Products

A Dog Named Lou

I never wanted a dog.

In fact, after our beloved cat Sam died, I didn’t want any pet. We’d had Sam for twelve years, and she’d been a devoted companion. A couple of years before Sam’s death, our cat Blackie passed away at the ripe old age of seventeen. Before Blackie we’d had Snuffy, who lived with us briefly before she got hit by a car. We’d had a cat in our house, and often two, for over twenty years. I just didn’t think I could do it anymore. It hurt too much to lose them.

But my family had other ideas. My daughter Rachel had been asking for a dog practically since she could talk. I’d previously put her off by pointing out that we already had a pet, or two. But now that we were petless, I could no longer use that argument. I reasoned that dogs were a lot of work. Unlike cats, they had to be walked every day and needed kenneling when we went away. They shed as much as cats and required far more attention. It would be like having a toddler in the house again.

All my arguments went unheeded. Rachel’s older sister Dana joined the chorus for a new pet in the family, and when my husband Warren voiced his desire for a dog, it was three against one. I knew when I was beaten, but I managed to wrangle a couple of concessions out of them. The first was that we get a small dog. And the second was that Rachel be primarily responsible for the dog’s care and feeding. This was going to be her pet.

The girls started cruising the websites of the local humane society and other shelters. When they visited the shelters in person they were told that they didn’t often get small dogs and when they did, they were usually snapped up pretty quickly. My daughters were discouraged, but seeing how determined they were I decided to do what I could to help. There were always ads in the newspaper either selling or giving away pets, so I checked some out one Friday afternoon. I ruled out the large dogs, and the purebreds that cost a lot of money. If we had to have a dog, I wanted a nice friendly mutt that needed a home.

After a few phone calls I talked to a woman who had a female pug/terrier cross for sale. The woman was only in town for a couple of days and at that moment was at a veterinary clinic not far from our house where her dogs were getting their annual shots. Could we meet her there? Rachel and I and Warren jumped in the car and headed right over.

We saw the dog as soon as we drove into the parking lot. A little girl was walking her on leash on the sidewalk beside the clinic. The dog had an adorable wrinkled face and big brown eyes that melted your heart. Rachel fell in love immediately. But there were problems. I noticed a bald spot on her short, curly tail. The hair on the edges of her ears looked ragged, as if worn off, and her coat was spotty. When I asked about it, the owner was vague, saying that she must have lost the hair over the winter. Apparently the dog, whose name was Allu, spent most her life outdoors. It had been an exceptionally cold winter, even by Canadian standards. She was a sturdy little dog but hardly suited to the harsh cold. I kept my opinion to myself as we struck a deal for her purchase. With one last glance at her previous owners the dog hopped into our car. Rachel was thrilled when Allu immediately cuddled up to her on the drive back to our house.

For the next couple of weeks we got used to the dog and she to us. But a strange thing started to happen. Allu, now affectionately known as Lou, started following me around, moving from room to room as I did. She wouldn’t go anywhere unless I did. She lay at my feet as I worked at the computer and snuggled beside me when I watched TV, studying me with big, adoring eyes. She was supposed to be Rachel’s dog. I didn’t want her getting so attached to me, and I definitely didn’t want to get attached to her.

A few weeks after we got her, we followed our vet’s advice and had her spayed. Because she was already a year and a half old, she had harder time with the surgery and required some pain medication. After a few days of recovery, she seemed to bounce back and regained her energetic, sunny disposition.

One week after her surgery, I took Lou out into the yard to relieve herself before we all went to bed. She trotted back into the house and stood on her cushion. A large spot of bright red blood stood out starkly against the white cushion. And then there was another spot and another. Soon there was blood everywhere. Lou didn’t appear ill or upset, but the rest of us were. As we cleaned up the blood, Rachel cried, and I couldn’t help wondering if fate would be so cruel as to take this sweet little dog from her so soon. We put her in her kennel with a warm blanket, and drove her to the 24 hour emergency veterinary clinic.

As we waited to see the vet, I had to admit I loved the little mutt too. I desperately didn’t want to lose her, but I knew if I did, she’d already brought our family a lot of laughs and much joy. I knew from my cats that even though the pain of losing a pet is great, the pain is always outweighed by having had them in your life, no matter how short or how long your time together.

Lou recovered with flying colors. The bald spot on her tail has filled in, her ears are silky, and her coat is soft and lustrous. I now freely admit I adore her. I adore her curly tail that never stops wagging, and her comical little face. I adore her when she snores, and even when she chews my shoes. But I especially adore the fact that she’s twenty pounds of pure, unconditional love and that she adores me too.

The Perfect Christmas

Ted frowned at the turkey on the cutting board. “Is the meat supposed to be that color?” He sniffed the air. “And what’s that weird smell? It’s kind of like Old Spice mixed with shoe polish.”

Sally gave him “the look”, the one developed and honed through years of practice, the one that told Ted he was being a complete yutz.

“You’re hallucinating, Ted. There’s no smell.” She leaned over to look at the turkey. “It does look a little pink, doesn’t it? Maybe we should pop it back into the oven for awhile.”

Ted contemplated further discussion of the objectionable smell, and then thought better of it. His normally unflappable wife had morphed into a stressed out bundle of nerves. This was the first Christmas since her mother died, the first Christmas she planned all by herself. Her family was coming for Christmas dinner and Sally wanted everything perfect. Ted lifted the turkey back into the roaster and heaved it into the oven, his arms trembling under the weight.

“Was this thing a sumo wrestler in a previous life? How much does it weigh?” He adjusted the temperature on the oven, moving it up to five hundred degrees. They did have to eat this Christmas, after all.

“It’s about thirty pounds,” Sally replied. She studied the magazine in front of her with its glossy photos of beautiful, yet edible garnishes. Unfortunately, the tortured tomato in Sally’s hand bared no resemblance to the elegant rosette in the picture. “It’s hopeless.” She plopped her mangled tomato onto the counter. It sagged, its star shaped points flattening against the counter’s surface like a dying jelly fish. “Maybe I’ll just slice the tomatoes.”

Ted watched tomato juice ooze onto the counter and down to the floor. “Good idea.”

The doorbell rang and Sally shot Ted a look of horror.

“I’m not ready yet.” She pulled at her apron strings. “I haven’t changed, or finished setting the table. I didn’t even light the candles.”

Ted turned her around and unknotted the apron. “It’s not like Martha Stewart is coming for Christmas dinner. It’s just your family. They’ve seen us before, warts and all.”

“But this is different. This is the first Christmas . . . our first Christmas alone. I’m the oldest. Christmas is my responsibility now.”

Ted didn’t know where she got that misguided notion, but there was no time to argue.

“The kids and I will set the dining room table. You answer the door before someone freezes to the front step.”

She gave him a nervous smile before hurrying to the door. Ted found his offspring lounging in front of the TV in the basement, ten year old Adam flicking channels with the remote, and thirteen year old Brittany lounging on the recliner. Ted pulled the headphones of the walkman from her ears.

“Hey,” Brittany protested. “I was listening to that.”

“Not anymore.” Ted took the remote from Adam’s hands and clicked off the TV. “We’ve got company and your job is to set the dining room table. Tablecloth, napkins, the whole nine yards. And do a good job. Your allowance depends on it.”

“Is Uncle Dave here?” Adam asked. Sally’s brother Dave was Adam’s favorite uncle, which wasn’t surprising considering that Dave was such a big kid himself.

“I’m not sure. Let’s check it out.”

Upstairs they found that Dave had indeed arrived, along with Sally’s sister, their respective spouses and assorted nieces and nephews. After greeting their guests, Ted shooed Adam and Brittany into the dining room. He followed Sally into the kitchen.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

Sally looked around her kitchen to the dirty dishes heaped high in the sink, the countertops sticky with cooking remains and the mound of mashed potatoes on the floor.

“Aside from blowing up this room? No, I don’t think so. Why don’t you fix everyone a drink while I get things ready.”

Ted poured rum and eggnog for the adults and gave the kids glasses of punch from the bowl Sally had set up on the sideboard. Presents were stacked under the tree to be opened after dinner. Ted sat back in his chair and enjoyed the conversation around him. Even Sally would have to agree that everything was going well.

Sally’s four year old nephew tripped over Ted’s shoes, landing face first on the carpet. The boy laughed, a glazed look in his eyes. Ted frowned at Sally’s sister and her husband. What were they giving the poor kid?

Sally walked into the living room, her smile dying slowly. Ted watched her gaze settle on the punch the kids were drinking before turning on him with “the look”. Now what had he done?

“Please tell me you didn’t give the kids that punch.”

Ted winced. This was not good.

“Ted, I put a bottle of vodka in that punch. That was for the adults.”

For a second the room turned deathly quiet. Then parents scrambled to their feet and grabbed what remained of the punch in their children’s glasses. Sally’s sister Karen picked up her son.

“It’s not so bad, Sal. They didn’t drink that much. We’ll give them something to eat and they’ll be fine.”

Sally nodded, tight-lipped and mortified. Ted hung his head, feeling like the world’s worst husband. He followed Sally into the dining room, staying a respectful three paces behind her. He could practically feel the waves of anger that rolled off his wife and tumbled towards him.

Sally abruptly stopped in the doorway. She turned and stared at him, her eyes wide.

“What have you done?”

She pointed at the dining room table. Mismatched dishes sat on top of what appeared to be a pink and white flowered bedsheet. Instead of dessert spoons, soup spoons sat next to the paper napkins which had been hand coloured with childlike Christmas scenes. Serving as centrepiece, Adam’s favorite decoration, a Santa dressed in a Hawaiian grass skirt and lei, did his animated hula dance to the tune of “Tiny Bubbles”.

Dave and Adam began to hula along with Santa. “Isn’t it great Dad? We went the whole nine yards, like you said.”

Ted smiled weakly. “You sure did, son.”

“Ah-choo.”

Karen’s husband Mike began to wheeze. “It’s my allergies,” he managed between sneezes. “Is someone wearing Old Spice?”

Karen sniffed at the bowl of potpourri that Sally had painstakingly arranged. “It’s this stuff. We have to get rid of it.”

Sally grabbed the bowl, marched to the front door, and dumped the contents into the snow.

“So that’s what smelled,” Ted said as Sally walked by. She glared at him.

“Something else smells, Sal,” Dave said, sniffing the air. “I think something’s burning.”

Ted rushed into the kitchen and to his horror saw the oven in flames. Black smoke billowed out when he opened the door and Sally threw baking soda on the grease that had ignited. The smoke alarm shrilled and children cried. Ted grabbed the pot holders and pulled the roasting pan from the oven, praying it wasn’t as bad as he feared.

It was worse. The turkey lay dry and shriveled in the coffin shaped pan, parts of it burned beyond recognition. The only decent thing to do now was to bury the poor thing.

Sally stared at the turkey, her shoulders slumped in defeat. Ted’s heart broke. She’d wanted so much for this Christmas to be perfect and he ruined it for her.

Though everyone crowded into the kitchen, the room seemed unnaturally quiet. And then from somewhere near the back of the room, Ted heard a chuckle. The chuckle grew into a guffaw and then a full blown laugh. Everyone turned to look at Dave, who was bent over with spasms of laughter.

“Sal, this is priceless. This is so Mom.” He wiped the tears from his eyes. “Do you remember how many times she burnt the Christmas turkey?”

Sally looked confused. “But Mom’s Christmases were perfect.”

Dave grinned. “Take off the rose colored glasses, kid. Mom couldn’t boil water.”

Sally shook her head. “I just remember things being so . . . right.”

“Yes, they were.” Karen smiled. “Mom was a terrible cook. But Christmas was always perfect just because she was there.”

After a moment Sally began to smile. “Do you remember the time she made that marshmallow and sweet potatoe casserole? It was the most vile thing I’ve ever eaten.”

Sally and her brother and sister reminisced about disasters of Christmases past over pre-dinner drinks. For the first time in days, Ted saw his wife relax.

Just after they paid for the pizza, Sally gave Ted a kiss.

“Does this mean you’ve forgiven me?” he asked.

“Only if you forgive me.” She winked at him. “You may even get lucky tonight.”

Ted tucked away that delightful thought. “What about your perfect Christmas? I thought you wanted it to be special.”

Sally smiled. “It is special, and it’s perfect. Just like Mom used to make.”

Puppy Love

“Here they come, Shannon,” Jenna whispered to her dog. “On your best behavior now.”

Jenna had been walking her dog in this neighborhood for the last month. She loved the tree lined streets and wide walking paths that were always full of people and dogs and felt safe even in the evenings. And every day for the past month she and Shannon had run into a handsome, dark haired man and the rambunctious yellow lab pup he called Barney. Barney was particularly fond of Shannon and would start whining and jumping as soon as he caught sight of her. Shannon, a cool and regal German Shepherd, took the younger dog’s eager attentions in her stride, patiently enduring his overly interested sniffs and occasional sloppy kisses. Jenna knew that Barney was eight months old and that the man had named him after his favorite cartoon character, Barney Rubble of “The Flintstones”. He’d told her he’d rescued the puppy from a shelter after it had been abandoned by its former owner and that the young dog still had separation issues. Jenna knew Barney’s whole life history, but next to nothing about the man’s, not even his name.

From the sheen of his luxurious golden coat and the cheerful sparkle in his eye, it was obvious Barney was well-loved and cared for. Jenna firmly believed that the way a person treated their pet revealed a lot about their true nature. The man’s gentle way of handling his dog told her he was a kind, compassionate person, the kind of person she’d like to get to know better. Jenna sighed. If only she could work up the courage to ask the man his name. She knew it silly was to be so shy about simply introducing herself and encouraging him to do the same, but she couldn’t get past it.

The puppy started doing his usual excited dance when he saw Shannon. The man held tight to Barney’s leash but his eyes smiled into Jenna’s. His smile never failed to warm her heart while kindling a spark of excitement inside her. Who was he? Did he live in one of the beautiful old homes in this neighborhood? Was he married? She rejected the last question. He wore no wedding band and she’d never seen him with another woman. Besides, the interest in his eyes convinced her he was unmarried. But if he was interested, why didn’t he ask her to have coffee with him at one of the nearby sidewalk cafes? The only thing they ever talked about was their dogs. Was she deluding herself? Maybe all the interest was on her side.

“Hi,” he said. His smile seemed subdued this evening. “How’s Shannon today?”

“She’s fine,” Jenna answered. She launched into a story about how Shannon had dropped her favorite chew toy down a heating vent and she’d had to call a furnace repairman to get it out. The whole time she told the story she mentally kicked herself for her cowardice. Why couldn’t she ask him out for coffee? What was stopping her from asking his name?

She already knew the answer. Fear stopped her. If she asked him out and found he really wasn’t interested, the humiliation would be unbearable. Going through a painful divorce had taught her to be cautious where her heart was concerned. Perhaps it was better to be alone than to risk rejection.

“I wanted to tell you that Barney and I are moving,” he said suddenly. His eyes were full of regret when he looked at her. “I think Barney’s really going to miss Shannon.”

“Shannon will miss him too.”

Jenna absorbed this information, her spirits plummeting. The idea of never seeing him again caused a knot to form in her stomach, and her heart thumped painfully in her chest. “I know she seems aloof, but that’s just because it takes her a while to warm up to others. She doesn’t like to let her feelings show.”

“Barney’s just the opposite,” he said. “He wears his heart on his sleeve, but I’m afraid that someday someone will take advantage of his trusting nature. I know what that’s like.”

“Yes, so do I.”

They stared at one another for a long time, the unspoken words hanging between them. Jenna couldn’t tear her gaze away from his beautiful dark eyes. There were so many things she wanted to say to him, so many questions she wanted to ask, but she couldn’t make the words come out.

Finally he lowered his gaze and knelt to untangle the leashes that had knotted while the dogs had played at their feet.

“I guess we should be going,” he said at last.

Jenna swallowed hard and forced a smile. She felt as if a part of her were being ripped away. It was crazy to feel such a profound loss over a man she barely knew. Maybe it was best that they never saw each other again.

But she knew that was a lie.

“Yes, Shannon and I should be getting home too. Good luck with your move.”

“Thanks,” he said. “I guess this is goodbye.” Jenna wondered if she imagined the sadness in his smile or if her heart indulged itself in wishful thinking.

She nodded and turned quickly away before she did something stupid like cry.

* * *

Three days later Jenna slipped Shannon’s harness over her head and attached the leash. They hadn’t walked in the neighborhood with the beautiful old houses and the tree lined streets since Barney’s master told her about their imminent move. Jenna simply couldn’t make herself go back there. She’d been so stupid. Why had she let him slip out of her life? There was something special about this man. Though she didn’t know the details of his life, she knew everything about him that mattered. She knew that while he was a little shy, he was also kind and decent and loyal. Men like that didn’t come around very often, she’d discovered. Jenna promised herself that if she ever saw him again, she’d find a way to keep him in her life. At the very least, she’d ask him his name.

She guided Shannon out of their loft apartment and headed for the stairs that led to the street. As they descended the stairs, the door to the street opened, though Jenna couldn’t see who entered. A familiar and very excited bark filled the stairwell. Shannon answered with an equally eager bark. Jenna’s heart ceased beating for a moment. It couldn’t be...

“Shannon? Is that you?” The familiar voice caressed her senses.

Jenna walked carefully down the rest of the stairs, holding tight to Shannon’s leash as the dog tugged her along, anxious to see her friend. Barney jumped up and down beside his owner. The man stared at her, a mixture of surprise and pleasure on his face.

“Do you live here?” he asked.

“Yes. I have the loft on the second floor,” Jenna said. A thought struck her. “Did you buy the place for sale on the third floor?”

“Yes,” he said with an incredulous laugh. “Can you believe it? I thought you lived in the neighborhood where we walked the dogs.”

“No, I just liked to go there with Shannon.” Jenna screwed up her courage and took a deep breath. “I promised myself if I ever saw you again I’d ask you your name.”

“It’s Rick,” he said. “Rick Thompson. What’s your name?”

“Jenna McPherson.”

“Jenna.” He tested her name on his tongue, and then smiled as if he liked the way it sounded. “I’ve been wanting to know your name for a very long time. I don’t know why I couldn’t ask you.”

“I wondered the same thing.” Jenna sent a prayer of thanks heavenward for the second chance and vowed not to let the gift she’d been given slip away. She laughed, her heart bubbling over with happiness.

“I think Shannon’s going to love having Barney for a neighbor.” Jenna smiled shyly at Rick. “So am I.”

The two dogs happily sniffed each other, overjoyed by this surprise reunion. Rick smiled at her, and she knew without a doubt that the joy she saw in his eyes was real. He was grateful for second chances as well. He touched her hand and smiled.

“I think I’m going to love being your neighbor too.”

As I ran up the steps to the gym I was already puffing. What a rotten day to be late. This was the day I had promised myself I would begin my exercise program. It had taken me a year just to get motivated enough to phone the gym. I had come up with all kinds of excuses -- I was too fat, I couldn't keep up, I didn't have anything to wear. But I was determined. Today was the day.

The first thing I saw when I entered gym was large room full various types of weight equipment, looking to me like medieval instruments of torture. From the grunts and groans coming from the people using the equipment it sounded like torture, too. In my self-conscious state of mind, I imagined everyone was staring at me and thinking "What is she doing here? Only us jocks are allowed in here."

I hurried through the weight equipment to the aerobics area. A couple of ceiling fans whirred silently over the exercisors who were beginning their warmup on the black and white tiled floor. Oh no, I thought, I'm too late. I was debating whether to make a run for it when a kind lady came to my rescue.

She took my money and got me a place on the floor, right in front of the large windows facing the street. Not only would everyone in the gym see what rotten shape I was in, so would everyone else in town. I made a mental note to arrive early enough next time so I could hide in the back.

Huge mirrors covered the walls in front of us. I knew the purpose of these mirrors was to allow us to check the position of our bodies and ensure we were doing the exercises correctly. But I hated those mirrors. I had a front row seat as my hair grew damp with sweat, my face turned red with exertion and my feet tripped over each other. Not a pretty sight.

Our instructor, Sherilyn, was a beautiful blond with the kind of figure I had given up hope of having years ago. She wore a body-hugging spandex outfit consisting of a midrift length tank top and matching bicycle shorts. I looked around and noticed that most of the other exercisers wore fashionable little outfits as well. My baggy sweat pants, ancient T-shirt and $10 running shoes were a definite fashion faux pas.

The class tonight was step aerobics, which hadn't been invented the last time I went to a class. For the uninitiated, the purpose of step aerobics is to simulate stair climbing by stepping up and down a six inch platform. This stepping continues for the length of the exercise class or until you dead, whichever comes first. I was hoping for the former.

Sherilyn gave us instructions as she energetically hopped up and down her step. "Put your entire foot on the middle of the step so you don't fall off." Good advice, I thought. She kept up a steady stream of conversation. "Up, up, down, down. Left, right, right, left. Tummies tight. Keep breathing!" I marvelled at her ability to step and talk at the same time. I couldn't utter much more than the occassional groan.

I managed to keep up with the basic step, but then Sherilyn threw in a new wrinkle. "Add you arms, ladies." She did a neat little bicep curl. The change threw me off completely. Doing the foot motion and the arm movement at the same time is something like patting your head and rubbing your tummy simultaneously. I eventually mastered that move, only to get mixed up a few moments later when Sherilyn changed the pattern again. Consequently, I wasn't always doing the same thing as the rest of the class but least I was still moving.

Finally, mercifully, the aerobic section was over. "Okay ladies, take your heart rate!" Sherilyn commanded. I put two fingers on the pulse point at my neck. My heart raced like a thoroughbred at the Kentucky Derby. "Stop!" she said after ten seconds. "Refer to the chart to make sure your pulse rate is in the target zone." She looked at me and asked how my heart rate was. If I could have stopped panting long enough to speak I would have told her I was just glad my heart was still beating. Instead I smiled and nodded.

A good aerobics workout must end with a cool-down period. We slowed our steps and then began to stretch out. As I bent forward in a stretch, I watched in fascination as a bead of sweat ran down the end of my nose and onto the floor. I'd never actually sweated that much before. I half expected a towel boy to race out to mop up the floor like in the basketball games on TV. Maybe all this exercise was making me delusional.

After several more stretchs and some deep breathing exercises, the class was over. I had survived! I had made it throught the whole class without keeling over! I was feeling proud as I walked from the gym on rubbery legs. Maybe I wasn't ready for the Iron Man Triathalon, but at least I hadn't totally embarrassed myself. And think of all the calories I'd just burned. I figured that must be worth at least an extra dessert tonight.