Jessie - September 1983 - April 1984

Nicknames - Jess, J.J.

Jessie was the first dog we had as a married couple. She was a stray who my brother-in-law's family found wandering. I had been wanting an Australian Shepard, but I think Jessie was more German Shepard. She was probably two or three months old when we got her.

TS rigged a fenced area out of chicken wire and posts, but we had to take it down when we got our house. We didn't have enough money to put up another fence. That was before we had a shopping center nearby, so we allowed her to run, like all the neighbors dogs. Our neighborhood was rural, there were acres of fields between us and the main road. None of the neighbors fenced their dogs.

We also didn't make much time to train her. She knew sit, and shake, and come. She wasn't very good at come. She had a dog house during the day, and at night we brought her in with us - but it wasn't a good situation. She started terrorizing the paper boy and nipping at him, until he was afraid to deliver the paper to our in-laws house next door.

The final straw was when Jessie dug up two hundred dollars worth of plants the neighbor had spent an entire weekend putting in. We had no way to repay the neighbor. Our finances were stretched so tight some weeks food was all we could afford - and basic food, not fancy stuff.

At that point, the neighbor who had no plants and TS's parents both asked us to take her to the pound. We didn't have much of a choice. In 1983 the Humane Society only kept surrendered pets for 3 days, and then they were euthanized, so TS told them she was a stray. In a way, she was - just one that we had kept for 7 months.

She wasn't a bad dog, but we never should have taken her in the first place. We had no fence. Even though it was a "no fence zone" for dogs at that time, she needed a fence. I think also, looking back, a dog was too much of a committment. We were always on the go, working, partying. A dog is a big responsibility. She was a very pretty girl, small for a shephard, and obviously mixed with something a little bit more agressive, but she was nothing but sweet to us.

We learned the hard way the basic things a responsible pet owner needs to have a dog. There's a lot more to it than just food and water, which are not that expensive. Jessie ate better than we did sometimes. We also groomed her regularly

We also needed -

A fenced yard.

Enough money to take a dog to the veterinarian for shots.

Money to alter a dog when the time comes.

Time to train a dog in basic obedience.

The day TS took Jessie to the pound, I made a vow we would never do that again.

Once a pet was ours, it stayed.

If we found a stray and couldn't keep it, it would go to PAWS.

PAWS, the no-kill shelter existed at that time, but we didn't have the money to pay for the gas it would take to drive there.

Yes, that's how poor we were back then.

I still remember how Jessie put her paw on my arm, and leaned against me while I told her goodbye, and cried.

I cried for days afterward.

Since then, we have stuck to the promise I made to myself. I regret to this day that we had to take her to the shelter, because she was a very nice dog. I hope she found a home.

I doubt it.

The Saint's Childhood dogs

Hunting Dogs
TS's dad raised hunting dogs and trained them for other people. There were always dogs around when he was a kid.

One of his childhood stories is about being bit on the face by one of those dogs. His family had only had the dog a few days, and he was outside in the backyard alone with the dog, when it bit him. It nearly got his eye.
They rushed him to the emergency room, and he got stitches. He still has the scars, but they are faint. He never held it against the dog. His dad got rid of it right away - found someone who didn't have kids to take it.

Kim
hunting dog
Kim was a hunting dog, but she was also the family pet.

She was good with kids, and loved them.

When she was six, she developed a staff infection on one leg. TS's parents and the veterinarian tried everything possible to help her, but finally they ran out of options and had to put her to sleep. TSs mom had to take her down, his dad couldn't do it.

Buffy
cock-a-poo

Buffy was TS's ninth birthday present. She was a black cock-a-poo, but she looked like a pure-bred poodle. She was a good-natured dog. She loved kids.

One of the games she'd play with TS and his brother was chase the ice cube. They would close the door between the utility room and the kitchen. TS on one side, his brother on the other. They would slide an ice cube along the floor and she would chase it. When it disappeared, she'd wait for it to come back, bouncing back and forth. When she went left, the ice cube went right. TS loved her though, even though she was more his mom's dog. His mom was the one she followed around, and the one who fed her.

She would sleep with him at night though.

When TS and I got our wedding cats, Mischa and Shaun, she was their surroget mom. She allowed those kittens to lay on her, and to knead her, and to play with her.

She was a very good dog.

She also loved to look out the front window.

When she went blind, TS's mom felt she kind of lost the will to live.

TS's parents, like all the neighbors, allowed her to run at will.

It was a rural neighborhood back then.

She had the unfortunate accident of running under the car as TS's parents were returning home one night. I heard her go screaming through the backyard, and ran out.

She was injured.

TS's parents rushed her to the vet, but made the decision to have her euthanized due to her age and general condition (blind, thyroid was going.)

She was a very, very good dog.

Cindy
cock-a-pooh

Cindy was a short-term member of the family. TS's parents got her shortly after they got Buffy, but she was too wild.

On one occaision, she and Buffy covered the house in Toilet Paper.

I think one of TS's aunts took her.

VGimlet's Childhood Dogs

Chica

Chica was a purebred Chihuahua my parents had right before I was born, and for a year or so afterward. She was tiny and fragile and I made her nervous as hell. My dad's stepmother, Roseeen, found her a home with a friend of hers, since Chica was far too fragile and trembly around me.

Jack

Jack was a bull terrier of some kind. The didn't really have pitbulls back then. My dad's best friend as a kid was his bullterrier - good lord, I have no idea what his dogs' name was any more. This was long before had the bad reputation they have now.

Jack was young and playful. I liked him. He was black and white.

Unfortunately, when I was outside with Jack, his idea of fun was to knock me down and grab me by the neck. The neighbors saw him. Back in those days, you didn't train your dog, and you didn't keep an eye on the kid and the dog together. The idea back then was dogs and kids would just naturally get along.

Now, I feel bad for Jack, because even though I was told the story my dad had found a truck driver who wanted Jack, I have a feeling he got driven out into the country and left. Like my dad left brother Gary's dog Snuffy after he and my mom got married.

Back in the 50's that was what they did if nobody wanted a dog you had. I am glad times have changed. My dad always felt bad about Snuffy, so maybe Jack's new home wasn't a story.
I think if Jack wanted to hurt me, he probably would have killed me. He was just playing.

Buttons

Buttons is the first dog I remember well. He was a cockapoo puppy my brother's best friend's family gave us. He was thought to be more "my kind" of dog. He was darling.


Unfortunately, a few weeks after we got him I came down with Salmonella. I was so sick I nearly died. I had gotten it from little Buttons. My dad was so upset, he had Buttons put to sleep by the vet, even though he didn't need too. I hope that was really what happened to Buttons, and my dad didn't kill him in a fit of rage.

My dad had a mean streak. Buttons didn't have to die.

My brother later married his best friend's sister.

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Jeannie

Jeannie was the first dog I had for any length of time as a kid. She was from anotherof my brother's friends families. The father of his girlfriend at the time bred Lakeland Terriers, which is what Jeannie was. The deal was, we got her for a good price, but then we would breed her once, and her dad would get the pick of the litter. Then Jeannie would be our dog.

She liked me. My mom didn't like her. Jeannie slept with me. I remember one night I had to go to the bathroom, and I wanted a drink, and I was scared. I started yelling "Help!" and Jeannie was howling, and I am sure we made quite a commotion. When someone finally opened my bedroom door, I said, "I need to go to the bathroom and to get a drink, and so does Jeannie!"
I figured she was howling along with me because she understood my plight.

For some reason she and Champ were regulated to the outdoors at some point.

I don't know why.
Fleas?

Jeannie was a typical terrier. My parents locked her in the bathroom , and she chewed a hole in the wall the size of my fist. She also snapped at my mom when my mom was grooming her. Terriers are like that.

My mom wasn't the kind of woman to tell a dog "NO", and make it mind, she was the kind to shriek, and drop the comb and get my dad to punish the dog.

Jeannie actually ran away a few years later, and found a family she liked much better. They lived up the road from us. She was lost for weeks, until someone saw the poster with her picture, and told my parents. I had been heartbroken.

The family was heartbroken, because she absolutely loved them.

Unfortunately, when I was seven, I was diagnosed with allergies, and it was deemed all dogs had to go. Even dogs that were outside, as they were at that point.

We offered her to the family up the road, but they didn't want to take her, no matter how much they loved her.
So, Jeannie and Champ went back to my brother's friends' family.

I hope they found good homes.


Champ

Champ was Jeannie's son. He was a purebred Lakeland terrier, but didn't have the saddle. He was the first dog I ever saw being born. He was good natured, but he was never my dog as much as Jeannie was. I think by that time the dogs had become outdoor dogs. They had a crappy pen made out of chickenwire and 2x4 boards. My dad didn't want to build a fence at that time. They did have a house, and I was responsible for feeding them. I hope I did a better job with them that I did with the rabbits.

Whiteriver's Fabulous Gypsy (Gypsy)

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After several years, and my sister becoming a dog named Tucky most of the time, my parents finally decided we would get another dog. I begged and pleaded. I'd had allergy shots for some time.

I told them I wanted a Saint Bernard, because I had read about one in a book that had belonged to my mother, The Little Colonel's Hero.

My parents did a little research about dogs, we got Gypsy. I think there were a couple of reasons they decided a Saint Bernard would be a good dog for us. Saints were good with kids, and they could be outside, which my mom liked.

The excuse was because of my allergies, of course.

Really, my mom didn't like animals in the house. The hair, the fleas, housetraining.

Gypsy was such a cute little puppy. I felt so bad for her, even though we did build a fence finally. She rarely got to come inside. Because she was a purebred dog, and was going to be a show dog, my dad finally decided to build a fence.

We got involved with dog shows, which is how we met the Zelinski family. They had Saint Bernards too, and were involved with the club as well. They had kids, and lots of Saints.

Gypsy never did well in conformation. She was a little delicate for a Saint Bernard. She was all muscle, and high energy. Before shows we would have to feed her rice along with her food, because she was a lean dog.

When she was a young dog, the woman who had bred her loaned us the other dog in the picture, on the right, Amber. Amber was supposed to calm Gypsy down, but Gypsy ended up making Amber more lively. We loved Amber too, and my dad tried to buy her - but the breeder wanted to breed her, so we had to let her go. That was a sad day at our house.

Gypsy hated cats, and the only time she ever disobeyed me was going after a cat that was across the street. She dragged me halfway there before I got her under control again.

Gypsy was, at one time, the third highest Saint Bernard in the United States in obedience. She was fun to watch. Sometimes she'd pull tricks on my dad. Like not going over the long jump. She hated the long jump, and she knew that my dad couldn't correct her in the show ring, so on several occaisions she would tippy-toe between the boards. Causing my dad much embarassement and anger, and the spectators much glee.

She was a very sweet dog, and really was good with us kids.

She got a little protective later in life. She grabbed both my friend's arm when she came running toward me, and the arm of our babysitter, who swung around toward me with a screwdriver in her hand. She was protecting me, but I had to punish her.

Back then that meant hitting her, and telling her no.

Dog training was a lot meaner back then, and I'm glad times have changed.

Gypsy was there when I needed a shoulder to cry on. She listened to all my problems, and was always so glad to see me.

We got her when I was eight, and she died when I was 15, so we only had her seven years.
I think she may have had cancer.

Her death was very sudden. She died at home, though.

It didn't look as if it was painful.

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Trebelo's Mr. Bink

Binker was my dog. He was a Shetland Sheepdog.

I wanted to get involved in obedience too. Gypsy was supposed to be my dog, but ended up bonding with my dad the most. Originally I wanted a collie, but after talking it over we decided a Shetland Sheepdog would be better - smaller, and easier to train.

Mr. Bink was known as the gentleman in our family. He was a lovely dog. He would break up fights between our other dogs and Max, who had quite a temper. He would round up the rabbits when they got out of the pen.

He was shy with strangers.

He was the result of breeding two well known and different lines. He was supposed to be the family conformation show dog, but he grew well over the breed standard. Binker was about 21 inches high at the shoulder. Huge for a Sheltie. He wasalso an outdoor dog. I took him for lots of walks, and he too, listened to my problems. Not only did I compete with him in obedience, but I also taught him tricks, like bang bang your dead, shake, and roll over.

I had always hoped he would be able to live out his years with my family, but when my dad died my mom decided all dogs had to go. So, because Bink was 14 years old, arthritic, and I had no safe place to keep him at the time, I had to euthenize him.

It still can make me cry. I was too upset to stay with him, but now, I so wish I had. He was such a good dog, and I hate that my final memory of him is the vet tech leading him down the hall, and him looking over his shoulder at me as if to ask, "Aren't you coming with me?"

He was one of the nicest dog I have ever known.

He was a gentleman.

Maximillion

Maxi.

So many memories come up with his name.

Max was a Papillon.

He was a scamp, and spoiled rotten, thought he was a big dog.

He was the last, and only pup of a show dog named Millionaire, who had died a grisly death, trampled by Saint Bernards.

Max was my sister's dog. She had been very ill as a child, and after her surgery was successful my parents got her her dream dog "a fluffy white dog" - Max.

Unfortunately, Max and sis were not a good match at first. Sis, although good with dogs, was only 6, and Max was a toy dog. He was an outside dog, too.

When the dogs would play, Bink would grab Gypsy's tail, and Max would grab Bink's tail for a game of crack the whip.

Gypsy would tease him until he got furious, and would grab her jowels and hang from them like a furry, growling pendant.

Maxi was cute, though. Unfortunatly for his show dog future, he ended up having the Papillon tooth problem, which is a disqualification, and being a monorchid (Only one descended testacle). My sister had no patience for obedience training.

After Gypsy died, the puppy Bo was too rough with Max, and hurt him when they were playing. Max even had to go to the vet, had an operation, and had to stay indoors, or he would die.

My mom had a certain fondness for Max, so he became an indoor dog.

He adjusted just fine, thanks. He preferred to sleep with me, because my sister was still a little bit mean to him. He loved to play ball, and would spend hours staring at the covered wooden bowl on the living rooms shelves, waiting for someone to play, or say the magic words, "Ball?"

He could fetch the ball for hours.

One time, my dad accused us of taking all his peanut clusters. He'd had a bag by his chair, and there was only one left! We all denied it, and he was mad. About two weeks later, when I was vacuuming the house, and went behind the sliding door curtain - it was a pile of peanuts! With a faint trace of chocolate on them. Max had stolen them, and gone behind the curtain with his prizes. It's a wonder he didn't die - or maybe lucky it was not good chocolate...

We also came home once from being gone, and found a soda bottle (Squirt?) had leaked all over the table - but wait, that wasn't soda, it was PEE! Max had jumped up onto the table from a chair, and left his mark on the so-handy soda bottle. What a good dog!

No boyfriends liked Max. He was prone to pooping and peeing in front of them.

Max went to live with my brother's family when my dad died, and my mom made the "all dogs gone" decree. He slept in the garage. My neice really loved him, but I think they only had him for a year, when they found him in the garage, curled up and dead. Poor Max. At least he didn't have to get offed like Bink.

Bo, Max, and Bink.

Bo

Bo was my mom's dog. He is the Golden Retriever holding the food bowel. He always had hold of something. My parents got him just a few months after Gypsy died, and sadly, I rejected him. I wasn't mean to him, but there was always a cold place in my heart. I couldn't accept Gypser was gone. She had been my childhood confidant.

We got Bo from a reputable breeder. My mom was going to show him in obedience, but she didn't have the patience to train Bo.

He was an active young dog, and she wanted a robot. I still remember him dragging around giant tree branches after a storm, he loved them SO MUCH! I was 16 when we got Bo, busy with my friends, and drama, and other things. Then I got married. And my dad died. Hopefully the woman who adopted him really did want him for her kids, and not animal experimentation or something bad. He was a very sweet dog, he deserved a family who would give him the attention he deserved.

In The Beginning

There have always been dogs in our lives.

There will always be dogs in our lives.

This is a blog for the dogs. Will the cats have their own blog someday? They hope so.

So do the critters.

Critters are any of our animals that are not cats and dogs.