My tweets & Comentary
- Thu, 14:50: Photo: … or two, or three. http://t.co/BORy80PcGl
- Buddy
- Dan
- Roxie
I'm a "dog" kind of guy. Have been since I was old enough to crawl across the floor and say the word dog.
My first stuffed animal was a little orange and white furred dog, and at a year old I was given my first puppy, a black beagle named Boots. Boots was a fiesty little guy that liked to escape from the yard and roam the neighborhood; and apparently my Mom and Dad felt that they couldn't care for him, so they gave him away to one of my aunts. years later, I learned that he had escaped her yard and gotten run over in the road.
As a toddler/pre-schooler, I was given a beautiful lab mix named Lucy. About the time I was 5 years old, my pediatrician convinced my parents that the root cause of my childhood allergies was pet dander, and urged them to give away my dog. (Of course, it couldn't have been the fact that my parents smoked in the house, and the car; with us children trapped in a toxic air environment)
Lucy was taken away from me, and given away to my cousins, Ron, Suzanne, and Tim. I've spent over 35 years of my life hating that doctor, and I hope he died a lonely and miserable man. Lucy spent the rest of her days living in a junk filled yard, chained to her hap-hazardly built doghouse, and died of heart worms a few years later. Her daughter, Ginger, lived a long life in that same yard, tethered to a similar dog house. Well fed, and never wanting from water, from what I could remember seeing as a kid; but missing the true love of a family and children like she really deserved.
About the time that I was 8 years old, a stray dog (that we named Burt) limped into our family's life. He was sick, hungry, and tired. We took him in, took him to the vet, and got him back on his feet again with lots of love and attention along the way. Burt stayed with us for a time, and then apparently decided it was time to find his way back home. We had tried to find his owners with no luck. I can only hope that once we had him healthy and full of love, that he found his own way home.
In early 1981, Mom and dad decided that we would once again have a dog of our own. I think I had asked for a dog at least 5 times a week, every week, since the day I didn't have one in the house. Mom had talked to a friend/co-worker whose elderly mother had a young puppy that she could not care for. A young, rowdy, and playful miniature poodle that at that time went by the name "Baby." We drove to her house and fell in love at first site. A poodle was not a boy's first choice, but I was glad just to have a dog; and mom and dad were convinced that since she wouldn't shed, a boy could not possibly be allergic to her. We brought her home that night, and changed her name to Fi Fi. I made a promise to myself that very night, and an oath before God Almighty, that no person or situation would ever again separate me from any dog that I had promised to love and care for.
Once I make a decision to adopt a four legged friend (be it dog, cat, guinea pig, or rat), my promise to that animal is to love and care for them for the duration of their natural life here on this earth. I could never forgive myself for breaking that oath to any one of my animal children. As humans, we have the ability to make choices and learn to care for ourselves. Our four legged friends do not have such an opportunity available to them; and rely and trust in us to do what is right.
Over the past 32 years of my life, I have not even a single time failed to keep that oath.
(Although, I think Chester felt I had. June 1996: I was not there for him when he became so ill he had to be put to sleep while I was away. That fact still haunts me to this very day; and has only strengthened my resolve to love my furry babies.)