I woke up this morning and was terribly motivated to this move: going through boxes, sorting through clothes, downsizing in general, organizing, all the while doing the laundry, answering to (almost) every call of "ma-ma". Man, am I exhausted! So I'm taking a sitting moment to write up the last of my childhood-dogs series of old photos. (Did you ever think I was going to finish?)
In 1992
Dusty gave birth to Chief. I don't know how many people have raised a puppy from birth – it was definitely a unique experience. There were the first couple of weeks where we let Dusty and the then-unnamed puppy have their space. Since we were part of Dusty's accepted "pack" she let us hold the puppy occasionally, but we made sure not to push it.
Looking back, Chief the puppy was a lot like a human toddler: brief spurts of enormous curious energy followed by a sudden need for a nap; we had to puppy-proof the house so he couldn't get into places he shouldn't be; even with four legs it was interesting to watch him learn how to climb up and down stairs. Of course puppies/dogs grow at a faster rate than humans. It didn't seem long before Dusty was interested in weaning him.
The two of them had a pretty good dynamic, probably because they understood the mother/son relationship that they had. I remember there was a time when Dusty seemed always to be "teasing" Chief, pulling on his tail and rough playing with him like you would see peers doing to younger animals in the wild. And then one day, it was like they were equals and she didn't play around with him like that as much anymore, although every once in awhile they would get really worked up about something and go chasing each other around the yard at top speed.
Sadly, Dusty outlived Chief. I'm not exactly sure how it was that he died since I'd been away at college, but I know the day I was coming home, my mom had called to say that he'd been sick, maybe something that he'd eaten accidentally. (He was always vacuuming food in, not taking the time to chew properly. My mom actually has a really gross story about Chief and the panty hose stocking that he ate.) When I arrived I found Dusty outside of her kennel – she always managed a way out of those things: another of
our Houdini dogs – down by Chief's kennel opening, apparently licking him. He'd already died. Drew was with me that afternoon, so after I called my mom at work, he carried Chief to the car for us and we took Chief to be cremated (at the vet's office).
In 1992 Dusty gave birth to Chief. I don't know how many people have raised a puppy from birth – it was definitely a unique experience. There were the first couple of weeks where we let Dusty and the then-unnamed puppy have their space. Since we were part of Dusty's accepted "pack" she let us hold the puppy occasionally, but we made sure not to push it.
Looking back, Chief the puppy was a lot like a human toddler: brief spurts of enormous curious energy followed by a sudden need for a nap; we had to puppy-proof the house so he couldn't get into places he shouldn't be; even with four legs it was interesting to watch him learn how to climb up and down stairs. Of course puppies/dogs grow at a faster rate than humans. It didn't seem long before Dusty was interested in weaning him.
The two of them had a pretty good dynamic, probably because they understood the mother/son relationship that they had. I remember there was a time when Dusty seemed always to be "teasing" Chief, pulling on his tail and rough playing with him like you would see peers doing to younger animals in the wild. And then one day, it was like they were equals and she didn't play around with him like that as much anymore, although every once in awhile they would get really worked up about something and go chasing each other around the yard at top speed.
Sadly, Dusty outlived Chief. I'm not exactly sure how it was that he died since I'd been away at college, but I know the day I was coming home, my mom had called to say that he'd been sick, maybe something that he'd eaten accidentally. (He was always vacuuming food in, not taking the time to chew properly. My mom actually has a really gross story about Chief and the panty hose stocking that he ate.) When I arrived I found Dusty outside of her kennel – she always managed a way out of those things: another of our Houdini dogs – down by Chief's kennel opening, apparently licking him. He'd already died. Drew was with me that afternoon, so after I called my mom at work, he carried Chief to the car for us and we took Chief to be cremated (at the vet's office).
