January 2025: Years ago, when asked whether I ever had a dog, I would say, “Yes, I had a dog once when I was a kid. I traded her in for a slalom water ski.” That version of the story was short and resulted in more than a few raised eyebrows. At that point in my life, I did not really care about the looks given, since I did not see dogs neatly fitting into my life.
Today, I am telling the rest of the story, not because it makes me look any better in the eyes of dog lovers (it does not), but it simply might be worthwhile sharing more. So, here it goes:
^ When I was about 14 years old, my father gave me a young English Setter pup by the name of Genie to train as a huntress. I was in training to be a hunter at the same time. Genie lived in the large, heated dog kennel out back behind our house. Not only was I supposed to help her become excited about hunting, but I also had to feed and water her, as well as the other more mature hunting dogs in the pen. As it happened, things did not go all that well. Genie could not seem to learn about the importance of peeing outside in the pen, rather than in the warmth of the kennel and I was really not all that interested in shooting a rifle, which made the business of hunting a little bit more challenging.
^ The one time I shot at a pheasant while out with my father and another dog, I recall closing my eyes before pulling the trigger. Hard to believe, but I did not hit the bird (and fortunately did not hit anything or anyone else). My father took a shot and made it possible to have pheasant for dinner, using one of my mother’s several recipes developed purposely ruining the taste of the bird. However, her lack of interest in preparing pheasant did little to impact my father’s excitement about the sport.
^So, back to Genie. My father had his moments of being an effective problem -solver when necessary and he knew the value of using a carrot versus a stick. Anyway, a couple of months into the arrangement with Genie he said, “How about if we trade your dog for a slalom water ski.” Well, my responsibility for Genie ended shortly after that conversation. Genie went to a large farm in our town where they did not really care where she peed and I spent time on the Niagara River with my slalom ski.
As noted above, the story did not generate positive esteem from dog lovers for sure. Some may have thought that I made the story up. Today, as it happens, I am also a little sad about the decision I made as a youngster, whether I was actually given a real choice or not.
So, what changed?
It was not that I had nightmares that involved Genie very casually flooding the family dog kennel with pee and regarding me with disdain…
It was not that Jim brought a large, constantly shedding black dog by the name of Whitney into our relationship and, consequently, into our house.
I believe it was because when my mother passed away five years ago, Jim and I inherited her 10-year-old Havanese by the name of Molly. She came with pink collars and leashes in addition to a pink wardrobe. Molly also was used to wearing pink ribbons in her hair. Yes, a lot of pink, some of which disappeared quickly. Molly was never seen with hair ribbons again, and I am pretty sure she did not mind.
After a couple of rocky weeks, when Molly, Jim and I were all grieving over the loss of our mother, a very deep bond was established that only faded a bit when Molly passed away about one year later. Of course, those first weeks were not easy. Molly peed in our bed, went on a hunger strike, would not go for walks, and otherwise was standoffish and sad. And of course, Jim and I had to adjust to caring for this petite pooch while also mourning the loss of my mom.
In time, we were all able to demonstrate the little bits of flexibility needed for the new relationship to work and Molly became our dog. She would routinely wait at the front windows for Jim to come home from work, sit with us on the sofa at night (even if at a distance) and sleep in our bed each night. It is also true that Molly went to work with me occasionally, which clearly shocked a few people that knew my position on pooches all too well. I even have a picture of Jim shedding a tear or two when he was the first to leave Rochester for our move South.
Even though we were all orphaned in a sense, Molly, Jim and I made it work. We all fell in love with each other and valued that love even more because of the loss of my mother. To be honest, it was a new and very wonderful feeling to have.
Molly had heart health issues that resulted in us losing her only about one year later. However, she stayed around long enough to become a Southern Havanese girl and really loved her new Winston-Salem neighbors. Of course, Jim and I cried when we had to have her put to sleep. To ease the crossing for Molly, and for me I guess, I placed one of my mother’s rings on one of her gold chains and wrapped it around Molly’s neck. I suggested that as she moved on, she look for the woman who recognized the jewelry because that would be her momma.
I found that Molly had filled a place in my heart that may have been long dormant but now was open wide. And let me be clear; my appreciation of pooches was not just for Molly. These days I seem to readily develop a fondness for most dogs, taking the time to say hi when out walking or running.
We knew enough to give ourselves some time after Molly’s passing to discuss getting another pooch. I was a bit more excited than Jim about bringing another dog into our home. Also given that we were in the midst of the COVID pandemic, everyone seemed to want one. So, when we finally agreed it was time, we placed ourselves on two breeders lists with the expectation that a pup with our name on it may be born for us in the next 6 to 12 months.
It took several months, but we finally got a call on a Saturday evening from a breeder about a little Havanese puppy that had just become available. We went to the breeder’s home the next day, where the three pound puppy, now our Jade, strategically from my perspective, crawled between Jim’s feet and laid down for a nap. Of course, it was all over. As soon as we were able, we brought Jade home. More than four years have gone by, and she remains our treasure. Although she is not particularly well trained, she is a very social animal with an adorable face, so she gets away with a lot. And I prefer to think that she understands that arrangement, since anthropomorphizing seems to have evolved as one of my skills. Certainly, our mother taught us a lot over the years, and through her passing by succumbing to ALS, continued to demonstrate strength and perseverance in her life the values including: unwavering hope, unvarnished love and authenticity in her caring for others. These were her parting gifts to us. Perhaps the other very important gifts my mother bestowed to me specifically was her dog Molly and her exquisitely felt affection for all pooches