I grew
up in a home without pets. Oh, we had a puppy for about a day and a few kittens
until they ran away, but the norm for us was a goldfish and seven birds (one at
a time) named Chirpy (#’s 1-7).
When
my husband, Ron, and I finally lived in our own home and could have a pet, we
got a dog. I would have preferred to start out small but the first dog Ron
brought home was a golden retriever. Eventually we graduated to a Rottweiler. I
never could warm up to our big dogs for I couldn’t tolerate them chewing on our
garden hoses (five of them), or chewing on the BBQ grill, or chewing on the
back porch columns. There was also the shedding, the fleas, and the dog smell. Our
last furry friend was a small, cream-colored dog we named Daisy, but we had to
give her away in 1992 when we moved to Japan. She was our last dog until Petey
came to steal my heart in April of 2008.
Petey
is a pedigreed Teacup Poodle weighing four pounds. He doesn’t shed, he doesn’t
have fleas, and he only has a doggie smell when he needs a bath, which is about
every four weeks. He was already named
when he came to live with me. I thought he should have a name that suited his pedigree
so I unofficially named him Sir Peter Piper Pepper or Sir Petey. He also has
his own wardrobe; winter and summer, Halloween and Christmas.
It
was warm when Petey came so he started out in the garage, then moved to the
floor in my bedroom, and in two short weeks he was sleeping on a blanket on top
of my bedspread. This, I told myself, was so that I would know when he needed
to go out in the morning. Now we are close companions. He cuddles up next to me
on the couch, but if I’m in the recliner, he wants on my lap. If I quit
stroking him, he’ll put his nose under my hand telling me he wants more.
Petey
has the cutest little hobble; usually on three feet, sometimes on his two front
if the grass is too tall and it scratches his belly. My niece, Rhonda,
christened him “Hopalong” the first time she saw him. I’ve been told I should
send a tape to “Funniest Home Videos” of him scampering across the yard on his
two front paws. Maybe I’ll win $10,000.
Petey
is mine until my son, Russ, enters the room. Then he follows him step for step
and I am demoted to the back of his mind. No matter. When I take him out for
his last business of the day, and say, “Come on, Petey, let’s go to bed,” he
rushes past me and into my room, climbs up the ramp and onto the bed, plops
himself down on his blankey, and waits for me. I snuggle him under his covers
and rub his back until we both fall asleep. We are truly “buddies” of the best
kind.
January, 2010
Petey developed an enlarged prostate in January, 2012 at
almost six years old and had to be on medicine morning and night for three
weeks. The vet said it was time to neuter him to avoid any further
complications in this area. The first night after surgery, I tried to give him
a pain pill and he nipped at me. “Sorry, Petey, you’re just going to have to
tough this one out because I’m not going to try that again.”
He is a persnickety little guy when it comes to his food.
He wants it fresh in the bowl whenever he sits there waiting for it. If we
don’t come soon enough, he lets us know.
He’s my Sweetie Petey and everyone at the Shelby Center
Hospital for Animals calls him by that name. J
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