Last week Katja and I watched the Westminster Kennel Club Show, an annual tradition in our household. Such beautiful animals. We were thrilled this year because four of our own family pets’ breeds wound up as winners or runners-up in their respective groups: the German Shepherd and the Old English Sheepdog (herding group), the Poodle (toy group), and the Schnauzer (working group). Here are a few stories about our pet sweeties from 1960 to the present, running the gamut from tragedy to joy.
Heather (1960-61). Katja and I got married in August 1960, and we moved to Ann Arbor for graduate school two days later. A few weeks later I came home to our apartment and was surprised to find that Katja had bought a German Shepherd puppy. It was love at first sight. We named her Heather, and she became the center of our young married lives. I spent so much time playing with Heather, it was hard to keep up with my studies. By early spring our eighty-year-old landlady was tiring of Heather’s barking while we were away, so we arranged with a friend to have her stay in his backyard during the daytime. We came home one afternoon, and our friend was waiting there in tears. Heather had been tied to a chain, and she tried to climb over the fence, got hung by the neck, strangled, and died. I still get teary-eyed writing about it.
Jacques (1966-1973). We were winding up our time in Ann Arbor a few years later when my brother Steven started law school at Wayne State in Detroit. He and his wife Margie had acquired a black poodle named Jacques in Florida, but their new apartment complex in suburban Detroit didn’t allow dogs so we agreed to take him. Jacques was a remarkably smart and loyal dog, though also capable of mischief. One evening during exam week we stayed on campus much later than normal, basically forgetting that Jacques was at home and needed a walk. Katja had recently sewn red velvet curtains for the living room and dining room. When we got home, we found that Jacques had pulled every curtain down onto the floor and pooped on each one. A clear message for his negligent owners. Like Heather, Jacques came to a tragic end. We spent the summer of 1973 on a research project in Bethel, Maine. On our last night we hired a baby-sitter so we could have a farewell dinner out. The baby-sitter was crying when we returned home. She had let Jacques out of the house, and he had gone out to the road and was run over by a lumber truck. We buried him by the little creek in back of our rented mobile home.
Winston (circa 1975-1992). I came home from work one day in the mid-70’s and was surprised to find an exotic-looking dog in our house. He was a Bedlington Terrier that Katja had had flown in from a breeder in Northern Illinois. Winston was our most sociable dog, prone to approaching every passerby on the street to get petted. Because of his unusual appearance, people frequently asked if he were a dog. After a while I started saying, “No, he’s a lamb,” and people didn’t know whether to believe me or not. His groomer participated in national grooming competitions, and she took Winston on trips through the Midwest and the East Coast. We felt like we were parents of a Hollywood star. Winston lived to a ripe old age — blind, deaf, demented, and incontinent in his final year.
Mike and Duffy (circa 2000-2015). Some years later I came home one day from work, and Katja was on the porch talking to a neighbor. The back door was open, and I saw two little furry creatures which I first took to be baby raccoons. In fact, they were Old English Sheepdog puppies, three months old and frisky as could be. Katja had gone to see the litter in Fairfield, thinking she might buy one, but two of the puppies were so attached to one another that she couldn’t bear to separate them, and she brought both of them home. Mike and Duffy became a famous fixture in our Clifton neighborhood, and everyone wanted to give them a pet or take a selfie. I spent a lot of time with our friend Donna and her sheepdog Sophie walking our group in Mt. Airy, Miami Whitewater Forest, Eden Park, and Burnet Woods. Our hearts were broken once again when the dogs had to be put down in old age.
Iko (2020 - present). Our son J and his family live in New Orleans, but, when the pandemic began, they decided to move temporarily to California where the “plague” was less severe. J drove up to Cincinnati with their two family dogs, Iko and Li’l Paws, and we took care of them for about three months. Iko, a miniature schnauzer, had spent his early years in a brothel on Tulane Avenue in New Orleans, then became a street dog until my daughter-in-law K and a friend Alex rescued him at an SPCA Outreach event. When J returned from California he asked if we would like to keep Iko, and we said yes. Iko is the cuddliest of our dogs. He gets on the couch to watchTV with us, resting his head on one or the other of his parents’ legs. He’s definitely made our lives more enjoyable.
I think we’ve always been meant to be a dog family, and we’ve treated our dogs pretty much like human beings and as full-fledged family members. Getting a dog is a complicated matter. They can be expensive, require walking whether rain or shine, make traveling more complicated, and have a relatively short life span. However, in my mind, they’re such a source of happiness than it outweighs all of the cons. All of our dogs have been wonderful. If one is craving love and affection, hardly any living creature can rival a pet dog. They go out of their minds every time you walk in the door.
Love,
Dave
