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Four Legged Friends, and the Lessons They All Taught Me

My Four Legged Friends

Kind Readers,

I’ve had the opportunity to learn the art of animal husbandry somewhere along my hobby journeys. I think my wife Melissa taught me how to be a tamed if not house broken husband, but that’s another story. I would like you to meet some of my four legged friends.

If you will indulge me, I’ll introduce them one story at a time, because each kiddo showed a little more about my humanness and how doge are a lot smarter than I ever thought . I should say that dogs, at least the ones I’ve known, are kind enough to tolerate a pretty unsophicated man friend.

Mando: The Lost Babe

Melissa and I started our marriage in the city of Milwaukee. At that time we lived in a 1930 era lannon stone house in a neightborhood where the folks were original residents, Firemen, Cops, Teachers, and a District Attorney. Old folks, folks with kids, folks with stories, folks with history and every one of the stories made the neighborhood more comfortable.

When we moved in to our house, Melissa decided, well WE decided,that our house was lonely without the noise of kids and the chaos of people different than us. Melissa and I have the image of two lost puppy dogs walking down the alley on the Fourth of July, watching fireworks while we look for new sniffs, which mean new adventures. Thirty 32 years later, we’re still puppy dogs, and every day brings a new sniff.

Enter Mando. Because Melissa and I are graduate degree educated, we have all the answers about all the questions, including the ones that haven’t been asked yet. Thus- we knew dogs. We found a dog place that was too good to be true which we later learned that this to good to be true place was actually a puppy mill.

The baby fir kid we adopted happened to be a beagle of the most handsome looks. Tri colored, quiet, small enough to be held in our hands kind of Beagle. We named him Mandolin because I was performing in a bluegrass band as its mandolin player.

Mandolin had a hard time writing his name, which may had something to do with not being able to use his thumb so after howling family discussions, we agreed to call him Mando.

Mando slept with us, ate with us, poooped in the yard; all the things a pup is supposed to do. Walking Mando was a treat because the neighbors and the kids couldn’t wait to come over and welcome the new arrival. Belly rubs, barks and bays filled the back yard. No, Melissa and I did not have a homecoming party for Mando; it seemed a little silly.

Mando the singer taught us a few Beagle songs. The “Two Howl Two Step” when it was time to go potty, the “Mando Polka” when we played sniff in the back yard.

After three months together Mando lost his energy. He wanted to sit on the floor and whimper. No polkas, no two step. Just sad eyes that told us “I need a hug.” Mando stopped eating and didn’t ever want his favorite cocktail of water on the rocks, in a clean dog dish.

It turned out that Mando’s puppy mill had a known reputaton for allowing sickly dogs to be adopted by neophite fur baby families. We loved Mando till he passed over the Rainbow Bridge, where he could run without tummy pain and sad brown bealge eyes.

Mando’s lesson to us was that unconditional love is just that. No questions asked. No answers expected. Nothing more and nothing less than enjoying the time we have together as a fur family; even when that meant cleaning off our shoes fro Mando’s gift. I’m writing this thirty years after Mando went to sleep for the last time, but I need to stop because I hear a Beagle howling “Hey, it’s time go go, I want to dance the Mando Polka one more time.”I better clean my shoes

thanks to: till daling, jes surianto, alina white, peridda, markrimmel; for the pictures. please support them

Kizer The Kindly Dog: Unconditional Love

“Please take me home. I don’t eat much. I’m a real walker, all the way from Kentucky. Please…. I won’t bother you ever, ever, ever. I’ll sleep on the couch and I’ll look out the windows. I’m a good boy. I promise.” Thus was my introduction to Kizer the Kindly dog.

Kizer came to me as a rescue after our beagle Scout passed over the rainbow bridge.

I was pretty distraught and I told Melissa that we should get another dog. Melissa was supportive, but she was in the wait and see mode. Being the good husband that I am, I waited. Four days. After that ninety-six-hour eternity I showed up at the animal shelter.We transported Kizer to our house next to the tree farm and walked him through the back garage door. I think Kizer forgot he was from Kentucky and pretended he was an Egyptian, because the first thing he did was act like a Pharoh, toddle into the living room and leave us a 7-inch-high pyramid.

I still haven’t figured out who got saved that day. The shelter helper brought a skinny, waggy, Beagle Terrier into the meet and greet room and when his brown eyes met mine let’s just say “Love is a many splendored thing”. Quiet, bashful, skittish, and shy; Kizer looked at me, I looked at him, and he decided to buy him a man. Five sniffs, a tongue kiss and six tail wags said more than a Hemingway book could ever express. Evidently, I passed the interview to become Kizer's all the time man. It's the best job I've had.

It took Kizer about a week to figure out that we might just turn out to be a good all the time family. I mean peanut butter bones, run of the house and hand feeding probably helped as well. Kizer had it all figured out as his beagle howls quietly suggested. “Hey I got a good thing going here. Warm treats, four bedrooms, yup, this is the bachelor pad I was dreaming about. Not to mention all the rabbits I can chase! What’s not to like?”

Our brown and tan crazy man settled in so nicely that we took him to puppy school. He turned out to be a social butterfly who simply couldn’t stop talking. He made friends with a Lucy A. Lab who chased him despite the puppy trainer’s reminders. There’s nothing like first love. Kizer learned to heel and sit right next to the peanut butter jar that I held in my hand. Eventually my pooper got the idea, “I behave, I lick PB.” By now the trainer had a suggestion for me, “Maybe you should see if Kizer can behave without his nose buried in your peanut butter jar all the time.” The trainer’s wisdom worked completely well. Kizer taught me “ I Kizer, you treat giver. “I work for food.” He wasn’t even wearing a sign!

Who, exactly, is this Kindly Kizer? See if you can figure it out. He loves the car the way Romeo loves Juliet. His rides are adventures, especially when the windows are open, his head is halfway out and his ears are F 18 wings flapping in the breeze. This brown eyed phantom lives in four bedrooms depending on the sunlight, and keeps his tan up by napping in what ever window is most comfortable.

Our kindly Kizer lets us know when the Amazon truck arrives. The neighbors three blocks down know the Amazon truck is arriving too. Too bad these folks don’t appreciate howls in the key of B flat. Singer boy couldn't keep a tune in a bag anyway. “Mr. Friendly”, as my neighbor calls him, runs to the door, barks three times, and greets whoever it is with a jump a lick and a beg for a belly rub. It doesn’t matter if I tell the guest, "just knock him off” The 100% response is “He’s just being friendly.” After his jump, Kizer is an instant BFF.

Krazy Kizer is an expert snow angel maker and snow removal artist. I shovel, he helps. By eating as much snow as he can, as fast as he can. Springtime brings him into garden helper mode. I plant, Kizer inspects. His direction signal of a tail wags with Kizer Disdain because he knows better than I do about where to plant stuff. He digs his hole where he would rather have the new annual. Funny thing is, he digs just right, 6 inches deep!

I don’t think Kizer can read, although somewhere he must have learned the Bible verse from the book of Ruth. “Where you go, I will go. Tail wag and all.”

Don’t get me wrong, Kizer gets grumpy. Wake from his mid-morning nap at your own risk. He warms the bed at night with a puppy head on my pillow. If the truth were known, he enjoys my bed enough that I generally sleep on the floor. On 40 below zero nights Kizer shares my bed with me kinda sorta. He gets the top half; I get the foot.

Kizer has me well trained regarding treats. I give him a treat, he behaves. For anybody else, he behaves, they give him a treat. Go figure. I do, however, have the last laugh because Kizer’s brain ends at the tip of his nose. I throw treats across our oak floor and he skates into the wall of the cabinet or wherever the treat ends up. It’ a good thing he has air brakes on his paws.

Kizer the Kindly Dog; friend, loyal trouble maker, sincerely soft old man. “I’m yours, no questions asked, peanut butter aside.” Unconditional love .”OOOOWWWWW”. Ther’s that Kizer two step again. “I’d better go clean my shoes.