Dogs

Rex as a Puppy in Taipei

From childhood my house almost
always had a furry creature to pet and love and cuddle. Today, as an adult, I can’t conceive of a life without animals. I guess it isn’t surprising that I love them so much. They have always been such an integral part of my life.

Some of my earliest childhood memories revolve around dogs, starting with Penny, the fox terrier who once climbed up on the dinner table, when all our backs were turned, and consumed a whole roast.

And I know that before her there was a cat, but I really can’t remember him too well. I’ve just seen pictures of me holding him in my lap.

And then there was Rex, the German Shepherd who loved rice and who once gave me the scare of my life. (today’s post)

And Champ, the boxer who hated peas, whose “green cloud” farts could clear a room and who rang the doorbell when he wanted in.

And Heidi, Hans, Fritz and Gretchen, the Dachshunds who one day dug under a fence and got out of the yard and into the big bad world – but that’s a story for another day.

And Heidi the 2nd, a little terrier/dachshund type mutt, who literally grinned at us with a big smile that showed her teeth, when she was happy and excited. And it was really a smile. The more we laughed, the bigger the grin.

And Misty, Ricky and Twinkle, the Norwegian Elkhounds, who, between the three of them, could and did shed enough hair to knit mohair sweaters for a large family and who wore out several vacuum cleaners during their reign. Ricky, the ever defiant and dominant male, once took careful aim, and shit in my cowboy boot because he was angry at me. I didn’t know anything was wrong until I shoved my foot down into the cowboy boot. What a lovely surprise!

And Dutchess, the Silky Terrier, who was a mean little shit who would just as soon bite you as look at you.

And precious Terri, the Norwich/Cairn Terrier who absolutely worshipped the ground I walked on, and who once, when I was upset and crying, climbed up on the bed, slipped into the bottom of my sweatshirt at the waist, worked her way up to the neck hole and lay there quietly, literally, plastering herself against my skin and holding me to console me.

And of course, dear sweet Samantha (Sammy) the Golden Retriever mix, who spent her yard time sitting in a lawn chair because, apparently, she didn’t want to get dirty.

And Gracie, the gentle giant, who was part black lab and part something else that was huge. She was so big, but so sweet and so gentle.

And finally, my beloved Labs, Bess, Lucy and Meggie, who have all loved to swim and play and who all just seem to get such incredible joy out of every single day. As readers of this blog know, we lost our precious and beloved Bess this past fall at barely 6 years of age due to cancer. It’s hard to imagine anyone loving a dog more than I loved her, and as you can tell, I’ve got a lot of experience in loving dogs. I’ve been through the “horrible decision” more times than I can stand to count, but this was the worse loss of them all by far. Not to say I didn’t love the others, for I surely did, but Bess was the most special dog I’ve ever had and therefore, her loss was the most heart rending and heart breaking. They say in every dog owner’s life, there will be that one dog, THE dog that you will never forget and never get over. Bess was mine.

As can be seen by the variety of dogs I’ve owned (or who have owned me, depending on your point of view), I love them all; big and little, short haired or long, feisty or cuddly. As I’ve said before, once I discovered Labs, I doubt I’ll ever have any other large breed dog, for I think I’ve found the “perfect” dog, if there is such a thing. I may someday have another little guy, because I like lap dogs, but only time will tell.

Today’s post takes us back to Taipei where I want to tell you a short story about Rex, my beautiful German Shepherd. Rex was a gorgeous Shepherd, as you can see by the picture and I loved him dearly. We were constant companions. It’s hard to wrap my head around the idea that this picture of him is almost 50 years old. Surely it can’t have been 50 years since I wrapped my arms around that sweet boy and hugged him close.

Since we were in Taipei, Rex lived the majority of his life inside the walls of the bamboo fence that I have spoken of in previous posts. We had a large, fairly roomy yard, so he had plenty of room to run and play and still be safely at home.

One day, as I stepped out into the yard and called for him, he didn’t respond. Usually, he came galloping up immediately, eager and ready for play time or a walk on his leash. When he didn’t respond to my calls, I searched the yard thoroughly and then searched the house and then asked other family members if they had seen him.

No one had seen him recently and he was not to be found on our property, so we came to the inevitable conclusion that he had gotten out somehow. Perhaps the maid or houseboy (to be discussed in a future post-just don’t think rich, because we weren’t by a long shot) had let him slip out the gate, perhaps he had slipped out when Dad opened the gates to leave for work, somehow, some way, he was out.

And I was HYSTERICAL!! You may remember from a previous post (go here) that the Chinese people EAT dogs and now, my beloved pet was out and roaming free. I walked for miles, I called and whistled and searched and asked everyone I saw. He could not be found.

Night fell and we began the second day with him missing. I kept searching, but the longer he was gone, the stronger my mental images became of a roasted dog haunch on someone’s dinner table. Words cannot tell you the fear and worry and horrifying thoughts that went through my mind as I tried to find my dog. Rex was a big boy and he would have provided a lot of meals for a desperately poor family.

And the third day came and went, and still no Rex. Where was my sweet boy? At the butcher shop? In someone’s smoke house? Running free in the woods? I simply did not know and not knowing was killing me.

On the morning of the fourth day, once again I went outside of our yard and started calling and whistling. He was a good boy and I knew if he heard me whistling, he would come. I stood outside the bamboo fence on the back side of the yard, overlooking acres of rice paddies and I whistled and called.

Suddenly, in the distance I saw “something” that appeared to be moving towards me. It was coming across the rice paddies, swimming, running, jumping and coming ever closer. And then I could see and it was Rex. Leaping through the rice paddies with Chinese farmers yelling at him as he flew past in answer to my whistle.

The Rice Paddies Rex Came Racing Through
And then he was there and I was on my knees hugging and kissing and squeezing the muddiest, dirtiest, filthiest dog you can possibly imagine. I was sobbing and he was licking my face and wagging his tail furiously. His collar was gone but aside from all the mud of the rice paddies clinging to him, he looked fine. He was fat and sassy and certainly did not look as though he had missed any meals. Maybe someone had been fattening him up in preparation for the table? Maybe another American family had taken him in and for a few days he had a new family? I’ll never know. I only know he came home to me.

After a good bath and several rinses and lots of dog cookies, life slowly returned to normal. Rex was home and I did my level best to never let him out of my sight again.

We brought him back to the U.S. with us and, in hindsight I realize what lengths my Dad went to just to make me happy. We returned home on a troop carrier that had just a few staterooms. Our family was in one of them, but Rex had to stay in a cage at the back of the ship with the luggage. It was winter and the deck was icy and it was freezing cold, but every day, 2 or 3 times a day, my Dad went back there, took Rex out of his cage, put a leash on him and walked him.

My Dad, the farm boy, thought indoor pets were a rather silly concept. Dogs were meant to live outdoors and be fed table scraps and not worried about. They could take care of themselves. Fencing a yard, taking a dog to the vet, doing vaccinations and regular check-ups and all the other stuff us dog owners do, was just crazy to him. He NEVER understood the relationship between me and my dogs, but he understood I loved them. That was enough for him to walk a dog on the icy deck of a troop ship in the middle of winter. There was my Dad, the ranking officer on the ship, at the back of the ship on the poop deck (no pun intended) among all the smoking enlisted men, walking that dog, simply because I loved him and did not want to leave him behind with another American family.

This is just one of a million reasons why I loved my Dad. I hope he knew how much.