Spike is a fifteen-year-old Bichon Frise, and is originally from either Wilmette or Winnetka, IL. I'm not exactly sure which town his first house was located in. Regardless, he was purchased as a puppy at a pet store, and when he was five years old, his first owners gave him up for adoption, apparently because the little girl of the family (who was, oh, eight at the time) wasn't taking care of him on her own. We connected with Spike via the wonderful people at Bichon Frise Rescue of the greater Chicagoland area. By the time we met Spike, he was being cared for at a wonderful foster home in Wisconsin. It was love at first site; he had me at his first "Bichon Buzz."
Lager is a stately, nine-year-old Labrador Retriever and hails from the beautiful Shamrock Acres in Wisconsin. We brought him home when he was a mere eight weeks old, and no bigger than the size of my two fists put together. He was one of four males in a six-pup litter, and we spotted the right dog pretty quickly: Lager was the puppy who eagerly tugged at the strap to our camera case, dragging it across the lawn as if to say, "let's get in the car!" I remember with great fondness how Lager curled up on my shoulder as we sat together in the back seat of our former Jeep, and dozed his way home to Chicago. Spike, having been with us for about six months, was very confused by this new playmate foisted upon him. He was even more bewildered when the fury creature quickly grew to be bigger than he. But that's another story.
So, Spike and Lager are our original babies. They are our companions, guards, alarm clocks, and welcoming committee. Our house is perpetually covered in yellow fur. I am usually greeted each evening with a small puddle of pee on the floor, and for nine years now, neither dog has ever ratted out the other.
We would not have it any other way.
But, as noted earlier, both boys are getting on in years. The average life-span of a Bichon is around 18 years or so; for a Labrador, it's 10 years, if you're lucky. We like to think that raising our dogs to be happy, lazy couch potatoes has added, not subtracted, years to their life. They are pampered pooches; they have full ownership of the leather couch in the den, doggie beds from L.L. Bean (courtesy of Memé and Pepé), and and an endless supply of Science Diet chow and Milk Bones (usually delivered by Grandma Josie). Whenever possible, we take them to the annual Blessing of the Animals at the Episcopal Church of the Ascension, our small congregation in Sierra Madre. Life, as they know it, is pretty darned good.
So, this evening, when the kids and I arrived home from school/work, we trampled into the den via the garage entrance, and greeted our canine companions as we always do. Lager reluctantly poured himself off of the couch and strolled his way over to the kids, in search of hugs, kisses, and a morsel or two of food. Spike remained perched on one of the dog beds and didn't budge. This is not unusual behavior for him, so I just let him be. The kids deposited (i.e., dumped) their school bags, shoes, and jackets on the other side of the doggie gate, washed their hands (after being reminded a few times), and perched onto the bar stools around the kitchen's center island, waiting for dinner. David began reading from his latest library book, and I warmed up some supper for the three of us.
I wolfed down my dinner, and then went to fetch the dogs their dinner. Now, it's important to note here that Spike is almost as picky an eater as David and Elizabeth. A sure-fire way to entice his taste buds, though, is to sprinkle something extra special and yummy atop his kibble. Grated cheese or Goldfish crackers usually work well. Chateau Brion beef is also a winner, too. Tonight, I stuck with the cheese.
Upon seeing sharp cheddar being tossed on top of his Science Diet kibble, Spike didn't rise from his pillows to investigate, so I brought his dish over to him. We try to put his bowl in a location that will ensure Spike will have full access to it before Lager tries to nose his way in and finish the food for him. Tonight, Spike received dinner in bed. But, when I took his bowl to him, I could see that he was visibly shaking. I wasn't sure why.
I puttered around the kitchen for a few more minutes while the kids ate and babbled happily to/with/at each other, and kept glancing over to Spike. He was picking daintily at his cheese, but seemed to be otherwise unimpressed with his meal. Slightly concerned, I went back over to his doggie bed, sat down next to him, and began petting him.
"What's going on, little man?" I whispered into his soft ear. "You okay? Whassup?"
No answer, of course. He's a pooch, for Pete's sake, and is disinclined to communicate with mere mortals such as I. I kept petting him and stroking his white coat.
"Mommy," Elizabeth called from her bar stool, chicken nugget in hand. "Is Spikey okay?"
"Oh, I think so, sweetie," I replied. "I'm just hanging out with him."
No sooner had I responded to my little girl's question than did I notice her standing right next to Spike and me.
"Oh, Spikey! We take care of you!" Elizabeth declared. She knelt down beside him and joined me at his pillow.
"We protect him!" Elizabeth commanded. "I pet him. Good Spikey!"
She reached her little hand toward him and began giving him gentle, loving pets. Perhaps I was imagining things, but Spike's shivering soon stopped. Completely. He and his girl enjoyed their moment together.
Not long after that, David came over to get in on the action.
"Mommy," he asked, "when can we get a new dog?"
A new dog? A NEW DOG? We have two perfectly good dogs right here, right now! I withheld my slight horror, and simply said, "we need a new dog?"
"Well ..." he began, and then hesitated. "You know," he continued, then paused again. He rolled his eyes and shrugged slightly, and said, "after they go to their great reward?"
"Oh, I don't think I that will be for a while, buddy," I said.
"Mommy," asked Elizabeth, "when will we go to heaven?"
Oh, dear. I wasn't prepared for a deep philosophical discussion tonight, but I did my best. "Us? Oh, gosh, not for quite a long time from now!" I assured her.
"And when will Spike and Lager go to Doggie Heaven?" she further inquired.
"Well, I think that won't be for a while," I said (hoping that I was correct). "When it's their time."
Fast forward to an hour later, and Glen and I were chatting via Yahoo! instant messaging. During our text conversation, I was relaying messages from David and Elizabeth to Daddy, (currently stationed at Hastings Compound: North). Elizabeth instructed me to inform her father that she wished him to "get her a new dog."
"New Dog? Really?" Glen replied. I relayed the shaking Bichon story to Glen. Soon after, we were texting plans to take Spike and Lager to an off-leash doggie park in West Hollywood to celebrate our respective school and work holidays for the MLK national holiday in a couple of weeks.
Spike and Lager are such amazing souls. They put up with long stretches of being home alone each day, but still greet us at the door with wagging tails. Okay, sometimes they are still sitting or lying down when we come home, but their tails are active. We may not be the most diligent pet owners in terms of taking them for walks, but they will forever have our hearts, our love, and our leather sofa.
I bet you write as fast as you talk! You had me literally LOL here! You need to be a writer!
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