3
Three years ago today, Paul and I went to the S.P.C.A. of Central New York to look for doggie-wogs. I wanted a medium-sized female, about two years old or so. Instead I got a 65-pound beast who was just 10 months old. She had massive green boogers running down her nose from her kennel cough, and the first thing she did when Paul and I took her into the visiting room was hack and hack and hack and finally puke. "This is my girl." Overly excited, puking from excitement. That was me twenty years earlier.
The very nice people at the S.P.C.A. had told me to come pick out a doggie about two weeks before I actually wanted to take her home so that she could be spayed and checked out by the vet and given all her shots. Ever obedient, I did as I was told. I went to the S.P.C.A. that day with the idea that I had a couple weeks before I'd be taking anybody home. I had plans to visit Keita in Seattle the following week, so there was no way I could take her home anyway.
But I had to go and pick the one dog who'd already been spayed, who'd already had all her shots, who'd been checked out by the vet (who apparently found no problem with her majorly green boogers--but that's another story). If I wanted to adopt this dog, whose name was Besa, I'd have to take her home that night, the next day at the latest. So Paul and I went shopping for food, crate, toys, and treats, and then I rallied the troops to stay at my place on Green Street during my trip to Seattle, which I couldn't very well cancel at such short notice. Paul, Mary, Michael, and Monique came to the rescue and cared for my baby girl in shifts for six days. And I think they all fell in love with her.
Since she was 10 months old when I got her, we had to come up with a birthday for her. Uncle Paul chose July 14, Bastille Day.
In these three years, I've walked this girl hundreds of miles and I've kissed her smart bump thousands of times. She's been my rock, my stinkbomb, my favorite girl. She's killed three groundhogs, each of which I had to shovel into plastic garbage bags. She's had one encounter with a porcupine, and my heart nearly broke because of the pain she was surely in. She's gained a good 10 pounds, made lots of doggie friends, flunked out of obedience college, and has so far managed to avoid skunks.
The best thing about Annabelle Blue Butler: she makes me laugh every day. Happy anniversary, stinker.
posted by aerobil @ 9:39 AM
3 comments
3 Comments:
A few things I'll never forget . . .
As Amy was filling out all the adoption paperwork, Annabelle wanted to make sure it was done right, so she stood on her back legs with her paws on the counter--and supervised.
When Amy went to Seattle, I was first shift and immediately disobeyed mother's orders. I didn't have the heart to make a sick puppy sleep in a crate, so I invited her to sleep with me on the bed. During the night, I used paper towels to dab the endless green sludge from her nose. The next day, I confessed my insubordination during a long-distance call with Amy, and the next night--sure enough-- Annabelle was back in her crate.
Since I was the first dog sitter during Amy's absence, I thought we should keep a log of Belly's and sitters (in)discretions. I admit it--I started the system that made some eyes (and a few heads) roll: AD (for Annabelle Deposit); and AR (for Annabelle Release). Monique--the poet who was raised on a farm--used far more practical nomenclature: "Annabelle pooped; Annabelle peed."
Of all the memories of walks and talks and treats, my favorite take place at Green Lakes, an amazing refuge in the heart of Syracuse. Annabelle loves to "run," which actually means a trot for her at the pace a human jogs. Other than Belly swimming in the lake and chasing after other dogs, there are two things I'll never forget:
1) Annabelle (the Belle) is Bilingual. I thought it would be a good idea for her to know commands in two languages, so I was always trying to teach her to go left (a gauche) and right (a droite) at Green Lakes. I really thought she was getting it, too, especially with some extra help I gave with a slight yank of the leash! All I can say is that no one else was speaking to their dog in French!
2) Annabelle the Rescue Dog: One day, just as we were rounding the corner of the upper lake, my shoe found an uneven spot, and down I tumbled on the pathway, causing me to let go of the leash while I tried to break my fall. Some of the good folks on the path rushed to my side, convinced that I'd broken an ankle, a leg, or a wrist. I, meanwhile, was worried that Annabelle would be halfway around the second lake, testing the Greyhound I'm convinced is part of her mix. But just as I was starting to get up, a black beast came up, her head tilted in an expression of concern. But not for long. She told me to get up. There were squirrels to chase and a lake to swim in. No time for restin', she said.
How great that Amy is celebrating three years with such a warm and cuddly Black Lab. I used to babysit a black lab B.B.B. (Before Belly's Birth), and they have to be some of the best dogs on the planet. Here's missing you, Annabelle.
Paul
Illinois is the Better for Belly. Happy birthday!
Another favorite with Uncle Paul: When I was living on Green Street, I had no yard, so the only time Belly was able to go out was when she was on a leash. One day I was at school far longer than I had expected and my poor girl was gonna be cooped up for something like 8 hours on a gorgeous day. I called Paul and asked him, if he had time, to just take the girl around the block for a short walk to pee. He said he'd try. I got home a few hours later to an open empty crate with a bright pink post-it on it that said "gone fishin!" Belly had gone to visit her favorite Uncle Paul.
Post a Comment
<< Home