A BOW, A WOW AND A MEOW

When I was a little girl, during  pre-Amazon days, bottles of milk would be delivered to the front door of our house, and the “Egg Lady” would bring fresh eggs. I never did know her name. All I knew was that she had a birthmark on her face, and lived on a farm with lots of chickens.  She was a jolly lady, and I looked forward to her deliveries. Whenever I saw her, I’d shout, “The ‘Egg Lady’ is here.”’  One morning when she arrived, she said, “ I have five brand new puppies at my house. Would you like to have one?” Luckily, Mama wasn’t home!

I ran to my Father’s study, and said, “Papa, the ‘Egg Lady’ wants to give me one of her puppies. Can I say, ‘Yes?’’’ As luck would have it, Papa happened to be reading, Spinosa’s, Emendation Treatise on THE EMENDATION OF THE INTELLECT. So, his answer was something like “ummm.” The next week the “Egg Lady” brought me my puppy. When Mama came home from the market, she was surprised to see a little whimpering puppy in a big box. All she said was, “No one asked me!” The next morning when I woke up, my puppy was gone. Mama said, “It wasn’t nice to take him from his mother who would miss him.”

The guilt trip lasted for a few days, but my affection for dogs never waned over the years, and now, for the first time in my life, I have the pleasure of playing with five precious dogs that belong to my neighbors. I always have the great joy of petting them while at the same time not having to walk them in the heat or the rain—or pick up their generous droppings. Let me introduce you:

Sometimes, I forget that Abbi the pedigree Standard Poodle is really a dog, because she is extremely intuitive, gentle and kind—definitely a thoroughbred lady! Also, she has recently graduated from school, and is now a, “Certified Trained Therapy Dog.” I was told that at the graduation ceremony she wore a mortar board, and didn’t eat the tassel. Florence Nightingale and Sigmund Freud would have been proud of her, because they both pioneered the idea of animal assisted therapy. Florence noticed “patients’ relief of anxiety,” and Sigmund felt that some patients were more comfortable talking to a dog than to him. Makes sense to me!

The other neighborhood heartbreaker is little Bella, a beautiful, white, pure bred Westie (West Highland Terrier). She is all wiggle and pee when she sees me. That is the most enthusiastic greeting I have received from anyone. I did always enjoy audience applause for my plays, but it was nothing like Bella’s enthusiasm (although in intermission some people did run to the comfort station).

Tiny, five pound, Pepe is probably the most unique pup I have ever seen, because he looks like a miniature sheep. I am a sucker for his, “Choose Me!” eyes. He pitter-patters along the sidewalk— minding his own business—in more ways than one.  One day, while on my balcony, I watched as wee Pepe, on leash, was briskly trotting behind his Mistress. Suddenly, he tried to stop. (I guess it was sniffing time) but she didn’t notice and kept walking. So, Pepe dug in his miniature heels and kind of skate boarded behind her until she stopped. Not only does Pepe fit well on a friendly lap, he is also easily tucked into a shoulder bag.

Then there’s Tilly, a fawn colored what’s it? with enough Pug and big brown eyes that even Queen Victoria, the lover of Pugs, couldn’t resist when Tilly begs for treats. Tilly likes to be petted, but is deeply disappointed when she’s not rewarded for the privilege. She is so well trained that her Master allows  her to walk in front of him while she drags her leash with her own plastic pooper bag attached. She justifiably fits the Latin phrase, “multum in parvo,” (a lot of dog in a small space.)

Without a doubt, Sparky, a mixed breed Cockapoo is one of the most popular dogs in the neighborhood. This Cocker Spaniel, Poodle mixture loves everyone—dogs as well as humans—and probably any other living thing that moves. Cockapoos are a dog of the 1960’s, and for sure this clown of a dog has the personality of a flower child. Being greeted by Sparky is worth an early, early morning walk.

Of course, I can’t end this story without mentioning Radar my son and daughter-in-law’s thirteen-pound, Norwegian Forest Cat, who thinks he is a dog. Radar’s ancestors sailed on Viking Ships, and in the 1950’s King Olav V declared them the, “Official Cat of Norway.” Radar is very curious and sticks his nose wherever it doesn’t belong—especially into my suitcase when I visit. He is rather aloof which is okay with me, because we share a mutual respect, and he is never destructive. Radar waits for my son to come home from work, follows him up the stairs and rolls over for a belly rub (just like a dog). I like him because he minds his own business, and except for an occasional hairball, doesn’t cause a fuss—other than the day he trotted across the coffee table and set his tail on fire. It was a Viking thing!  His breed is one of the few domestic cats capable of descending a tree head first. Since he’s an indoor cat, the refrigerator seems to suffice as long as you keep the door shut.

Just like people, dogs and cats have their own personalities.  I did not mention the two ankle biters in my neighborhood. Their dogs aren’t so well trained either.

Esther Blumenfel