Best of Friends—Paw Wise


Years ago, shortly after the Christmas season, a surprise guest was introduced to our family.
On the first Saturday of January, our fifteen-year-old son, Scott, brought home a fat, squirmy ball of fur-like hair. Scott’s face beamed as he offered his treasure to us. The treasure was an adorable three-week-old, bulldog puppy. We are sentimental dog lovers and pets have been an integral part of our family household for many years; and as John, my husband, and I took turns cuddling and petting her we agreed she was the cutest pup we had ever seen.
We laughed at the antics of this delightful creature. Her charm was irresistible. For instance, it was hilarious to watch her try to capture her tail that was long at this time of her life. She played around the kitchen, falling on the slippery floor and being quite the little show-off. Her ears, too, were long and flopped around her fat wrinkled face. She knew she was the center of attention—her mouth stayed open in a wide grin that added even more wrinkles as she gave her time happily to each of us.
As the afternoon sped by, Scott made no move to take the puppy home. At last he had no choice but to tell us the story. The mother had delivered two babies during the very cold month of December and in trying to keep her infants warm, she suffocated one of them. The neighbors who owned the older dog then separated them in order to keep the newborn safe. Since it was puppy love at first sight, they agreed to sell the remaining puppy to our son, so he brought her home.
This was a new turn of events. John and I told Scott that even though the puppy was adorable, we already had one dog we loved and didn’t need another pet. A question of compatibility also came into play: would Dobie, our Doberman, accept this little newcomer? If not, we would then have a really perplexing problem. John and I mulled this over for a short time. Between the hopeful look on our son’s face and the appealing puppy before us, we had only one choice to make.
We enclosed a small area in the kitchen, spread papers across the linoleum, and placed a water bowl and food dish in one corner. After much debating, we decided to name her Babe; and she did indeed become the family’s new baby. From Wal-Mart, we purchased a toy shaped like a hamburger and when Babe pounced upon it, a loud squealing sound delighted her. Soon other toys were bought to keep Babe entertained. Her level of activity and unlimited amount of energy challenged us to keep an alert eye on her whereabouts.
In a short period of time, Babe seemed to belong to John and me instead of to our son.
After Babe had shared the kitchen with us for a month, we decided to reclaim our eating area. We felt our newcomer had settled in adequately and she needed to adjust to new day and night-time locations.
Evenings, Dobie slept in the laundry room and during the day she was outdoors in the enclosed patio area. At one end of the enclosure, fourteen steps led up to an opened sun-deck that provided a view of the street, trees, people jogging or walking and of course, the biggest draw – a nice breeze or warm sunshine. It was a wonderful place to take long afternoon naps.
John and I decided the little one could claim the empty room during the day, but I would be Babe’s night-time temporary companion in an extra bedroom near Dobie’s sleeping quarters. For two weeks I slept in the downstairs bed-room while Babe, cozy in a warm woolen blanket, slept in a small box by the bedside. If she awoke at night, and she did at first, I quickly placed my hand on her warm furry body. This comforted her. Peace and quiet reigned once again.

When Babe was nine weeks old, John and I agreed it was time our pets were introduced. We were apprehensive, and anxious. John stood by, ready to grab the puppy at the first sign of any animosity from Dobie. Eye to eye, they waltzed around in a circle, this big dog and this very small puppy.
Gently, Dobie sniffed Babe, then, Babe licked Dobie’s face. We watched their initial tender gestures; each successful entreaty lessened our anxiety. After a few minutes their compatible interest in each other became obvious. Relieved, John and I shared a look; our pets had seemingly accepted each other with relative ease. Everything would be okay.
On the dogs’ first night together, John and I took turns checking on them. We wanted assurance that congenial terms still prevailed. Late into the night, we opened the door to a delightful surprise: Dobie had curled up in the small bed with Babe embraced gently between her long legs. Our pets had touched each other’s heart. We closed the door softly and raced up the stairs to our bedroom, giggling at each other like a couple of kids.

The next day John made a trip to the store to search for a bigger box for Dobie. Each pet would then have a nice place to sleep. John found the perfect large square box and placed it by Babe’s smaller one. The next morning, we discovered that Dobie had abandoned her bed in preference to sharing the small one with Babe. It seemed buddies had to be together—even while sleeping.
The two friends indulged in playful antics all day. Dobie never became annoyed with Babe’s unrelenting teasing. Evidently, Dobie realized Babe was a still a puppy and craved a lot of action. Babe followed Dobie’s every step, a constant shadow at all times. Our Doberman was a very smart and unique dog. Dobie taught Babe where and when to do her private thing. When Babe didn’t follow her lead, Dobie nudged the little one away as she began emptying her bladder in the wrong area. Soon Babe got the hang of it, although, occasionally she playfully teased Dobie with false attempts in forbidden spots. When Dobie rose to the bait, Babe jumped playfully aside just missing Dobie’s reprimand of a quick clamp of her teeth. John and I spent long stretches of time chuckling and gasping in awe as we watched the goings on between these two beloved family pets.

When Babe was six months old, our vet, Dr. Hawkins, bobbed her tail and reshaped her ears. John arrived home with the bandaged puppy. Dobie played nursemaid, watchful of Babe at all times. As we opened the laundry room door each morning, Dobie had Babe embraced between her legs, the healing areas carefully protected. When Babe’s binding tapes were removed, the dogs resumed their boundless frolicking.

The upper sun-deck provided an open-air environment where the dogs played, napped and sunned during the day. The steps, leading up to it, were a favorite playground.
The animals ran at break neck speed until reaching the upper level, only to flop down quickly, pant loudly, and lie with tongues hanging from their slobbering mouths. The patio was enclosed with a six-foot wooden fence, so the upper deck was their only source of a panoramic view. The boards were placed horizontally around posts, leaving open areas between their placements. This vacant space allowed a spacious view into the surrounding yard and street. Dobie and Babe became a familiar twosome peering out at anyone who happened to pass by.

One afternoon, Babe, being much smaller than Dobie, fell through one of the open areas. John and I rushed her to the vet. Babe had broken her right front leg. We berated each other for our lack of judgment in gauging the width of the spaces between the boards. When we brought Babe home, Dobie resumed the familiar nursemaid role of being protector of her friend once again. The motherly care Dobie displayed toward Babe was the topic of many of our conversations in the days to follow.

After several weeks, the cast was removed. Babe limped for a while, but was eventually her exuberant self. Dobie and Babe were inseparable and never away from each other. They seemed to value each other’s company with renewed vigor.

At night when John opened the back door and beckoned them in, they would wait for each other and enter together. If one decided the time was not suitable, the other would turn away also. It was a comical scene these two played time and time again.

Our pets provided us with many moments of hilarity. Early one morning after a long night of rain and snow mixed with sleet, John and I went to the laundry room to let the dogs out for their morning constitutional. Babe backed away from the opened door after feeling the brisk air and eyeing the sheet of ice covering the concrete slab. Dobie, unmindful of trouble, her thoughts only on the invitation to get out, stepped hastily out the door and immediately became a skater, minus the skates, as her feet slid across the wide area of solid ice. In flight, her body twisted around and came to a halt at the edge of the snow-covered grass with her face turned toward us. The look of amazement in her eyes was of such profound surprise that John and I burst out laughing. Dobie stood momentarily still before deciding to tend to personal business on the snow-covered grass. Her return steps were handled with greater care as she gingerly tested each paw placement. Meanwhile, Babe watched all the action with a quizzical twist of her head. She stood as though a stature, her eyes fixed on Dobie, and waiting for her buddy to return to safety. We finally had to take Babe to the side entrance where only snowy grass greeted her before she would venture out the door.

One Wednesday morning, John discovered a swollen area on the right side of Dobie’s hip. He immediately took her to Dr. Hawkins, who was now a familiar face to our pets. The prognosis was Cancer! The vet operated on Dobie within the hour. After waiting a couple of hours for the effects of the anesthesia to subside, Dr. Hawkins finally told John he could take Dobie home. It was now Babe’s turn to be the caregiver, and she rose to the occasion. She spent many hours lying quietly by Dobie, although frequently nudging Dobie with her moist mouth, apparently seeking a physical connection to her friend. Babe was the picture of patience, having put aside, for now, her boisterous behavior.

After several days, their play continued in the familiar routine and we hoped the crisis was over. However, that was not to be. In a few short weeks Dobie’s growths returned. They grew rapidly. At this time Dr. Hawkins informed us that tumors were prevalent in large dogs. We were devastated. As the days rushed by, Babe seemed to know her time with Dobie was limited. She never left Dobie’s side. When Dobie became extremely weak, John had to force Babe outside so he could concentrate on making our Doberman’s last hours less painful. He held Dobie close, coaxing her to swallow pain medication. Babe was standing at the back door and gazing into the laundry room. The sadness in Babe’s eyes increased our grief. She appeared to sense Dobie was struggling toward the end. We were losing a cherished member of our family. John was with Dobie when she took her last belabored breath.

Scott, our son, was making plans to share an apartment with a friend. John and I didn’t have to ask that Babe remain with us, Scott knew the pet’s heart and ours had already formed a bond that begged to stay intact. Now truly, our son’s dog became ours!

Babe was a lonely little dog without Dobie. For a short time, she ate very little. When hunger finally won out, she ate with indifference. Seeing her unhappy, downcast eyes, we felt her sorrow, and ours, afresh. We were concerned for her, and saddened for our own loss.

As the weeks went by, Babe slowly began acting playful again. John doubled his efforts in spending more time with her, thereby lessening the hours she spent entertaining herself. We watched Babe from our kitchen window that overlooked the patio and sun-deck as she searched out many forms of entertainment.
She loved chewing and took up the habit of rummaging in the small pile of wooden logs kept for use in the fireplace. The firewood pile was stored in a corner of the enclosed yard until Babe decided to separate it in every direction so she’d have a better view before making her favored selection for the moment. Eventually, she tired of chewing while relaxing on the lower level, so one day after gripping a small log in her mouth, she proceeded up the stairs. Of course after the first step or two, the wood would be dislodged and fall away. The attempts to the upper deck were repeated many times. Sometimes she would make it to the fourth or fifth step only to have the stick knocked loose once again and fall noisily as it hit each step before landing on the concrete. At these times, Babe stood stock-still glaring defiantly as she watched the log on its downward journey. John and I were fascinated by Babe’s relentless pursuit of trying to haul a chewing tidbit to her preferred open play area. One day after Babe had been unsuccessful after a lengthy time of losing the wood, she gripped the stick tightly in her mouth…turned around, and proceeded to back up the steps. John and I stood mesmerized at the window. The small piece of lumber bumped precariously on each lower stair as Babe slowly took one step at a time, yet, the wood remained secure, although getting very wet with her saliva as she held it clinched firmly between her teeth. It was a slow process. Finally almost at the top, Babe began testing her back footing in slow motion. John and I held our breath as she stood teetering at the final step. Pausing shortly, she then backed quickly onto her destination. She dropped her sweating body down at the edge of the sun-deck, gripped her well-deserved treat to one side and began chewing with relish. John and I shared a high-five hand clap.

Our dogs were well known as greeters in the neighborhood to all who passed their way. Together, they had stood as happy sentinels from our second story deck. Now, Babe stood alone, intent on following the tradition of the familiar welcome. One of the local TV stations introduced a human interest segment in its nightly news, and as the new program gained in popularity, John entered the contest, submitting information about Babe.
To our delight, and surprise—Babe was chosen!
The filming was scheduled for a Friday. As the crew set up, Babe investigated each piece of equipment. She licked camera lenses, sniffed tin canisters, and followed electric cable wires with her moist nose as they meandered about in twisted paths. Of course she charmed all with her toothsome doggie smile. John was given a cassette of the taping. It is an amusing anecdote for our family records: Our Babe, The TV Star.

Babe was with us for five more years. Then, late in August on a hot humid afternoon, John found a growth on Babe’s side, similar to the one he had found on Dobie. With heavy hearts, we put Babe in the car and rushed to the vet. Operating on yet another of our pets, Dr. Hawkins said nothing to give us hope, or to lighten our despair. We brought Babe home. Our hearts filled with optimism for her complete recovery. She was fitted with a pleated collar to keep her from irritating the incision and presented a funny sight as we watched her trying to figure out how to get out of the restrictive contraption. After struggling for quite a while, she reluctantly gave up and left it alone. Babe was thrilled when Dr. Hawkins finally removed the collar. She had freedom of movement once again. Making up for lost fun time, she cavorted about the yard for the rest of the day. As John played with her, he dared not hope she would be lucky and beat the odds.
And of course within a short period of time, the inevitable happened. The growths returned. Sadly, we knew what to expect. Once again we were experiencing the terminal illness of a cherished pet. We thought back to the day Babe entered our lives and wondered how we had ever harbored the slightest hesitancy in adopting her.

As Babe was leaving us, we knew her soul was rushing toward Dobie, to being reunited and romping together in doggie heaven—and still, the best of friends.

Copyright/ 2010
Elizabeth Towles

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Tag der Veröffentlichung: 31.05.2010

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