My Dog Loving Husband

Warning, this is a long post, grab that cup of coffee and settle in.

We went to see the new grand puppies last night. 

Seven blind little balls of black and white velvet fur, Stabyhouns, one of the top five rarest dog breeds in the world.  Perfectly, the puppies were named in the same line as their mother, Liberty.  There was Dolly Madison, George Washington, Martha Washington, John Adams, Abigail Adams, Louisa Adams, and Elizabeth Monroe.  I loved them all, but it was George I’d bring home in a heartbeat…if only Elliott, my passionate black Labrador would allow, NOT.  Though a short visit so as not to tax the already exhausted son and wife, new momma and the puppies, it was the highlight of our day. 

“Maybe my bike ride was delayed so we could see the puppies,” Larry said this morning over breakfast.  

I laughed.  He’s always looking for the silver lining, no matter the happenstance. 

* * *

When Larry and I dated, my daughter had a honey colored Vizsla named Maple. 

She was our second family dog during a time I didn’t know what good dog parenting really was.  Larry’s enthusiasm helping me become a better dog mom.

When Maple crossed over rainbow bridge, we went to look at chocolate lab puppies my coworker had. 

“You don’t go LOOK at lab puppies,” Larry stated flatly.

He was right.  We came home with one, the dark runt.  Though my daughter Sarah picked her out, and my husband seconded the choice, the dog Belle was mine - mine on paper only. 

Belle

Sarah went away to college, Larry began traveling for work, and Belle sat by the front door and waited.  My youngest son and I took her for long walks, played fetch, and tried to distract her with obedience training.  Nothing alleviated Belle’s yearning for Larry and Sarah.  Damn Dog.

Upon retirement, I decided I wanted a dog of my very own.  On the lab rescue site there was an adorable picture of white lab with a little boy’s arm around her neck. 

After discussing the idea of adopting a handicapped adult dog, we made an appointment and drove to meet the blind, white lab, Sandy.  

Right off Sandy and Belle got along; in fact they started to play for a few minutes.  Given a leash, we were ushered out the door to take her for a walk.  Larry took Belle and I had Sandy.  Sandy was hesitant on the leash, with no tail wag she lagged behind.  I sat on the curb and called her toward me as I gently pulled the leash.  With Sandy’s head between my hands I asked her, “Do you want to come live with us?”  Larry and Belle looked on. 

No response.  Nothing.  I asked again, “Please Sandy, give me a clue.”  Nothing.

Exasperated, I stood, gave Larry her leash and took Belle.  “Here you walk her and tell me what you think.”

Arriving back to the foster parent’s house, I had decided not to adopt Sandy.

As we made small talk and got prepared to leave, the foster mother insisted we take Sandy home.  “Give it a few days.  You need to give her a few days before you decide.  You can always bring her back.  She got along with Belle.”  After five months, they were eager to unload her.

I looked at Larry.  He was not going to make the decision.  It was ‘my dog’ and I had to decide.  I was torn.  We had driven so far and it all seemed to click into place prior to our meeting.  But, Sandy was not the dog I envisioned and I did not know how to politely say “no.”

We had to lift her into the back seat section of our truck.  She sat calmly with Belle. 

Arriving home we had to lift her again out.  Larry vowed to make steps the very next day.  I took her leash and headed her toward the ‘potty pen’ that Belle was trained to use.  Sandy dug her heals in at the smell of the galvanized steel.  No amount of coxing could get her into the pen.  She peed in the yard.

I brought her inside, and hollered out for my son to come upstairs to see our new dog.  Sandy ping ponged along the walls.  Andrew let out a sigh, ran to the couch, flung himself onto it and burst into tear.  “How could you get a blind dog,” he wailed. 

“Give her a chance,” I told him.

Larry put a leash on Sandy and helped her explore the house. 

The next day I had a dog trainer come to the house for assistance.  She reviewed our home, the dog and our regimen.  She said there was nothing new she could advise. 

Larry set to building stairs for the truck.  I took Sandy on a mini walk around our short block to teach her leash manners and get her in better physical condition.

At our vet appointment Sandy peed on the waiting room floor.  She had ear infections and bladder infections.  After a good bath, I spend a lot of time sitting on the floor stroking Sandy, she was very confused and I felt sorry for her. 

Within the first week she realized her bed was on the floor next to my side of the bed.  Belle’s was on the other side of the bed next to Larry. 

One afternoon I was lying down and Sandy had followed me into the bedroom.  The doorbell rang.  Belle barked in the front room.  Sandy jumped up and walked into the wall.  Belle came down the hall into our room, licked Sandy’s ear and escorted her out, down the hall, round the corner to the front door.  If I had not seen it I would not have believed it.

She had to have one eye removed.

Sandy lived with us for three years.   Three amazing years.  There’s a brick in her honor at CSU Veterinary Teaching Hospital, where we’d spend an inordinate amount of time.

Oliver at the CSU Path of Honor.

* * *

After Sandy died, I didn’t think I could love another pet fully. But I still had a soft spot and started looking at the lab rescue website.

“Did you notice there’s another blind dog on their site?”  Larry asked me.

“No, I didn’t.”
“Don’t get another blind dog.” My son quipped, he was serious.

I filled out the application. 

The next day we got a phone call, “You were Sandy’s parents.  I’ll bring over Hoss tonight.” 

A Subaru pulled up, the back hatch opened and a giant black lab jumped out the back.

We renamed that giant black lab Oliver, after the play we attended the night Larry proposed. 

He wagged his tail so hard, it bled on the walls.  He rammed into everything, the bloody walls, the furniture, and doorways, repeatedly.  “He’s like a bull in a china shop.”   

It took Oliver a long time to settle in.  Actually it took both of us a long time. 

We went from white to black, female to male, stocky to lean, and hesitant to headstrong.

Both dogs were Labradors.

Both were blind.

Both were abandoned at shelters.

Oliver broke his bowl

Belle, Larry and Oliver

Oliver loved when I sang his song:

“I had a dog and blind was he

And Ollie was his name-oh

O-L-L-I-E

O-L-L-I-E

O-L-L-I-E

And Ollie was his name-oh”

* * *

Spending four days guarding my Mother’s body after she died suddenly, her little white fluffy Bichon named Jody was unwanted.  Rumor had it he was not potty trained.

“Don’t’ bring home any of your Mom’s dogs.”  Larry told me after the funeral, parting at the airport.  I nodded and then gave him and my daughter tight goodbye hugs. 

At my Aunt’s apartment, she said, “I have to get rid of Jody.  He barks and my neighbors are complaining.”  When asked about housebreaking, my Aunt said Jody had been trained by her, but because my Mom was in such poor health, she didn’t take him outside.  With that, she asked me to take him out for a bathroom break. 

Down the hall, three flights in the elevator and stopping to chat with residents that wanted to pet Jody, he and I walked through the automatic sliding doors.  The Florida summer heat hit me full on, I burst into sweat.

“Hey, is that the free dog on the flyer?”  I turned to face a red headed maintenance man at the old folk’s home.  He smiled nervously revealing gaps in between black stained teeth.  He continued, “I need a present for my daughter’s birthday today.”  In the matter of minutes, his story changed, twice.  Ghoulish and exuding creepy energy, I knew by the things he said and the way he conducted himself, he wanted my Mom’s little dog for dog fighting bait.  Jody hid behind my legs.

“Bring him home.  We do dog rescue, what’s one more.”  Larry said over the phone.

With no intention of keeping Milton, I brought him back to Colorado to find a good home. 

After a drug induced, under the seat, airplane ride, Jody meet his new pack, Larry, Belle and Oliver at the park.  Though still stoned, he managed to sniff butts and greet everyone properly.

“He doesn’t look like a ‘Jody.’”  Larry said.  We tossed around a few ideas and when the little white fluff ball perked up at ‘Milton,’ it was decided.   

We were greeted at the front door by Floyd, our gray cat.  Floyd rubbed his nose across Milton’s whiskers.  “Isn’t that nice,” I said. 

However, Floyd hissed under his breath, “I’m the boss, don’t get in my way.”   

Floyd intentionally terrorized Milton from day one.  Laying on top of Milton, pinning him to the dog bed or night stalking and then charging from the shadows. Milton would freeze. Floyd would alternate between jumping over him or head butting Milton, causing him to fall over sideways. 

Three months after Milton joined us, Jason, the biggest animal lover EVER, came to our house to help Oliver crossed over.  We sat on blankets in the living room next to Oliver.  Belle and Floyd gathered nearby while Milton tried every trick he knew to get Jason’s attention.  Larry and I laughed and cried. 

Oliver, like Sandy, gave us every ounce of love he had.  In return, we did the same.

Ollie might not have had sight, but he sure had insight.  He taught my husband and me to enjoy the simple things, play every day, jump for joy, bark loudly when happy, be loyal, love unconditionally and live in the moment.  And like Sandy, our love affair lasted 3 years. 

* * *

On a solo camping trip to write, I took Belle and Milton.  At the site there were these little pebbles that Milton ate.  He got very sick and began to shake in the ‘prayer pose.’

Scared, I drove to CSU Veterinary Teaching Hospital at midnight. 

And guess who had to stay overnight and have his stomach opened up.  They surmised that long ago, when Milton had to fend for himself for four grueling days, he must have eaten some kitchen sponges.

Over the phone Larry said, “Ounce for ounce, that little dog is more costly than any other dog we’ve had.”  That’s saying a lot, because Sandy was expensive.

That’s when I started calling Milton my ‘Little Fucker.’ 

* * *

Safe Harbor Lab Rescue called to say they were bringing in a ten year old blind lab that had been caged for 4-5 years in an Arkansas vet’s office as a blood donor.  We are familiar with blind dogs, so yes, we would foster her, with the intent to keep.

She was beautiful with a cream coat and sad eyes circled with dark makeup.  She paced in circles in the back of my Subaru on the drive home and then paced the perimeter of the area we had set inside.  Her name was Snowball, but did not answer to it.  So, we changed it to Nanook, a new name with a new start in life.

Nanook was not blind, only visually impaired.  Was the reason she didn’t hear well, her ear infections or the meds stuffed inside her ear canals?  Weighing in at 39 pounds, barely half what she should have, we had to coax her to eat.  She stumbled on her walks.  We wondered, was it her ears, her untrained muscles, or something neurological?   After a couple of mishaps in the house, we had to re-restrict her space. 

Nanook did not like to be touched.  Especially coming out of her kennel, she flinched.  It is obvious she was mistreated on so many levels. 

Though I had said yes, it was my husband Larry all the way.  He walked her, fed her, talked sweet to her, gave her a few pets, and drove to Petco last minute before closing to get her a ‘Thundershirt.’

Within nine days her progress was amazing!  Nanook enjoyed her walks, sniffing everything.  And when Floyd, our cat, joined us Nanook initiated tag.  She learned the mealtime routine by watching our other dogs and began to look forward to feedings.  Very curious, she always looked into a drawer I may have opened or stepped on the dishwasher door to look inside.  And petting, she would lean into us for a short spell during her laps around the perimeter. 

But evening was often tricky, her pacing increased, as did panting and exaggerated head tilt.  Sleeping for any extended period of time wasn’t happening.

Along with the good came the bad news.  Nanook had left sided and central vestibular disease.  That explained the pacing and the circling left.  She had evidence of a past stroke and spinal cord disease.  That explained why she dragged her hind legs and had some fecal incontinence.

She was given a 2-week supply of steroids and no hope for getting better.

Nanook spoke to Larry.  And Larry heard her! 

Call it ‘synchronicity’ or ‘there are no accidents,’ because a friend mentioned the video of Anna Breytenbach Animal Communicator and a Black Leopard, named Spirit.  We watched it.  Then we watched Anna’s hour+ lecture.  Larry was validated.

Nanook told Larry she had never been part of a pack, it frightened and delighted her at the same time.

Larry told Nanook this was our home and please don’t pee or poop inside.  She tried and we took her out on a frequent basis, but there were still mishaps.  And Nanook felt ashamed.

She told Larry she had bad headaches and was trying to run from the pain.  That explained the sudden wake up and frantic pacing at night.  It also confirmed the brain tumor the vet surmised.  

She was fearful when she ‘froze’ (mini strokes where she couldn’t move).  The last morning, she wet herself and we knew.

After cleanup and a trip outside, Nanook wouldn’t come near either of us. 

“Larry, please talk to her,” I asked as he was getting ready for work.

We’d been working with ASL and had used a palm facing, fingers spread sign as her name.  He called her over.

Caressing her, Nanook licked his arm. I grabbed my phone and snapped the picture below.

‘Don’t be sad,’ Nanook told him.

‘That is where I am,’ he said to her, ‘I wanted to heal you.’

‘When you got me, my body was already too far gone, it was my spirit that needed healing.  I was never shown love or caring.’  She replied, ‘You both healed my spirit, I am leaving whole.’

‘I’m sad because I am going to miss you.’

And then she said, ‘Don’t miss me; because a part of my spirit would stay with you and a part of your spirit would always be with me.’

Thru tears as Larry tried to find his voice, he said to me, “Nanook came to teach me and give me greater insight through the imprint of the power of her spirit.  The piece of her she is leaving will enable me to communicate better with other animals.”

Our favorite vet Jason came back to the house.  Milton humped his arm.  Belle lay her head next to Nanook, Belle remained our ambassador for the remaining time we had her.

And Floyd, our outdoor kitty came inside to watch.

Nanook’s passing devastated Larry, though she left him with a gift.  

* * *

Milton was so small, we bathed him between grooming sessions in the kitchen sink.  One bath he fought as I tried to wipe his muzzle.  I took the sprayer and tried to rinse him, inadvertently shooting water up his nose.  He coughed and sputtered. 

Dried, fluffed and running around the house, he dashed alongside Belle to greet Larry when he came home from work.

“What’s this about you trying to drown Milton?”  Larry asked in all seriousness.

“What?”  I asked in disbelief.

“Milton just told me you tried to drown him during his bath.”

All doubt of Nanook’s gift left in a flash.

* * *

After a month touring Costa Rica, we picked up Belle and Milton from the kennel. 

Belle had trouble breathing.  She told Larry she felt like she was drowning.

The next day I took Belle to CSU for extensive testing.  Fluid in her lungs.  Secondary Cancer.  No treatment.

We pulled out the camping pads and spend the night on the living room floor with her.

The next day Jason, Larry, Floyd, Milton and I sat in the backyard under the grape arbor and prepared to send Belle over the bridge with our love.  Unlike the previous pets we had euthanized, she fought it. 

“Belle’s not ready to go,” I said.

Jason and Larry both poo pooed me. 

The following morning Larry said, “Belle came to me in a dream; said she was mad!” 

“Belle said she wasn’t done doing her job; she still needed to protect us.  I told Belle she couldn’t because she was sick.  Belle said she didn’t care; she could still protect us (she was like a stubborn child).  I told her that I could never let her suffer.  Belle said she wanted to come back to finish her job.  I said I would love to have her back.  I asked her how I would find her.   Belle said she would come thru a kennel in Colorado.  Whispering Pines.   She wanted to come home.  She said she would be a lab, a female, and yellow.  I asked, when?  August.  Lastly, that Milton would be able to pick her out.”

We looked on the internet and discovered Whispering Pines Labs in Burlington.  With mutual goosebumps, we wrote a note with a deposit check and mailed it.

Belle came back to Larry in several more dreams.  She said she wanted to come home as soon as possible.  He reminded her that we were going to Whispering Pines in Burlington.

On June 21, between midnight and 7:00 am, Summer Solstice Bella Luna was born with eight yellow siblings. 

Two weeks later we drove the three and a half hours to see the puppies and met the breeders, Roberta and Charles. 

Larry pet all nine babies until he came to the darkest female with the light pink collar.  He looked across the whelping crate with tears in his eyes.  He knew.

On the drive home, I asked how he could be so sure.  If that was truly Belle, how come she was so lethargic, she hardly reacted.

“Oh Wow,” Larry exclaimed, “Belle just came to me.  She said ‘it was good to see us again.  I was real excited, but I am so tired, and didn’t understand why.”

His eyes teared up again.

Ok.  I guess it could be Belle.

That night I corresponded with Roberta.  She wrote the following:

“Some adorable pictures.  She (Belle) has been tired because she just finished her third day of de-worming.  Panacur does make them lethargic.  She was over it this afternoon though.  When I went at four to check on them and let Dakota (their mom) back in, she ran to me barking.  She went through my feet and literally touched the door with her nose.  She wanted me to open it so Larry could come in. She wanted to go with him.  I told her she is much too little but you will come again.  She sat and stared at the door a few seconds then went to join the others for a mommy fix.  I have never seen her act like that.  She is usually quiet and standoffish.  When I picked her up she licked my fingers.  I wish you could have seen it.”

Milton was ecstatic the day we brought Summer home. It lasted two days, two days until her puppy teeth got the best of him.

*  *  *

 I too felt compelled to get a puppy.  I could rescue instead.  I had Milton.  Why another puppy?  Was I jealous?     

All said and done, a puppy from a subsequent littler, whom we drove out almost weekly to visit, picked me, not the other way around. 

On the morning we left to retrieve my puppy Elliott, I got a kick in the head - I dreamt of my beloved Oliver ALL NIGHT LONG. 

Larry said, “I wonder if your new puppy is Oliver?” 

“No,” I said, “Remember I dreamt that the puppy was my cat Sasha Laura when I was a teen.  If it was Oliver, I would have known.” 

“Yeah, but maybe it’s both?”

We arm-tested.  Twice. 

My puppy was both my most favorite cat and my most favorite dog. 

Chills ran up and down my body, legs and arms.  I was in shock.  I could not eat breakfast.  I cried.  It was so overwhelming. 

A few months after we brought the puppies home, we had to call Jason.

The moment he stepped through the front door, he said, “Please don’t tell me this is Milton.”

“Yes, I’m sorry.”

Our Goodbye

Run Free Milton

 * * *

A year after we brought home both Summer and Elliott, I hired an animal communicator (Larry was falling down on the job).  Elliott wasn’t particularly dog friendly and the training plan I had wasn’t working.

            “Today on the walk, you gave him mixed messages when he was passive with the white loose dog.  He had to be.  That dog was looking for a fight and it would have been ugly.  He had to really tone it down to be safe for himself and you.  He also showed you he didn’t have to bark at the fence today when Mika walked home.  He said the Tellington touch gave him that body awareness from last night.  And he wanted to show you he can do this.” 

I knew she was legit when she mentioned the morning walk and the encounter with the white German Shephard.  Elliott had pancaked submissively, completely unlike him.

She confirmed Elliott was indeed Oliver previously.  And when I asked where he had been for the three years in between, she said, “His feline behaviors and impulsiveness is partially due to his past incarnation…. he was a lynx.  Then he had to be super vigilant, avoid humans, etc.”

  * * *

Coming up on three years, Summer and Elliott are our delightful, all-encompassing, spoiled rotten fur babies.  It’s no wonder Larry insisted we bring them along for the bike ride.

I’ve been with Larry over 20 years.  If there is one thing I’m certain, it’s his incredibly good and loving heart.  True to this essay, it shows when strange dogs lean into him for pets. 

* * *

In a Tampa dog park last month, half of the dogs jumped onto the picnic table where we were sitting and nuzzled Larry’s eldest son’s face.  He laughed and nuzzled them back.  It’s fantastic that Larry’s sons inherited his puppy passion and Larry mentored my offspring to be compassionate dog lovers too. 

It’s a win-win in our Brady Bunch family. 

Larry’s a win-win.