Memories of Dad and his pets

January 15, 2009

Memories of Dad and his pets

Dad giving Teddy a bath

My dad passed away 2 years ago on Jan. 15. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of my dad. As I was pondering what to write about for my next blog posting, memories of my dad and his love for animals came to me and I thought I would share some of those memories.

I remember Mom telling me about the little cocker spaniel that Dad had when she and Dad were dating. Mom did not like the little dog because it was very jealous when Dad paid attention to her and would sit between them and bark at her. But I suspect my grandparents trained it to be a chaperone, keeping the two lovebirds at a respectable distance from each other.

I remember Dad’s gold tooth. The story he told me was that he was walking his German Shepherd (or GS-mix) dog down the sidewalk as a boy and he tripped over the dog and fell and broke the tooth. At that time the dentist replaced the front tooth with a gold cap. I always thought it made Dad very distinguished-looking.

I remember the first pet Dad got for me — a tiny kitten when I was just a couple of years old. It’s one of my earliest childhood memories.

I remember our first dogs. When I was 4 and my brother was 2, we moved from one town to another. The first Easter in the new home, Dad gave my brother and me each a collie puppy. Mine was named Lady and my brother’s dog was named Butch. Unfortunately, both contracted distemper fairly soon after we got them. Butch did not survive, but I remember Dad nursing Lady by hand, spoon-feeding medicine into her, sitting up nights with the small puppy. He literally nursed the dog through the disease because without his constant care and attention, she would not have survived. We had Lady for many years after. She was my first collie, and I’ve had 2 more since then.

Hallie the collie puppy

And speaking of collies, I remember watching Lassie on TV with my Dad every Sunday night. (The photo here is of my friend Jill’s new collie puppy — she’s so cute I couldn’t resist sharing the photo!)

I remember vividly how Dad caught my young brother and me swinging my cat Twinkle Toes around by his tail in our basement. That did not go over well, needless to say, and neither Bruce nor I ever mistreated an animal again after that incident. Although I can’t say that Twinkle Toes would agree with that last statement. I do remember dressing the poor cat up in doll clothes and placing it in my bike’s basket and taking it for rides through the neighborhood. Not too sure that Twinkle Toes particularly enjoyed that, upon retrospection!

After I grew up and moved away from home, I continued to have my own pets, and Dad had his. I lived far away from Dad, but he was always there by phone to lend a shoulder to cry on when one of my pets died. He always liked to hear my stories about what the latest pets were up to. And when I went home to visit and took the dogs with me, he and Mom always welcomed them into their home.

I remember how Dad could not abandon an animal in distress. He once found a small puppy that had been discarded in a neighborhood trash-can. Dad rescued the puppy and it became a beloved member of his home until it passed away many years later.

In later years, my husband and I chuckled many times over how much Dad spoiled his dogs. At one time he had 3 dogs and they each had a plastic picnic-type plate with dividers. In each of the divided areas of the plate, Dad put a different type of food for the dogs, chopped-up hot dogs being their favorite of the offerings. Mom was always running to the grocery store to get food for the dogs, not for the humans!

Dad’s last dog, Teddy, a cockapoo, was probably spoiled the most. I was home visiting and I remember distinctly Dad opening a can of chicken noodle soup for the dog, heating the soup in the microwave, then waiting until it cooled to exactly the right temperature before letting Teddy have the soup. As if Teddy would care about the soup being warmed in the first place! And there was no way to reason with Dad about human food being bad for dogs. We tried, but gave up on convincing him of that long ago.

So here’s to Dad — thanks for all the memories and for instilling in me the belief that life is precious in all of its forms.

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