Puppy Love

Dad has always loved dogs. From my earliest memory, he had a wall display of small ceramic dogs of all kinds. When I was about five years old, we drove to Fresno in the old grey Plymouth sedan and came home with a Boxer puppy, the real thing. I think she was named Princess Magda something-or-other but was Maggie to us. Maggie was really Dad’s dog. In fact, there were those moments when Mom used to kiddingly accuse him of giving Maggie more sweet-talking than he did her. I think she was kidding, anyway!

Shortly after I graduated from high school and had my first job, I decided to get a puppy. I brought home a honey-colored cocker spaniel named Samantha. Sure, Mom, I’ll clean up after her. She’ll be my responsibility. I didn’t learn the first rule about training dogs and was a dismal failure with Sammie. What saved me was going away to college, leaving Sammie’s care to Dad. I think Mom may’ve made some remark about hoping that I wouldn’t abandon my children someday the way I had abandoned Sammie. I am pretty sure my kids would say I was a better parent!

Years later, one of my brothers asked Dad to board George and Tigger, a couple of Dachshunds that were no longer welcome in his home. These dogs had their own personalities, and Dad became quite fond of them. Mom probably thought history was repeating itself: one of her children abandoning their pets.

Time passed, and my parents had no pets around. Things were getting a little too quiet at home. Then Mom suggested the unthinkable: Let’s get two dogs, one for each of us! In their early eighties, our parents were taking on the responsibility of 12-week old Dachshund puppies! Before they even had them home, Mom had named hers Teddy because she resembled a furry little teddy bear. Teddy’s sister, Mattie, didn’t have the same long, wavy hair; instead, she is short-haired and about half Teddy’s size. 

These puppies have taken our parents’ hearts. At almost two years old, “the girls” still get warm milk first thing in the morning. As soon as they are let in the house each day, they make a mad dash (timed at seven seconds, according to Mom) to their bowls of milk which they lap up in hardly more time than it takes them to reach it. After breakfast, they are cuddled and given treats.

The doxies, variously called “the babies” or “the girls” have their own distinct personalities. Teddy is the only one to chase and retrieve tennis balls. She will climb into your lap and rest her head on your chest, and look soulfully into your eyes.  Mattie is not to be outdone in the lap-sitting, however; she’ll usually find a way to usurp the best lap spot, working her sister farther away. 

While smaller, Mattie is more aggressive, more talkative, and more apt to bare her teeth, but only in play. They both love to play with their toys, especially the squeaky ones. Like small children, they drag their toys out to play and leave 'em to be picked up by Mom and Dad.

I recently had “doggie duty” while Mom and Dad were out of town. Since the girls haven’t been left alone very often, they required three visits a day: before 8am to have their milk; again about midday, just to check on them and  make sure they weren’t digging their way out of their enclosure; and finally in the evening for some play and cuddles.

While Dad usually says something like, “Aren’t we lucky to have these puppies,” that comes as no surprise to those of us who know how much he likes dogs. The really telling point, though, is that the afternoon Mom and Dad returned after their 3-day trip to Yosemite, Mom was the one who rushed in the house because she’d missed her girls.