A
Hoagie Is So Much More Than Just A Sandwich
Around the same time Ichabod
was being born in unknown (at least to me or anyone at the pound)
circumstances, a female dog in Casper, WY was being investigated for a possible
tumour. It was large and potentially
life threatening and not too very long after the diagnosis was completed, a
cesarean section introduced two new puppies into the world. They were tiny, fluffy, black balls who
looked a great deal like their purebred poodle mother when they were born.
My mother, though she has
taken part in the entire pet raising (everything from taking my bottle away
from Harry to cleaning out the cat boxes until we were old enough to
periodically take responsibility with only moderate whinging) had never had a
pet that was all her own. Hoagie now
looks very much like a Silky Terrier, who we must assume was the father and the
only evidence of the poodle is a tendency for his hair to be a bit wiry and
curl when it’s long.
They all came to stay with
us in Billings, MT for Christmas that year as our mother was having knee
replacement surgery on the 26th.
Dad stayed in a hotel near the hospital and we babysat. Laurel already had a dog and cat in bed with
her as well as a day that started at a usual time, while I was still working
one of my many part-time jobs[1]
and didn’t have to get up as early as she did, so Hoagie crawled in bed with
Ichabod and me.
You might think having a
kitten and puppy in one bed would complicate my sleeping. You would be right.
Most of the time it wasn’t
too bad, as Ichabod’s love for dogs, especially for dogs practically the same
size as he is and are willing to play kept them reasonably active during the
day – except when Loki had to break them up because that’s what she does – and
once they calmed down, fairly quiet at night.
More or less.
However, there are fun
aspects of puppies. Even potty-trained
ones. I’d be sleeping with a kitten
somewhere on my body and a puppy curled up against me and he’d start twitching
and whining. This was a sign to put on a
coat and slippers and go stand outside[2]
until he’d done what we came to do. Then
we’d go back to bed and he’d snuggle down under the covers to get warm
again.
Right up until Ichabod would
sidle in above him and start poking Hoagie with his paw. 4 a.m.
Poke, poke, poke. Hijinks ensue.
Lift and separate. Settle down again. Poke, poke, poke.
Fortunately Mom was only in
the hospital for a few days.[3]
Before that came the
Christmas celebrations with all the animals chasing each other around the
house. Hoagie even survived trying to
get Mallory to play tug of war with him with a chew toy. It was touch and go for minute there.
Since then, they have all
been pretty good friends. When I would
go visit my parents and take Ichabod – who is actually a pretty good car
traveler, even after he got too big to spend four hours on my lap because I
needed to do crazy things like work the brake and gas – they would chase each
other around the house growling and snarling and barking and having a terrific
time. Unless Loki came with us and felt
the need to separate them because that’s what she does. Unless she was the one chasing Hoagie around
the house. For a dog who will, while
walking, bark at strangers and strange dogs from behind the safety of the
walkee’s legs, Hoagie has no fear of bigger dogs whom he assumes will be his friend.
Hoagie came to stay with us
several times after that, both with and without our parents. We were handy to the airport and he could be
dropped off for babysitting. By this
time that meant all of them sleeping with Laurel, as, as soon as he was no
longer confined to my room for the night Ichabod decided that the only place to
sleep was wherever Loki was sleeping. I
missed him, but felt like I had to let him be himself, especially when the
alternative was him crying and scratching the carpet until I let him out.[4] I also suspect it led to more restful sleep
for me.
I would often walk Loki down
at a lovely place called Two-Moon Park.
It was several acres in size and packed with trees, streams, trails and
a great big river. The best thing in the
world for Loki was rolling in a snow bank, but second best was sliding down a
bank into a river or diving into the water after branches at least the length
of her body and thick enough to really hurt when she’d whack me in the shins
while spinning around in ecstatic circles after having found the perfect
one. There would, of course, be periods
of intense mourning when the water was too fast or I threw too hard and the
branch followed the rushing water out of sight, but fortunately there was an
abundance of large driftwood branches to wield against my shins, as well as the
occasional dead fish to roll in if my back was turned.
The first time we took
Hoagie to the park, we stopped at the shallowest point of the river, where Loki
always had to get her first drink.
Hoagie hesitated, unsure of whether this new and unfamiliar medium was
something he wanted to enter. He was on
a leash and wearing a harness, so I knew I could get him out easily. This allowed me to do what everyone has
fantasized about doing to their mother’s favourite child and pushed him
in. He’s never looked back and even
today, will simply find a likely spot and launch himself.
Whether alone, or with
Hoagie, whether in a spot where I could stop and throw sticks, or just suddenly
and randomly deciding to slide down the side of the bank, because she’d dried
out, Loki would take any opportunity to immerse herself in the river. But, dog memories being what they are, neither
dog ever made the connection between the fun in the river and being tethered in
the backyard when we got home and tormented with soap and water.
One day, Laurel accepted a
job in Washington State. As I was still
working several jobs and had no better teaching prospects than the part-time
History lecturing I was doing at Montana State University, which I thoroughly
enjoyed, but which didn’t lead to any of those lovely things like job security
or health insurance, I decided to come with her in search of better
opportunity. No plan survives first
contact with the enemy.
Due to the way things worked
out, Laurel was leaving two weeks before I would come out to join her – the job
started before we could close on a house – and our never-to-be-thanked-enough
parents had come up to help us pack and load everything into a storage unit to
wait until we could load up again and go join her. Mom and Dad were staying in
a motel and Hoagie was staying with us.
Mom likes to buy her favourite child toys at garage sales and on this occasion he had some old kid’s toy that was basically a round, stuffed-animal type head that hung from a string. When it was bounced on the string, it would play Frère Jacques. He did a lot of running around with the string in his mouth, head bouncing along, song playing merrily.
The last night we were there, Laurel and I were in the bathroom brushing our teeth and Loki came in with the toy in her mouth, dropped it in the toilet and left. Apparently, what with all the stress of moving, the earworm was just too much.
[1] That have been perfectly fine
but don’t really seem to jive with all the schooling and student loans. I can only assume I am an underachiever who
believes she is actually trying to be an achiever. End of rant.
[3] This is not an entirely
selfish sentiment. Mom had been walking
a lot before the surgery and had a more rapid recovery than almost anyone from
this painful surgery.
[4] I tried everything. Toys,
treats, the squirt bottle. He doesn’t
like being squirted, but will only stop while being sprayed. This meant that in the end Laurel would have
a wet cat crawling in bed with
her. And, I suspect this early
conditioning has something to do with the fact that even today he will demand
that I come outside and rub his stomach while he rolls on soaking wet grass. I don’t know whether this Adlerian,
Pavlovian, Freudian or just obnoxious.
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