April 2007                                                The Megaphone                                                     Page 5

A Dog Parade

by Julie (Stout) Crim

Several dogs have adopted me over the years, some good and some even better. As a child we had outside dogs but they never were allowed to come inside, even in the coldest winters. Married and living on the island of Guam, we acquired our first dog. He was an unplanned addition. Shortly before Christmas one year a stray gave birth in our neighbor’s yard and then died. The frantic man was going door to door searching for people to take a pup and feed it. Well, we did and that was quite an experience.

The meat inspector for the base was also a vet. When asked what we should do he told us how to make puppy formula and how to feed the newborns. I found an old t shirt and cut a piece from it, dipped it in the warm milk formula and let the baby suck. Sometimes I had to dribble a few drops at a time down his throat. I was determined to make this little one live and live he did. We began to search for a name. Well, it was a few days until Christmas and so that is how Jingle Bells came to be a part of our family. A year later he was still very small, maybe 10 pounds of pure energy, brown hair and had a nice personality. However . . . one day he disappeared. We never did know what happened to him. I’ve always had a sick feeling, wondering if he became part of a wedding feast or part of a Guamanian celebration on the dinner table. You see, Guamanians eat dog as a festive delicacy.

The next little dog to come to us was in Albany, Georgia and my husband named her Katie. It’s a cute name and although I didn’t like the reason he named her that I did go along with it. After all what would it hurt? You see my dad always called my mother Katie and my husband and she never did like one another. But, she was in Indiana and we were in Georgia, many miles apart. Oh yeah, miles apart. One day it didn’t seem that far away when my mother came for a visit. She was flattered that we named the dog after her, or so she thought and I never told her different. One day Katie wandered too far from home and my husband was outside in our yard calling for her. My mother heard him yelling Katie, Katie and took of at a run to see what the emergency was. The atmosphere that evening was one of quiet silence. Man, did I ever have a stress headache!

All too soon it seemed we had orders for an overseas assignment and couldn’t take a pet with us so a neighbor inherited little Katie and we were off to the country of Turkey and a fluff ball named Bridget. Bridget was something like a white Scottish terrier and very protective of her people and terrain. Have I told you about Bridget meeting the Turkish Chief Supreme Court justice? It was one of my most embarrassing moments of a lifetime. If not I’ll tell you one of these days. Bridget loves stuff toys. My children were very young with a new baby in the house and lots of stuffed toys of all sizes. The bedrooms were upstairs along with most of the toys. Bridget would go upstairs, get a toy she could carry and bring it downstairs when she thought no one was looking and deposit it under the kitchen table. At the end of the day there might be seven or eight toys there. The kids had some stuffed toys with big rubber bands attached. They would dangle them through the upstairs railing all the way to the downstairs floor and bounce them. I tell you it drove that poor dog crazy! After three years we returned to the states and Bridget was passed on to another military family there.

Now in Dayton, Ohio, I once again wanted a dog for the children so went to the pound. A darling little puppy, black and white looked at me with those killer eyes. You know the ones that say I’m all yours and I’ll be heartbroken if you don’t take me home. She was a registered English cocker spaniel that someone had brought in only an hour before. She was stubborn and maybe not too smart. I couldn’t keep her from chewing on the furniture no matter what I did. We had a fenced in back yard and she spent most of her time out there in the daytime. Finally, putting an add in the paper, I sold her and we moved to England.

I was surprised how many people took their dogs and cats to England. There is no rabies in England and any animal that comes into the country is in quarantine for one whole year. That’s a lot of money, besides the cost of shipping a live pet overseas. It was an exciting time at first, moving there on Dec. 23, living in a hotel and house hunting. The children loved it. Eventually we were settled in a new daily routine of a family of five. The two oldest children were in school and my baby, Shawn, was only four and oh so lonely when his older siblings were in school. One day, without talking to me about it my husband came in the door from work, unzipped his jacked and out came a tiny bundle of white fur. Timmy, as he came to be called was a registered teacup poodle.

Shawn fell in love right then and there. I suppose it may have taken all of one and a half seconds. Timmy was with us the four years we lived in England. He was smarter than any of the others that came before him and had good doggie manners. However, one time I remember coming home and found a surprise. We had all been gone and Timmy had been left alone. As I opened the door I heard a whiney, sniffing noise coming from the kitchen. We all immediately went to see what the problem was. Evidently Timmy had knocked my Bible from the coffee table in the living room, had somehow carried it to the kitchen and deposited it under the kitchen table. Next he found a large ball of kite string. By the time we entered the kitchen most of the book of John was chewed out of the Bible and Timmy had managed to get himself tangled into such a mess with the string that it was a maze of white string and white fur covering most of the floor under the table. The string was wrapped around the table legs and the chair legs. The more he tried to get loose from the string the worse it got. It was so unbelievable that I remember taking a picture. The poor little creature had tried to give us a lesson in leaving him alone and it backfired.

Eventually we moved to High Wycomb AFB. Timmy and I would go for long walks down a little used lane to a grassy spot of underground bunkers where General Eisenhower had had his English headquarters during WWII. Timmy seemed to love the smells and it was good exercise for the both of us.

Next came Sam, short for Samantha, and she was special right from the start. It all started one day when I was invited to a Tupperwear party while living in England. I sat next to a lady I had never seen or knew. She was telling the group of her early morning experience of breeding a pet of hers. It seemed she owned a registered female boxer dog. And by the way, in England the word female is never used in reference to female dogs. However, I use the word here for your sensitive American eyes.

An idea instantly formed as I sat there. In my husband’s eyes, a Boxer was the best kind of dog to have because he remembered riding a neighbor’s big boxer dog when he was very small. He and the dog stayed friends through some of his growing years. The puppies, if there were any, would be six weeks old on Christmas Eve. “Call me when they arrive,” I said to the woman, "I might be interested." Well, she did and I did . . . buy one that is. I drove the 20 miles or so across London to see them when they were about three weeks old and immediately fell in love with the one that would become Sam. On Christmas Eve I told my husband I was going to be gone for a while finishing up my shopping. “Humph, it’s a little late isn’t it,” he said. My oldest son went with me. He was 15 and in on the secret. We picked up the puppy and came right back. I had prearranged with a neighbor to leave the baby with her for the night and bring her home the next morning, Christmas morning. My husband was not happy when I came in with no packages and no explanation.

The next morning arrived, Christmas morning, and all went well. Three children and paper and more paper everywhere. When we were done opening all the presents I excused myself saying I’d be back in a jiffy. I picked up the puppy and put her into just the right size box, all decorated. She had a red velvet bow around her neck and looked perfect. She curled up and went to sleep.

I opened the door to our house, went in and sat the box on my husband’s lap. He was not happy, thinking I had really imposed upon a neighbor with what he thought was a gift I couldn’t trust bringing home. He had no clue! He sat there looking at it with a mad look on his face. Suddenly the box moved, ever so slightly. Brother, did he look surprised. Next came a tiny noise and more wiggling around. He tore the top off the box and held up the puppy which was now showering him with kisses. Talk about a change. The tears rolled down his face and I silently went, "Whew!!!"  

We named her Samantha and called her Sam. She was smaller than Timmy, the Toy Poodle. Timmy thought Sam was her new toy and so they learned to love each other and play well together. Both would scamper under the living room couch from time to time. One day I heard a painful yelp and hurried in to the living room. Sam had her head caught under the couch and couldn’t get out. She didn’t understand that she was getting bigger and bigger and Timmy remained the same. Some 55 pounds later she evened out to be a beautiful specimen of the Boxer family and was a delight to all. Through the next two years she received and gave much love and attention and took many walks with all family members. We lived close to a woods and a large open field so there were lots of opportunities to romp and play, sometimes with Timmy and sometimes not.

There came a time when thinking about our return to the states became a serious matter concerning Sam. So . . . one day I sat her down and we had a heart to heart talk. I explained the facts of life and what she must do in order to return to the states with us. You see, we couldn’t afford her passage and she would have to think of a way of raising the money herself. Well, low and behold, she did just that and presented us with 8 almost perfect puppies in due course. Oh my, was she proud of them! It was summertime and as they got older they loved romping in the grass. The neighborhood children all came running when we had them out. Everyone wanted one but alas, not enough to go around. Sam was of a champion line as was she stud and so the puppies sold for a high price, enough to buy a plane ticket for the canine member of our family. We made the mistake of loving the puppies much too much and it was painful to watch them go to their new homes at two months of age.

I had said the litter was almost perfect. Seven appeared perfect. One was a throwback and was supposed to be “putdown.” He was all white and the largest baby of all. With his adorable tiny wrinkled face we called him Winston and gave him to a close friend. He couldn’t be registered but his new family didn’t care and he lived a happy life. When the puppies were about six months old one couple came back to show us their puppy and tell us he was diabetic. Poor little thing, he lived to be about a year old before going off to doggie heaven. Sam lived out her final years in the Oregon forest and was always a good and faithful companion. At age 12, she joined Winston and the growing family of dogs from our past. 

Next came Ziggy. We loved Boxers and as Sam aged, we bought Ziggy. He was stubborn and didn’t want to be trained. At three years, he developed viral cancer. It was expensive to treat. Also at this time, Sam was very old and crippled with arthritis. It was time to say good by . . . hard, very hard. We took Sam and Ziggy to the vet and they went to doggie heaven together.

Winnie was next on the scene, a sweet little girl boxer. My son, Shawn, was given the privilege of naming her. The name Winnie surprised me. When I asked him how he came to pick that name he reminded my of a little old lady we always saw at church. He said she always called him by name and talked to him. She was important to my 13 year old son and I never knew it.

Winnie was with us many years and loved romping through the woods. When Tribble, a little white kitten, came to live with us she felt threatened. Such a tiny ball of fur, and Winnie needed reassurance every day. On day Winnie just disappeared. Maybe a coyote or big cat got her. I’ll never know. I had Tribble completely de-clawed and kept her in the house, away from the dangers that found Winnie.

More years passed without a dog in residence. Eventually I felt the need for a canine companion but didn’t want to go through the puppy stage. Something small sounded appealing. My profile was; small, 2 to 3 years old, non shedding or not much and a give away. Visiting the humane societies of all surrounding towns, there was nothing I wanted. I asked my vet to keep an eye out for me and yet nothing turned up.

However, one day, while getting my hair cut, I was chatting with my beautician. I had gone to her for several years and we were friends, occasionally meeting for lunch. Someone in the shop mentioned something about a new dog in the family and I just happened to mentioned I had been looking for a dog for a couple of years but so far had not found what I wanted. My beautician told me in a sort of smug voice that had I told her what I wanted I would have had it long ago. I asked what she meant. She said that everything was discussed in a beauty shop and she was sure she could find me just the dog. Not only that but she would find the perfect dog for me in 24 hours. Oh sure, I thought. But I went ahead and I told her . . . 2 to 3 years old, house trained, good temper, small and cheap. I went home and forgot about it. It was around 3 p.m. The next day about noon by beautician called. She had my dog and gave me a number to call.

It was love at first sight. Casey was adorable, half Poodle and half Shih Tzu, two years old and free. The owners were looking for a home for him. He was brought into their household to be the only dog, as a baby. However, recently three big dogs had joined the family and Casey was unhappy with the arrangement. I took him home and he didn’t eat for three days. After that he seemed to understand this was his new home and it wasn’t so bad. My goodness, was he smart, the smartest dog I ever had. Not only did he love to play with his toys but would put them up when told to do so. He loved balls and would bring back a ball to the thrower and delight in doing it all over again. Casey lived 16 years and left a large hole in my life when he died.

Years passed . . . and then . . . wouldn’t you know it . . . I just happened to be reading the paper one morning and a classified add popped out. Now get this, I never read the classifieds unless I’m shopping for something and I was NOT shopping for anything on that particular day. "Shih Tzu puppies for sale . . . "

“Since we are going to be out doing errands this morning, Honey, why don’t we drop by and take a look at the puppies?” We had never considered that breed and didn’t know much about it.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea, Sweetie," came the reply. "As soon as you see them, you know you’ll want to bring one home.” So we agreed this would be no more than a quick peek.

Well, it was a quick peek and then another and another. We sat down and watched all four litter mates romp and play. Oh, what fun just watching them! And then I heard a voice say, “If we get one, which one would you want? I really like that one.” That’s how Meggy came to be a part of our family 2 ½ years ago. By the way, Meggy is short for Megaphone. She’s a bona fide member of the Panther Den and does her part by posing for a picture for you now and then.

When I get to Heaven, besides those I’ll recognize, I hope to see a pack of doggies ready to welcome me into God’s Kingdom. Is it possible? Could Heaven be going to the dogs?

Julie (Stout) Crim, '57

Yuma, Arizona