Tag Archives: Toby the Puppy

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Puppy Tales, Part 20

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Toby the Puppy has thrown us another curve ball.

I’ve told you already about the kennel, about how we sought — upon acquiring him in September 2014 — to “train” him to sleep in it.

He refused.

We gave it about a week. He’d whimper and whine. We gave up. He’s been bunking with us every night since. We lay out a blanket. He curls up on it. We throw it over him and he spins twice and then lies down. Lights out for the night.

That’s been the drill more or less ever since we surrendered to his sleeping whims.

Lately, though, he’s done something a good bit different.

He’s walking into the kennel voluntarily. On his own. No prompting. No cajoling. No bribery.

Last night, he sauntered into the kennel at bed time.

He curled up inside the carrier — and slept there for almost the entire night.

Do I expect this to continue? Do I anticipate Toby has found a new favorite place to sleep? Umm. No. He remains a Mommy’s boy. He’ll want to cuddle with his mother at night. Toby might give me a nod on occasion. That’s OK.

As my wife and I have learned since we joined the ranks of dog owners (we’ve always been dog lovers), our pooch is capable of surprising us daily.

Toby already has figured how to make us laugh at him daily.

I’m sure there’ll be more surprises on the way.

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Puppy Tales, Part 19

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Toby the Puppy is playing us like a fiddle.

Here’s the latest tune: He’s going voluntarily into his kennel. He’s making us think he’s actually OK with spending time in there.

I’m not taking the bait.

Why not? Because he has this particular expression he gives us when he knows it’s time to go inside the kennel. It involves the time his mother and I have to leave the house and we cannot take him with us.

Dog owners know the look. I think it’s a sort of universal canine countenance.

He starts by lowering his ears. Then he licks his chops ever so subtly. He then gets a sort of sad look in his eyes, as if he’s saying, “Please, Dad, don’t put me in there. I know you’ll be back, but pl-e-e-e-e-a-se don’t put me inside that thing over there in the corner of the room.”

Well, the past few days has brought this new phenomenon.

He goes into the kennel all by himself.

My wife had left the house to run an errand the other day. I had to leave for an appointment. I looked for the puppy. I couldn’t find him. I had a mild panic attack, thinking for an instant he might have gotten outside the gate. Finally, I peeked into his kennel. There he was.

I closed the door on him, peered inside and got “the look.”

I won’t be fooled by this pooch, who I insist is just about as smart as Lassie or Rin Tin Tin.

He’s already learning how to spell certain words. We speak to him in complete sentences and he understands every word.

Now he’s seeking to fool us into thinking the kennel is really and truly an all-right-place to be.

I know better.

It’s that look that gets me every time.

 

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Puppy Tales, Part 17

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I’ll be brief with this post. It’s getting late and we’ve had a bad day.

I told you about how Mittens our kitty seemed to know intuitively that her brother, Socks, was no longer with us when he died suddenly in November 2014. She became even more lovable than she was, showering us with affection in a way that Socks used to do.

Tonight, we’re getting the same vibe from Toby the Puppy. We said goodbye to Mittens this afternoon. We took her to the veterinarian’s office when the carcinoma in her cheek made her unable to eat. She was willing to eat, but she just couldn’t chew her food. The infection became too intolerable for her.

She died peacefully. Mittens was 14 years of age.

We came home and moped around the house.

So did Toby. On a normal evening at home, he’d want to play fetch with whatever toy he had laying around the house. Not tonight.

This evening he curled up with us and just looked at us.

Tonight we received a demonstration of what Radar O’Reilly used to say on “M*A*S*H,” which is that “Dogs (and cats) are people, too.”

Man, they know when you’re hurting.

 

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Mourning another loss

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It doesn’t make a damn bit of difference how you lose a pet that becomes a member of the family.

If it’s quick, unexpected and, well, shocking, that’s tough to handle.

If it’s something you expect and are waiting for the inevitable, that stinks, too.

Today we said goodbye to our 14-year-old kitty, Mittens. We knew it was coming. She had developed a tumor in her left cheek about three months ago. The doctor took a tissue sample and sent it out to be tested. It came back malignant. She has a carcinoma, the doc said. We gave her some antibiotics and some pain meds.

She did well for several weeks after the diagnosis. But the doctor warned us: There’s no permanent cure available short of surgery, radiation and chemo therapy. At Mittens’ age, with the risk of organ failure as she came out of the anesthesia, we decided to forgo the heavy-duty treatment.

Well, she stopped eating late this past week. It’s not that she didn’t want to eat. She just couldn’t. The tumor had broken the skin inside her mouth. It had become infected. She couldn’t chew.

Today was the day we dreaded.

My wife reminded me that “this is the price we pay” for owning pets with which we fall in love. It happened with Mittens’ brother, Socks, who died quietly and suddenly in November 2014. Believe me, that one hurt, too.

Today, our hearts are broken once again.

My mother used to joke about those who dismissed cats, people who couldn’t see the personality that these critters possess. Mom knew better. My wife and I knew better, too.

We’ve had a number of cats during our 44-plus years together. They’ve all occupied special places in our hearts. Mittens was no exception.

She was a relentless bird hunter and managed to help us de-mouse our home when he had a mild infestation of the rodents a few years back.

She also was sweet, despite being ultra-shy around people she didn’t know. With her “mother” and me? She was full of love and was unafraid to demonstrate it.

When Socks died, Mittens seemed to know intuitively we were hurting and she became even more demonstrative with her affection. I can’t prove that she felt our pain … to borrow a phrase. I just knew it.

In recent months, we had decided to take her traveling with us in our fifth wheel (see picture). We learned to our pleasant surprise that she traveled quite well.

She rode up front in the kennel in our truck and when we parked and set up our campsite, she would find her favorite places to settle inside the RV. No sweat, man.

Yep, we are mourning today.

Then again, we still have Toby the Puppy to make us laugh. I suspect we’ll be laughing a little harder at the way he carries on.