These vignettes of family pets made me smile, long after they passed on from our lives.
The first dog I can recall our family owning was little pug called Louie. He was the Harry Houdini of all canines, born with an inner gypsy spirit. He could leap all fences and would often run away from home, travelling more than 35 kilometres to where he had once lived with my nanna. She would promptly return Louie, but this pattern continued for a few months, until one day he went over the front gates and disappeared, never to be seen again.
Our family then bought a delightful German shepherd puppy – Misty was her name. I have a fond and vivid recollection of our guard dog in the backyard. She was trembling in fear as a series of little grey field mice crept away in single file, each one with a dog biscuit clenched in their tiny jaws. So brave our dog Misty, so aggressive.
Moving right along. Misty’s successor was a silver miniature poodle – all pom-poms a go-go! His name was Silva and he was blessed from birth with small dog syndrome. He felt cursed by all that grooming in pet beauty parlours. On his daily walk, the day after his clipping, he would find any puddle or pile of horse manure or bird poop and roll around. Then Silva would run up to us and give us a cuddle and a slurp of his fetid pink tongue. Yeeech! But he was dearly loved and full of brains and character.
If he was walked off-leash in his grey cardigan with silver buttons and diamante clips on his pom-poms, Silva would develop his ‘inner fang’ – an alter ego. We used to walk him through a building estate where we were residing and Silva would terrorise giant dobermans and rottweilers, who were ‘men at work’ – assisting their ‘Bob the Builder’ owners. Our pooch had a bad reputation.
Years later, I adopted a creamy Maltese/shih-tsu cross, who was ‘free to a good home’. Her name was Minnie and she quickly taught me the meaning of canine intelligence. This bundle of fluff instantly took command of the home and our hearts. Minnie was soon dining on steak and the best chicken, cooked just so. Her beguiling eyes would melt anyone as she calmly rolled her ball under the couch, so she would never have to play fetch again. Being a dog was beneath her philosophy, which was basically, “Fat, dog, fat!”
Funnily enough, Minnie and my mother (now both passed over) had a rivalry. When I gave my mum gifts for Mother’s Day, Minnie would turn her back on afternoon tea to sulk, until I gave her more gifts than my mum had received. My mother would then ‘get in a huff’, saying the dog was too spoilt. Excuse me! Where did she think I had learnt such behaviours? Too funny.
Yes, our furry friends make the world a better place and give us unconditional love. Some might believe our dogs pass over into ‘puppy heaven’: a land of endless messy puddles, steak, snacks and toys, still with eternal love in their canine hearts for their owners. Yes, dear readers, always be kind to dogs ‘for they are better than us humans’.