Adventures of a M-F Single Mommy: April 2012

Back in 2002, after Glen and I had purchased our first home in Chicago, and before we had children, we were absolutely hell-bent on getting a dog. Not just one dog, mind you. But two. And we knew the specific breeds we would seeking to add to our family: a yellow Labrador, and a Bichon Frise.

So, with a home purchased, a mortgage under our belt, and no apartment leases that prohibited the inclusion of four-legged, furry creatures in our dwelling, we set forth on our canine adventure.

Now, pretty much everyone has heard of the faithful Labrador Retriever. But a Bichon? Not so much. I had first heard about this lively, beautiful little breed of a dog from a sad news story out of San Jose, where Bichon had died as a result of some nut-job's road rage (luckily, this nut-job got 3 years behind bars). My heart was immediately smitten, not only to this fluffy little sweetheart's terrible end, but also with the breed itself. If my mind hadn't immediately chosen my ideal dog, my heart had.

So, in early 2001, I came across the website for the Bichon Frise rescue of greater Wisconsin. I filled out an on-line form to express my interest in adopting one, and then waited. About two weeks later, we got the phone call that changed the course the next 11 years of our married life.

Spike had just been surrendered to the Bichon Rescue by a family from Winnetka, IL. He had been a pet store puppy, and apparently had been given to a little girl, whose parents ultimately decided that the dog was too much trouble. Laura Fox Meacham, a woman who had established for herself a reputation of being the Godmother of Bichon Frise rescue, contact me to tell me that this five-year old male was ready for adoption. Could we come out to Wisconsin to meet him?

Long story short, by the end of the following weekend, Glen and I brought our first baby home. It was pretty much love at first tail wag. The moment Spike laid eyes on us, he, flopped onto his back, tummy in the air, and began to wave his front paws in fits of excitement, simply daring us to not be tempted to scratch and pet him all over. Good Lord, he had me at hello.

Spike, in his crate and in the car, heading home to Chicago

Glen and I ... well, okay, I became the quintessential crazy dog owner. I lost my mind. I sought cute clothes for him to wear (including sweaters, trench coats and rain slickers). I tied bandannas and bows around his neck. His new paternal grandparents pampered him with doggie bedding from L.L. Bean. It was great. I am certain that Spike quickly understood that his new family had become completely unhinged.

Spike, in low light, and reigning over his domicile

Spike has me right where he wants me

A few months later, the terrorist attacks of 9/11 took place. Glen and I were grateful that our sweet little couch potato was content to sit with us and be habitually petted and cuddled, providing us comfort and solace on a terrible day.

Soon after 9/11 ... notice the US Flag necklace I am wearing

One thing we quickly noticed about Spike was his hesitancy around men whom he did not know. Worse, he became aggressive with men of color. We had several embarrassing occasions where he'd nip at the ankles of friends and co-workers who were Hispanic or African America, prompting us to wonder what happened in his first home to make him so scared.

But, his sense of humor always remained in tact. He could charm even the staunchest curmudgeon with his wagging tail, his "Bichon Buzz" (wherein he, without warning, would begin running around a room at break-neck speed, as though deliriously and happily possessed). He could grab a slice of pizza from your hand while taking a mid-air leap before your eyes. Just ask his paternal grandfather.

About a month after 9/11, Spike reluctantly helped us welcome a new baby to the family: our much-anticipated Yellow Lab, whom we named Lager. Note that Lager was still much smaller than Spike when he first came home with us. This size differential did not last long.


Baby Lager, conked out in the background, and Spike, in the foreground, as if to say, "REALLY?"

The two became fast friends and brothers. While Lager quickly sprouted to be three times the size of his older brother, Spike remained firmly and squarely the Alpha Male, as evidenced by his repeated attempts to hump Lager for years.

As the years past, both dogs tolerated two more additions to our home: David, in 2003, Elizabeth, in 2007, and most recently Honey, our rescued cat. Glen and I had read all sorts of articles, warning us about the dangers and risks inherent in mixing dogs and infants. Armed with knowledge and baby gates, we took every step to familiarize the pooches to David's scent just as soon as he was born. We did the old "bring home a blanket from the hospital for the dogs to sniff" routine. It must have worked; when David came home on October 15, the first think Spike did was kiss/lick David all over his baby head.

And, so, the six of us became a happy family unit. We were lucky enough to surround ourselves with wonderful friends and neighbors who were all too willing to tend to the dogs when we were out of town. On two occasions (before Lager came along), Spike flew with me cross country. On one trip, he almost escaped his travel carrier and attempted to make a break for it on a United Airlines flight bound for Los Angeles. I was fortunate to be surrounded by fellow passengers who loved dogs, and flight attendants who were very patient. And Spike and I were car mates when we moved back to California; Glen and Lager drove in the truck, and Spike was my faithful companion in my Jeep, as we saw America together.

With such a faithful, jolly and spunky presence in our lives for so many years, we knew that the time would come when Spike would begin to slow down and actually show his age. He turned 16 in November 2011. And, since the beginning of 2012, his failing health really began to take a toll on him. The kindly veterinarian who looked over him most recently determined that Spike had an inoperable brain tumor which was causing diabetes, glaucoma, and a neurological degeneration in his back and hind legs. Unfortunately, we knew that the time had come for us to say goodbye to our beloved first baby.

But, not without one last photo shoot! Elizabeth and David and I took every advantage in this last week of Spike's life to pose with him and capture, on digital film, his merry personality and his unshakable joie de vivre.