I was once asked to send a biography into a publication that would serve as a companion to Canadian literature. I sent what Robertson Davies would term ‘the police court facts’: place and date of birth; education; employment, etcetera, etcetera. The publishers sent back a pleasant note thanking me for what I’d sent and asking if there was anything ‘interesting’ about my life.
I racked my brain, but finally I did come up with something interesting. In my entire life I have never not owned a dog. My husband’s dog history is a tragic one. He grew up in a small Texas town where dogs ran free but not for long. His family had as many dogs in a year as I’ve had in my entire life. When I was a child, my parents were great fans of terrier crosses – dogs that seemed to live forever. Until I left home to go to university, we had only had three dogs: Trixie (who was old when I was born); Skippy (who moved in the day Trixie moved on) and Tiny (who lived until I was in 3rd year university and had my own dog.
The first dog I owned was named Muffin. She was a sheltie. Like me, she was smart and crazier than a bag of hammers. She lived forever. When Ted and I got married we moved to Saskatchewan and got a black lab who, as a statement of support for Black Power and a great football player, we named Roosevelt Grier. When we moved to the country, we added a dog named Webster, who the neighbouring farmer told us was destined for a bullet unless he found a home for her. He did. Webster also lived forever. Ted and I began to have children. As the children grew, they kept asking when we were going to get a puppy. We always said ‘when Webster dies’. When we spotted the children looking at the aging Webster through narrowed eyes, we decided we’d better not wait. On our son Max’s birthday, we brought home a golden retriever puppy named Stefanie. Webster continued to live. Years after Stefanie arrived, Webster died on our son Max’s birthday. We didn’t to ruin his day, so we took care of the formalities and went on with the party. Every day, we waited for one of our children to ask where Webster was. In her dotage she had kept a pretty low profile and none of the kids ever quite noticed that Webster’s profile had become lower than usual. A month after Webster went gently into that good night, we broke the news to them.
Stefanie was a good dog, but she had a thyroid condition that caused her to be grumpy. When we brought a collie named Susan in to join the family Stefanie was not happy. We called Susan ‘the showgirl’ because she was extraordinarily beautiful and she didn’t have a brain in her head. Stefanie and Susan are the dogs Joanne Kilbourn owns in the early books in the series. After both Stefanie and Susan died in real life, they lived on in the books because I couldn’t bear to lose them twice.
Joanne and her husband, Zack Shreve, now own a Bouvier named Willie and a Mastiff named Pantera. My husband and I own a Bouvier named Esme and Bichon-Shitzu cross named Daisy. Daisy is our grand-daughters’ dog but we have permanent custody because Madeleine and Lena’s mother, our daughter Hildy, is a cat person.
Esme is our second Bouvier. Our first, McRae, lived to be 13 – a good life for a big dog. She was the best dog I’d ever owned until we got Esme. Bouviers are great dogs, but like all of us they have shortcomings. As the breeder from whom we bought McRae told us, ‘she will be a wonderful dog eventually, but she will have a tumultuous adolescence. She will hate herself for the things she does, but she will continue to do them until she realizes she is behaving badly.’
It took McRae three years to learn the meaning of shame. Esme has just turned three, and her performance has been stellar since her 3rd birthday. Her one character flaw is her persistent flatulence.
Flatulence is a problem with Bouviers. We suffered through it with McRae (who could clear a room in seconds) and until last Friday, we were suffering through it with Esme (whose unending farts were even more lethal than those of her predecessor.) The book “Walter, the Farting Dog” has been solace for everyone in our family. It’s good to know that if we’re ever robbed, our dog will dispatch the criminals by turning tail and breaking wind.
We have tried every variety of dog food (including some varieties that cost more than prime rib), but until last Friday nothing worked. At Esme’s checkup, Ted mentioned the problem and our new vet said ‘try yogurt – 2 Tablespoons plain yogurt mixed in with her food will do the job.’
We are not yet
lighting celebratory candles, but so far so good.