he likes best, but he also knows who is in charge. >gg< The next day I left the door to the crate open and when Duffy was tired, he crawled right in, lay on his pillow and his sheep and went to sleep. After that he went in and out of it all day long and I locked him in when I needed to during the day and always at night. He loved it.
Here at home, Duffy hasn't gone in on his own yet, but he goes in without a peep when we need him to, even when our two cats walk past him and stick their tongues out at him and tease him.
Tomorrow, I am calling the vet to find out where we can have Duffy neutered cheaply. I'll make an appointment with our vet to make sure that Duffy is in good shape before we set up the neutering.
Also, we are going to have the micro chip put in under his skin for insurance in case, God forbid, he ever gets lost. And his adult teeth have come in, but his bottom canine baby teeth are still there with his adult ones. I want the vet to tell me what to do about them. I don't know if we just let them fall out on their own, or, since they haven't fallen out, do we have the vet pull them.
I love this little dog very much. After he is full grown and all trained, we will probably get another Cairn puppy, but I think, with my son's help, I'd like to do it as a surprise for Bill.
Our two cats now, .... well - that's another story for another day.
I'm just sayin'.
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