All Creatures, Regal And Ridiculous - Part II
To put it simply, Foster was The Best Dog Ever and three dogs later his title remains uncontested. He loved Amanda (my daughter), tennis balls, Katie (my granddaughter), and us, in that order.
Foster looked after Amanda for the first half of his life, and then came to live with us and we looked after him for the second half. For him, we broke our ‘no dogs on the couch rule’, something every dog since has taken for granted. We never slept in on the weekends. He’d start nudging us at first light because he didn’t want us to be late getting to the park where the tennis balls grew (the tennis court nearby provided an inexhaustible supply). He always knew what day it was. During the week, he’d wake us every morning at 4am, take himself down two flights of stairs while we waited at the top, go for a pee, then bring himself back up the stairs. He’d have breakfast and then a nap. A ‘proper walk’ would happen a few hours later. See? Best. Dog. Ever. For this and so many other reasons.
Amanda was also responsible for Marlowe’s presence in my life. He was one of the unending stream of rescued kittens that find their way to her and, for some reason, when she showed me a photo of a pretty little Siamese (Marlowe’s sister), I responded with ‘maybe’ instead of my usual, emphatic ‘no’.
On the day we went to meet the kittens, the Siamese girl would have nothing to do with us. All I remember about her is her backside as she walked out of the room, not at all interested in letting me get anywhere near her. Her brother, a tiny, black, cotton-ball who would become my cat, however, turned on his charm along with his purr-motor. He was as soft as a cloud, and I was immediately smitten as he made a huge fuss over us. We named him after the English poet, Christopher Marlowe.
Foster gave Marlowe a quick once-over when we brought him home. He looked at us as if to say “really?” as Marlowe went full-on miniature Halloween cat, hissing and arching his back at Foster. That moment soon passed, and Foster became Marlowe’s surrogate uncle, jungle gym, and guide.
David had never lived with a cat before and because of this, wasn’t quite sure how he felt about them. The first night after we brought Marlowe home, David tucked him into a basket in the study and expected him to stay there. I knew better but let David be surprised when he realized he was going to have to share space with an immovable force covered in black fur for basically, the rest of their lives. Marlowe has keen street-smarts. He knew a few nose-bops would win David over and he wasn’t wrong. David is still the only one who gets nose bops from Marlowe.
Foster raised Marlowe. He’d helped Amanda raise several litters of rescue kittens over the years so when we brought home a fluff with whiskers and switchblade feet, he knew exactly what to do. He taught Marlowe to play ball. Marlowe can hold his own to any EPL player, then or now.
Marlowe’s soon earned the nickname “NinjaKitten” as he would appear out of nowhere and climb any unsuspecting passerby like a tree. This was unnerving enough when he was tiny, but he grew very quickly into a very large cat. At one point we began to wonder if we should worry for our safety. Not really. Okay, maybe just a little. He’s a domesticated feral, never letting us forget he’s feral. Or a ninja.
Foster developed a couple of different ailments as he grew older. He slowed down and we no longer made early-morning weekend trips to the park, but instead let him carry his ball to the empty lot across the street. He’d be up for a couple of short tosses and then the walk home would wear him out, but he never lost his love for the simple joy a tennis ball gave him. We kept him comfortable and happy for as long as we could. In April it will be ten years since we lost him but he’s never far from my thoughts.
It was just the three of us for several months after Foster left. I would half-heartedly scan the shelter websites and rescue pages during that time, but never with much interest, until I saw Copper’s picture. He was already five years old, though, which was older than I had I mind, so we didn’t visit the shelter until a few weeks later, and that was to meet a different dog.
That dog was… fine. He was healthy and attractive; I’m sure made someone an excellent companion, but he wasn’t ‘our dog’. The shelter was well over capacity and absolutely heaving with dogs. I passed one of the volunteers who was taking a group of 5-6 dogs outside to the yard, looked down at her pack and there he was. When I asked her “is that Copper?", he immediately let me know he was, indeed, Copper and gratefully came with me as she handed me his leash so we could get acquainted. It was a miracle that we connected with him unintentionally amidst all the rescue dogs and was love at first sight, for all of us. I left him sitting next to David on a bench in the lobby while I went to the window to fill out the adoption forms. He’d been there for several months so his fee had been reduced to $25. The clerk confirmed that I understood Copper had heartworms and would need treatment.
I knew the procedure for heartworm treatment was intense and not cheap, so I got out of line, went over to where Copper and David were sitting and gave them the news. They both basically told me it did not matter, to get back in line, finalize the adoption and we’d work it out later. Copper was our dog now, no turning back.
We did work it out. A few thousand dollars later for heartworm treatment, dental work to extract a broken tooth, and neutering, our $25 Shelter Dog Project was complete.
Copper was a Catahoula Leopard Dog. Foster had some Catahoula in him, so we thought we knew what to expect. You can probably guess where this is going.
While Foster was a finicky eater, Copper would eat anything, with whatever he found in the garbage being a preferred favorite. The garbage cabinet still has a child-lock on the door. Foster loved chasing a ball more than life itself. Copper wondered why we were throwing things at him. He was an expert at herding, though, and regularly directed Marlowe away, usually from us when it was dinner time, and also led any visitors we might meet to our front door, since he knew the way there from the parking lot could be a bit confusing for them. Foster was affectionate, but not needy. Copper was extremely needy and the clumsiest cuddler ever. He didn’t understand kindness, or how humans are supposed to care for dogs, for most of his life. In spite of that he loved with his entire being and we did our best to for him in the few years he spent with us.
While Copper's heartworm treatment was deemed successful, it left his heart with lasting damage which caused it to become enlarged before he turned 10 (best guess, we never really knew how old he was). After consulting with our regular vet and a canine cardiologist he was put on a daily drug regime which helped for about a year and a half before he left us to join Foster and Pepe and Simon and all the others before him. He may not have been the best dog ever, but he was the best dog he knew how to be, and that was enough.
Once again, it was just the three of us, for longer this time and Marlowe was pleased with the arrangement until after a couple of years, I began looking at shelter and rescue websites. This time, though, I had a list of requirements for our next family member. They must be under 30 lbs. (condo rules), minimal grooming requirements, no puppies, and no Chihuahuas. And no heart worms. I couldn't do that again.
One of our good friends found Tillie roaming unsupervised in their neighborhood. She’d been there a couple of weeks, surviving off scraps and the kindness of strangers. She wasn’t microchipped and they were unable to locate her previous home. This was several months into the first year of the pandemic when healthy smaller dogs were becoming incredibly hard to come by. I knew if we wanted her, we’d have to decide quickly. From her photos, it was evident she was a pug mix and I told myself that if it didn’t work out, the pug rescue would have her placed in no time. We got a crate, and other basic supplies, and our friend delivered her to us her the following evening.
I’d intended to tell you more about Tillie and Marlowe at this point but I’ve realized I could write an entire column just about them. So that’s what I’ll do in the coming weeks, after I take a break from this train of thought.
In the meantime, if you enjoy my weekly column, would you please consider sharing by forwarding this email or the link to my site? The Mystic’s Parlour (the-mystics-parlour.ghost.io)
Your continued support is important to me, and your feedback is always welcome. I’d love to hear your stories if you’re inclined to share. You can contact me via email at themysticsparlour@gmail.com.