Ode to Preacher

He came to us over eight years ago. He was almost seventeen months old, full of life and love. He strutted handsome physique - and rightfully so,  as proven by his Canadian Kennel Club and American Kennel Club show dog accolades - and I fell in love with him right away.

He lived with an ailing liver for years, yet one would never know it because he never complained, he never showed it. He was always happy, he was always hungry, he was always ready and willing to work or play. He watched over my things and my family, he safe guarded us.

Two months ago, he suddenly, simply could not walk or stand. While he still had his dignity and his pride intact, we served him a dinner of steaks, vegetables, and all the M&M's he wanted, and then wept as he took his last breath by the doctor's hands.

I'm not poetic, and I tend to ramble. But here's my a lyrical tribute to the preacherman.

The day Preacher came us.

Ode to Preacher

You were sixteen months old, yet a puppy at heart

You befriended Palomino by taking the shoe off his foot

Summer 2007, he loved the sun

You were wild; walking with you was akin to a wrestling match

Yet, in no time at all, you were heeling like an obedience champ

Fall 2007, at work at the loading dock

Summer 2008

You were a champion in Canada, and almost one in the U.S.

There was no doubt about that when you met other dogs

You had a ferocious bark, and the strength of wolves

2009, chasing Frisbees

But beneath all that rippling muscle was a tender heart of gold

You were stoic to a fault, deceiving all with your calm and steady demeanor

All the while your physical strength waned with your ailing body, day by day

Happy Birthday! McDonald's treat

You ate, you ate well! Pumpkin from the garden, apples off the trees, 

Celery, spinach, and even tomatoes; you'd eat beets if only there wasn't carpet

Some things you ate, that made me wonder, were cardboard, socks, and babies' shoes

Oh yes, let's not forget, the Sonicare brush, one crisp Benjamin, and my last Manolos

Summer 2011, garage saling 

You were loyal to a fault, despite my own ferocious bark and angry words

You still came when I called, cuddled on my lap, protected me

2012, liver shrunk to 70% normal size

You did not know your own strength, even Baby Jaida held you back

You thought little people were yours, until Quinn made you hers

Oh, how your body hurt, and suddenly stopped working

But still, you laid down your angst and your pain for Quinn 

Quinn will not remember your faithfulness, but I will engrave your memory in her heart

Just as your being made permanent footprints on mine

2013, tearing up the tissue to get to the cardboard roll

2014, can't give him meds for his fungal infection because of his compromised liver

As you took your last breath, I hope you felt my arms holding you tight

As you looked at me for the last time, I hope you heard me tell you "Thank you"

February 2015, already limping and always good with Quinn

Now go, run and run, chase all the squirrels beyond the rainbow

Go, bark at the top of your lungs

Preach, my preacherman

Happy Halloween

Boo!

With our Mighty Quinn, the Eskimo

After a Bath

It doesn't matter if it's summer or winter, they always have an extra pep in their step after a bath.

Bath Day

According to Sonya

It's degrading, humiliating, and downright rude!

I mean, what am I a car, that you just spray my belly on full blast like it's the undercarriage?

And then scrub me with all disregard and impropriety to my ladyhood...

To top it all off, you so rudely spray me in the face with complete abandon! Even labs don't like water in their faces like that!

The least you can do is wash my bum so I don't have to.

According to Preacher

Yeah, yeah, right there, scrub my ear...

Oooooh, get my belly, scrub harder!

Aaaaaah, that's the spot!

Watch the toes, I'm ticklish!

In the End

They're so happy to get last week's grime off their coats, if they could do a back-flip to show their elation they would.

Queen Sonya

By her AKC name, Sonya is royalty. Queen, in fact. Her highness has the attitude to boot. She won't settle for a spot on the floor, or even on her own bed. She has to have her "high chair".

If she could speak human, she'd probably be telling me how to do my work as well.

She pretty much runs the household when we - her humans - are not home. (Sorry, Preacher.)


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Vices

It's been a while since Sonya and I have gone out. So when we took a drive this weekend, you bet she stuck half her body out the window of the car, taking in every ounce of scent, and barked at anything furry that we passed at 25mph. Until we parked at the beach (a rainstorm was rolling through, so we stayed in the dry warmth of the car), and I proceeded to dive into my ice cream from Baskin Robbins.

Then she looked at me.

Intensely, without taking her eyes off me for even a second.

A prowler could cup their hands against the rolled up window, and she wouldn't care.

Because at this moment, her salivary response and food instinct far outweighed her in-bred protection mode.

Is that...?

I definitely smell coconut... and walnuts...

[Drool.]

Aaaaaaaah, vanilla ice cream... my other most favorite flavor... 

Can I have a bite?

Pleeeeeease?
  

You have to NOT have a heart if you can resist soft lips and a wet nose gently sniffing, hoping, begging for a taste. And of course I gave her the very last bite, which was a sacrifice for me because the butt of the cake cone, all soggy and infused with the last bit of double Nutty Coconut goodness is my mostest favoritest part of my ice cream vice.

And we both licked our chops all the way home.

 Amen!


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What. Are. You. Going. To. Do. About. It.

It's been a very rough one and a half weeks for all of us, dogs AND humans, in our humble abode. Sonya and Preacher must have thought that our long absences and undoting presence were personally directed toward them. No matter how much I tried to explain to them that our frequent and constant departures were for a critical, unwelcome situation they just don't want to accept it.

Preacher wasn't as bad as Sonya. He just moped, hung his head, and tucked his tail when it was time for me to leave the house again. Sonya, on the other hand, was raving mad! Four days ago, after they'd been fed and been outside long enough to do their thing, I was in the bathroom getting ready to leave the house again, Preacher wouldn't leave me alone! He nudged me, whined, paced around me, just being generally restless. He finally got me to follow him - you have to have a pet who lives with you to know when you are being beckoned - out of the bedroom. And there, smack on the middle of the carpet, were balls of turd dropped about every foot from the bedroom door to the end of the hallway. And it's a loooooong hallway, at the end of which sat Sonya, so prim and straight, staring right at me. If words could convey what possibly might have been going through her mind, these are how they might go: "Yeah! WHAT. ARE. YOU. GOING. TO. DO. ABOUT. IT."

Silently, without even looking at either of the dogs, I picked up Sonya's retaliation, one by - [gag!] - one. Call me a wimp, call me a sucker, call me wrapped around their phantom dew claws; how could anyone blame them for their action? 5-Star Scotty hadn't been home for six days and five nights, and I had been home only a handful of hours each day for six days. These poor dogs, who are so used to LIVING with their humans, have a routine of potty breaks, walks, and playtimes, that was suddenly disrupted so dramatically. I'd say I'm lucky they didn't bite me!

If you don't live with your pet, then you wouldn't understand and appreciate how they adore and worship you. So much so that if/when you start neglecting them, they will do what any human child would do as well! They will do anything, and I mean ANYTHING to get your attention, whether it be something destructive (yeah Sonya, I'm sorry, I'll clean up your poop, and I won't even complain of the smell...), or just purposely being in your way. Case in point, [click] Sonya, refusing to get out of the way of the vacuum...

When all is back to normal, I owe these dogs a year of NO BATHS, NO NAIL TRIMMING, daily TWO HOUR WALKS, LIVER AND STEAK FOR DINNER, and DAILY THIRTY-MINUTE RUB DOWNS.

But we all know that ain't ever happenin'. [Shhhhh! Don't tell Sonya or Preacher.]

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