Category: dogs

Posted in dogs

My favorite animal? It’s not even close.

Posted on by William Douthwaite
Bloganuary writing prompt
What is your favorite animal?
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Anyone who’s read any of my blog posts would know that dogs are at the top of my list. My life has been filled with dogs and dog stories. I love going to the zoo to see the elephants, lions, and giraffes, but I love coming home to our dogs even more.

Other pets along the way have included aquarium fish, hermit crabs, a few cats, and a parakeet. They all had bit parts in our life. All the awards for best supporting actors go to the dogs.

Mild-mannered Gabriel the Labrador retriever pinned a suspicious repairman against the wall in our Baltimore home. Chica was the world’s fastest three-legged chihuahua. Michael the Labrador had enough energy to accompany me on six-mile runs through the snow in Des Moines, Iowa. Samson the lab/shepherd mix ran off energy by chasing a laser pointer at breakneck speed up and down the street. Sable the Bassett hound howled along with every siren in the distance. Gabriel and Rachel, yellow and black labs respectively, retieved balls until they dropped from exhaustion.

Each one was fluent in the dialect of our home. Their vocabulary included “ball,” “bone,” “park,” and “bike ride” as well as the requisite “sit,” “come,” and “heel.”

More than just animals or pets, they’ve always been our guardian angels. Presently assigned to us: Winston the West Highlands White Terrier and Willow the Great Dane.

Posted in dogs

A pile of puppies

Posted on by William Douthwaite
Bloganuary writing prompt
Think back on your most memorable road trip.
View all responses
Photo by Garrett Karoski on Unsplash

We were dog-less for the first time ever. That spring, we put both of our Labrador retrievers to sleep. Gabriel was fifteen and simply aged out. Rachel, age ten, started limping with a tumor in her rear leg the vet said was most likely a cancer you could treat but not cure.

A few months later, my wife blindfolded me and took me and our two children for a drive through Iowa farmland. About an hour west of Des Moines, we stopped, I took off the blindfold, and found myself on a typical Iowa farm. What was not typical was the sound of many barking dogs. My wife had brought me here to pick out a Labrador retriever puppy for my birthday.

So I sat down in a big box of eight-week old chocolate puppies to decide which one to take home. There are few things more fun than sitting under a pile of furry, wiggling, wagging, yipping, whining, licking, and sniffing Lab puppies. I picked a male that wasn’t the shyest nor the most aggressive, and we drove home with Michael. While he wasn’t shy or aggressive, Michael turned out to be a wild ball of energy.

That was a memorable road trip!

Posted in dogs, Life

The nose knows: what’s up on the counter

Posted on by William Douthwaite

It didn’t take long before we forgot. Over the course of one summer we forgot a cardinal kitchen rule: don’t leave food near the edge of the counter.

It a dog thing. Years of Labrador retrievers hammered that statute home. The most retold story was from the Gabriel archives when we lived in Baltimore, almost forty years ago. My wife decided to make homemade noodles from an old family recipe. She mixed them up, rolled them out, sliced them up, and laid them out on towels to dry. We had to go out that night and upon our return, the noodles were missing. They were gone. Every single one of them. Yes, Gabe helped himself and like a lot of delicious foods, once you start, you just can’t stop.

Lesson learned. From that point on we pushed any kind of food to the back of the kitchen counter or placed it on a higher shelf, out of reach. Our most recent large dog, Samson, wasn’t really a counter surfer, but we still didn’t leave anything in reach.

With a smaller dog at home now – my readers will know him as Winston the West Highlands White Terrier – it’s not an issue. At less that one foot high, he’s no threat to food on the counter. However, one of his best friends, my daughter’s one-year-old Golden Retriever Rex is.

I had several pans of meatballs ready to go into the oven. I walked over to the refrigerator to grab something, and by the time I turned back, Rex had eaten one row of uncooked meatballs. If I had not caught him, it would have been a pizza delivery night.

Then, just the other night, my wife baked a loaf of cranberry bread. After it had cooled on the counter she sliced it in two to freeze half and eat the other. Winston and Rex were outside chasing each other around the yard and the family sat around the fire pit getting ready to roast marshmallows for s’mores. My two grandsons ran in and out of the house as they usually do, one time letting the dogs inside. When my wife went inside to get a drink, she discovered half of a half a loaf was missing. Teeth marks betrayed the culprit, Rex. With that goofy dog smile on his face, I’m sure he thought, “If you didn’t want me to try it, you shouldn’t have left it on the counter.”

Yes, we should have known better. In fact, there’s no guarantee a short dog won’t find his way up on the table. Winston has gotten up on the dining room table when a bench wasn’t pushed in all the way. Sharp eyes caught him before he got any food.

And then there is the legend of Sable our basset hound from a decade or so ago. With a vertical leap of about 2 inches, we never thought she would be a threat to a kitchen counter. However, we did pull into the driveway one day, and saw her up on the kitchen table looking out the window. Somehow she got up on a chair and from there up onto the table. No food was consumed and from that perch, she was able to effectively watch the house while we were gone.

We’ve learned to be safe rather than sorry. Keep all food out of reach.

Posted in dogs, Life

Walking around: miles of kids, dogs, and friends

Posted on by William Douthwaite

My early morning and late afternoon walks with Winston (our West Highland White Terrier) take us around all the eleven streets of our neighborhood.

We know all the kids at the bus stops. The younger ones always want to pet the dog. Winston’s tail begins wagging four times a second when we’re still fifty yards away, so happy to see his friends. Keep in mind, he thinks everyone is his best friend. He enthusiastically wriggles, hops, spins, rolls over, and thoroughly enjoys their attention.

We know most of the dogs in the neighborhood, too. There’s Bailey the Shih Zhu, Blue the Golden Retriever, Ramona the Rat Terrier, Sadie the some-kind-of-terrier, Sophie the black miniature Poodle, Winston the Maltese (a miniature version of Winston), Gunnar the Brittney Spaniel, Franco the Rottwiler, Natchez, a mixed breed, Teddy a nervous little terrier, and an assortment of Labs, Shepherds, Terriers, and Chihuahuas. As I write this, I realize there are a lot of dogs around here. Sometimes they are out with their owners, sometimes they bark at us from a window. I always ask Winston, “What are they saying?” He refuse to tell me. Must be some kind of honor code among canines.

We watch all the new houses being built and get to meet a lot of the new neighbors moving in. They are, of course, all best friends.

We know where all the bunnies are going to be, too. They are so funny. The bunnies think that if they sit real still by the edge of the road, no one will notice them. Winston sees them long before I do. His excitement builds as he thinks, “I think I can catch him today!” Of course, he never does. The bunny is much faster and scoots off into the woods, leaving nothing but a scent behind. Winston doesn’t dwell on it. I am sure he thinks, “I’ll get him next time!”

Early this morning, an SUV began to back out of a driveway when Winston and I were about ten yards away. I don’t take any chances. I stopped and Winston immediately sat, just like he supposed to do. Once the man had backed out I said, “Heel,” and we were on our way. He rolled down his window and said, “Thank you!” I though that was really nice. Most people don’t even notice us and roar away. That little moment made my day.

Posted in dogs, Life

Who’s ready to rumble?

Posted on by William Douthwaite

“In this corner, at one year of age, hailing from Palm Coast, ladies and gentlemen put your hand together for Win-stonnnnn!”

“And in the other corner, a three-year old veteran from Ormond Beach, let’s hear it for Bro-deeee!”

Last year, my in-laws brought their West Highland White Terrier, Brodie, to our house to meet our Westie, Winston. The tale of the tape: they were pretty much the same size. We figured they would love each other. Brodie had played with plenty of other Westies at daycare. Winston believed every one, man or beast, was his best friend. We knew they would chase each other around and wear each other out and everyone would be happy.

That’s not exactly how the encounter went. Winston was on his home court and still very much a puppy. Brodie was having a “Who’s the annoying kid?” kind of day. They snarled and snapped and yapped and didn’t get along at all. We didn’t expect that. “Alright, break it up!”

Then the old man wandered out. Samson, the thirteen-year old shepherd-lab-whatever brown dog came out to see what all the commotion was. He wasn’t really interested in either of the other dogs, but the little guys settled down immediately. Samson commanded respect and was an instant calming presence in the pack of dogs in our backyard. This was his house, and both of the terriers knew it.

We don’t have Samson anymore, and Winston has grown up (a little). When he and Brodie had a rematch a month ago, they got along better. They ran around some, but decided they liked each other better from a distance. I’ll bet they do even better the next time they get together.

When I was a pastor, I noticed that people tended to behave a little better when I was around. Not always good, but better. They would clean up their language and keep the funny but questionable jokes to themselves. Many times I really wasn’t interested in other people’s squabbles, but I’m glad I could get people to calm down a little.

Posted in dogs, Life

Breaking in the new folks

Posted on by William Douthwaite

The moment I walked in the door, I knew these two would be a challenge. First of all, this was a big dog household. The dog who already lived there was big. The food and water bowls were big, the collars were big, the leashes were long, the dog bed was huge, the chew toys were enormous. And here I am weighing in at a mere twenty pounds. I had my work cut out for me.

Everything I owned fit in one sack. Rubber toys, chew bones, a couple of stuffed animals, a leash, a raincoat embroidered with my name, a bandana, a few miniature Westie figurines, and a couple of bowls. They found it all very entertaining. “Look how small everything is!”

First things first. They carried me out the back door into the yard. I have a yard! I ran and rolled and panted and peed. This was going to be great. But it would be a lot of work to keep my space lizard and squirrel free. Fortunately, I could walk the landscape wall to keep an eye on my domain.

I simply wanted to make the place feel like home, so I sprinkled a few corners and rugs in the house. For some reason that didn’t go over well. Come on, guys, it’s not that much. I got the folks to pay attention to my subtle woof when I needed to go outside.

Checking out the inside of the house was as awesome as the outside. I couldn’t believe how many toys were scattered around. I sank my teeth into a plastic apple, purple Lego brick, miniature Pokemon character, a colored pencil, a sock, and a Hot Wheels car. None of that was well-received either. I got the folks to organize and store up the grandkids toys they didn’t me to chew in plastic totes.

My first few weeks here were amazing. I had so much energy. I just loved zooming around, jumping up on things, barking at dogs walking by on the street, and scattering my toys around the house. I got the folks to take me for nice long walks around the block every morning and evening to meet the neighbors, the neighbors’s dogs, and check out the neighbors’ mailbox posts. It’s my job to keep them active. After all, they aren’t getting any younger.

Okay, so just because I’m a white (West Highland Terrier) dog doesn’t mean that’s my favorite color. I like to dig till my snout and feet are brown. I like to sniff around until my face is covered with green hitchhikers. The folks finally figured out that I needed to be combed and brushed every day.

Let me tell you, the food here is great. Kibble? My favorite. They even mix it with some canned food and a little bone broth. Biscuits? There are plenty. Rawhide sticks? As many as I want. Cheese? I always get a bite of the folks’ cheese sticks. I told the folks not to worry. I work off all those calories on my twice daily walks.

Every once in a while, big dogs come over to play. And I mean big. And brown. Kennedy and Rex tower over me. I love to chase them around the yard. The folks don’t worry about me. They know I can handle myself and run with the big boys.

But one day, Brodie came over. He’s a Westie, too. It was like looking in a mirror. Everyone has a Doppelgänger, right? We’ve got a few things to work out, but we’re learning to be good friends. Bailey lives across the street. She’s a little bigger than me, and cute, but she always stays in her own yard. The folks know I can handle myself around the little guys, too.

Speaking of little guys, all these kids come over to the house from time to time. They are so much fun. They scream when I jump on them or chase them or take their toys. They always let food drop to the floor so I can have some. They taught me how to climb up into the play fort and go down the slide. The folks got a gate to keep us apart so they don’t bug me too much. Works for me.

A couple of months after I moved in, the old brown dog who lived here had to leave. I hardly got to know him. But the folks really loved him. They seemed so sad, so I was glad I could cheer them up with cuddles, kisses, and barking.

So I’ve lived about half my life here, and the folks are doing well. They know my favorite spot to hang out is in their lap or on one of the love seats. They let me nap with them in the afternoon. They get all my toys out from underneath the furniture. They often leave the back door open so I can come and go as I please. And I get to play with any lizards or snakes who happen to wander into the back porch.

They still have a few things to work on. They wake me up too early in the morning. Come on, I need my sleep. They need more practice combing and brushing all the stuff out of my coat. Come on, that hurts! I’d like to go for a few more rides in the car. Let’s go! It’s one of my favorite things to do.

I’ll tell you, it is a full time job keeping an eye on these two. But hey, that’s my job.

Posted in dogs, Life

Breaking in the new guy

Posted on by William Douthwaite

“How would you feel about adopting another dog?”

For me, that question does not require much thought. I immediately answered, “Sure.”

Some friends of ours had just bought a new puppy, a West Highlands White Terrier named Winston. Unfortunately, their physical condition had gone downhill and couldn’t keep up with the demands of a new puppy. My wife heard he needed a new home, I said, “Sure,” and just like that we brought home a second dog.

Our resident dog, Samson, was a shepherd-lab-whatever mix. But at thirteen years of age, he was pretty mellow unless a delivery guy threatened our home. We have long been a big dog family with a few exceptions. Chica the Chihuahua lived here for a while, but she was mostly my son’s dog. Sable the Bassett hound howled around here for years, but she wasn’t a small dog. Especially her ears. The thing is, we never had a dog who needed to be groomed. This would definitely be a first for us.

Winston came with a pretty fancy crate made of wood and metal. He had chewed up a few corners. He also came with a little harness and stretchy leash, a ton of poop bags, a little raincoat embroidered with his name, a stuffed lamb, a stuffed bunny, a few rubber toys, and a collection of tiny Westie figurines.

A raincoat? Not in this family. Stretchy leash? Nope. We immediately got a prong collar to use with our trusty six-foot leather lead. Stuffed toys? We’ll see how long they last. Westie figurines? I listed them on eBay. (No sale so far. Interested?) The crate? Okay for now, but it’ll be in the back bedroom, along with the grandkids bunkbeds and crib.

I believe we’ve got a pretty friendly kid-safe house. A puppy-proof house is a whole different project. Winston loved the soft plastic of play food, little people, Lego bricks, Tinkertoys, and toy dinosaurs. I don’t think he ever ate any. He just left tiny teeth marks in all sorts of toys.

All of the grandkids love dogs. They just weren’t used to this dog. As soon as one of them squealed, Winston was ready to jump, nip, play, run, jump, and have a great time. We installed a baby gate to keep him separate from the squealers when they were here. I had to make a rule. “What’s the one thing you are not allowed to say when Winston comes over to you?” Answer: “AAAAhhhhhhh!”

Winston was mostly housebroken when we brought him home. Unless he wanted to make a point. If I took a sock or a toy or a pair of underwear or a towel or a piece of paper or a dead bug from him, he showed his displeasure by peeing on the bathroom rug. It’s like a little kid acting out to get attention. It got our attention, and it got Winston a little time in the cage.

A lot has changed in the last seven months. By putting all the kids’ toys out of reach and buying a nice selection of toys and chew sticks at the pet store, Winston slotted into good dog behavior. A little bit of prong collar leash training brought him to a nice heel and automatic sit. The grandkids have not only gotten used to him, but ask to play with him. He woofs at the back door if he needs to go out. He catches rays in the backyard every morning. He spends his early afternoons napping on the love seats or the bottom bunk bed. He gets along well with my daughter’s Florida brown dog Kennedy, my other daughter’s Golden Retriever Rex, my neighbor’s Shiz-tzu, Bailey, and is working things out with my in-law’s Westie, Brodie.

Yes, we had Winston neutered. When we came in for our pre-op visit, the front desk woman at the veterinarian’s office was from Scotland and said with her best Mrs. Doubtfire accent, “Helloooo! What a cute wee one. We’re country cousins! Let me have a look at ya.”

Westin is a white dog. But he’s rarely white. He loves to dig and usually comes inside with dirty feet and a ring of dirt around his mouth. He is usually covered with “hitchhikers,” small weed seeds we can only get out of his coat with a special comb. I always thought a dog that had to be groomed wouldn’t shed. Wrong. He doesn’t shed as much as Samson, but he does leave traces of white curly hair all over the house. Winston has a strange appetite for bugs, lizards, moths, sticks, leaves, and rocks. I’m always pulling something out of his mouth.

Oh, and Winston is also a runner. If he gets out an open door or escapes from his collar, he’s gone, he’s fast, and he’s elusive. But I’ve learned how to get him back. I simply call out, “Do you want to go for a ride?” He’ll run right over to the car and jump in the passenger seat. He loves to go for a drive, let the AC blow on his face, and watch all the other cars pass by.

Winston is a cuddler. If I sit down to read a book or watch TV or talk to my wife, he jumps up and sits across my lap. His favorite place is to be with his people.

Winston is also a sleeper. When I got in the back bedroom to let him out of his crate in the morning, it takes him about fifteen minutes to get up and out to go for his morning walk. He wanders out, does a perfect down dog and up dog, and then rolls around a few times before he’s ready for the collar, leash, and walk. All my other dogs have woken me up. I’ve never had to drag my dog out of bed in the morning!

Winston is a faithful buddy, but he’s also everyone’s friend. He lets me comb out his hair, but then nips me afterwards to let me know he doesn’t like it. He loves to play in water, but hates to take a bath. He is, as one website described Westies, a big dog in a little dog’s body.

I think that’s why we get along so well.

Posted in dogs, Life

No instructions? No problem!

Posted on by William Douthwaite
Photo by Daniël Maas on Unsplash

I recently helped my daughter, husband, and two boys move into their brand new home. After moving all the heavy stuff in from a trailer, there were a few things to put together, like the boys’ beds.

With the help of a cousin, I assembled bed number one, the bigger of the two, without any trouble. Bed number two was more of a challenge. A few months ago, their golden retriever puppy had chewed up the corner of the box. No parts of the bed were damaged. But he managed to obliterate the instructions.

Since I’ve assembled more than my share of IKEA furniture, I felt confident this would be a breeze. Come on, it’s a just a twin bed with headboard and footboard. An uncle and I opened up the box and got out all the parts. Hmm. Many of the parts looked the same. The legs had lots of holes that had to match up with other holes. It wasn’t obvious which pieces were for the headboard and which were for the footboard.

Thankfully, enough of the box was intact and my partner could look up the model name and number. Once he brought up a picture of the bed from a shopping site, we knew what we had to do. All the screws were the same size, so we didn’t have to guess which ones went where. When we were done, the bed looked just like the picture.

I’ve had plenty of puppies chew up plenty of things in my home. My Labrador retriever Gabriel had a fondness for the heels of shoes and my roommate’s candles. Our chocolate Lab Rachel chewed up the legs of a borrowed rocking chair. We currently find teeth marks in the grandkids’ plastic toys. After a few ripped up rolls of toilet paper, we now keep the bathroom doors closed. The same pup who ate the bed frame instructions stole a couple of uncooked meatballs off the kitchen counter.

A friend of mine lost the cover of his bible to an enthusiastic pup. Just about everyone I know who wears hearing aids has lost one to a curious canine. It’s all part of the fun of being a dog owner.

Speaking of Gabriel (he’s the baseline against which we measure all our dogs), he once tore into a Christmas box my mom sent to us in Connecticut. The box arrived by UPS, and we knew it contained presents for the family. Gabe tore into the box and found the gift for him, a large, carefully wrapped rawhide bone. We came home and found him eagerly chewing on it. He didn’t bother, chew, or rip open anything else in the box. He just knew there was a gift for him in the box and he knew which one it was.

Posted in dogs, Moments of grace

Life is fun when everyone is your best friend

Posted on by William Douthwaite

On our way back to the cabin one afternoon, we stopped at a small collection of stores by the side of Rt. 23 in Rabun County, Georgia. A jewelry store was flanked by a general store and several antique stores. Since we had our dog Winston with us, I sat out front in a rocking chair while my wife went to check out the shops.

Everyone passing by wants to meet our uber-energetic little white dog who sincerely believes everyone in this world is his best friend.

Phil, owner of the jewelry store was the first to come out to chat. He told me how he makes everything in his shop himself, specializing in native American items. Phil had several rescued dogs and cats at home. Whenever he lay down, one would perch on his head the others cuddled up on each side of him. Winston was thrilled to check out the scent of Phil’s pets. Even though there were “No Pets” signs in the windows, Phil said that everyone here loves dogs.

The next gentleman who stopped to visit explained that he had just adopted a rescue dog. He named his dog Deeohgee (D-O-G). It took me a minute to figure out he didn’t just name his dog Dog. Reminds me of a person I used to visit who named her cat Kitty. Winston was glad this guy had plenty of time to pet him.

A woman walking a very tiny dog stopped by next. Tails were up, furiously wagging five times a second as their noses came together. After a few curious sniffs, the little dog was spooked and backed away from Winston’s playful lunge. A little sniff-and-greet made everyone’s day.

A young couple walked by next, coming out of the general store and headed towards the antiques. He led the way, nodding as he passed, while she followed with arms crossed several steps behind. Neither one looked very happy. I guess they were determined to go antiquing whether they liked it or not. When they came out of the antique store, their disposition hadn’t changed as they walked by in the other direction on the way to their car. Winston so wanted to cheer them up, but they weren’t in the mood.

One more couple greeted us. He had been waiting in a rocking chair, just like me, outside the general store. When she came out with a package, he joined her and they walked past with a friendly greeting. Winston could barely contain himself, but they had to be on their way.

I’ll tell you, life is never dull when everyone is your best friend. What if we all had that attitude?