My Favorite Dogs

Chaney was as white as snow. I remember when I first saw her. She was curled up on a blanket in the floor of the truck. One of our friends, Howard, stopped by the bakery where I worked one day to tell me he had dropped off a surprise with my husband. Howard owned English Setters, but never intended to breed them. Well, you know what can happen with strong willed frisky dogs. And then there was a litter. I figured out quickly that the "surprise" was the cutest, whitest, sweetest little dog I'd ever seen.

Chaney was obedient from day one. How can a dog be so obedient? I don't know. She sat, stayed, came, shook hands, and hunted birds all with a single command from us. We often wondered if this is what raising a child would be like (just for the record, the answer is...yes!).

As Chaney got older she became a serious dog. Always still obedient to the letter.
She walked the perimeter of our property daily to make sure all was in order. She was no-nonsense and didn't like wiggly, licky puppies bouncing around. She never had puppies of her own.

We owned Chaney for 10 years. She was a wonderful dog and made us very happy.

I'll be honest, we kid-napped...um...I mean dog-napped Bear's mom, Sandy. To make a long story short, she was being abused and we had to do SOMETHING. An opportunity presented itself and she jumped in our truck. She was ours. The owner never came looking for her.

Sandy was a Cocker Spaniel mix with a great personality. She showed such character as a good little dog that we decided to breed her to a Boykin Spaniel (breed originating in South Carolina) named Joby. Nine weeks later Bear and his littermates were born.

Bear's litter has to be the best litter of puppies I've ever known. As we gave his littermates away to friends and family we kept up with their lives over the years. It must have been a good gene pool, because most of the dogs from that litter were happy, strong, handsome dogs that lived a long time.

Bear stood out from his brothers and sisters from the beginning. On his very first trip down to the creek he dove right in. The other pups watched in awe. And they all loved him. As Bear grew up we noticed that all dogs loved him. Neighorhood dogs would come to visit and lick all over his face. No dog was a stranger to Bear.

Later in life he proved invaluable for calming our daughter. Her strep throat had been missed by the doctors and she was miserable. I remember taking her outside onto the front porch in the pitch black night when she felt so awful. Bear came to see us and the pain must have subsided while she petted him.

Bear lived to be 13 years old. I miss his old gray muzzle and still mark his birthday on the calendar.

Tank is the handsomest dog we have ever owned. Labrador enthusiasts know the perfect large head shape and proportions for the "perfect" lab. Well, that was Tank. And I'm convinced someone stole him for his looks.

Tank was already an adult dog when we got him. A friend handed him over, official paperwork and all. Even though I resisted taking him at first, I soon realized he was a one in a million dog. He was beautiful, obedient, smart and a true lap dog. He would slowly, ever so slowly, climb into your lap. He was sneeking to do it and if he did it slow enough, no one would notice (or so he thought). How can you not notice an 85 pound lap dog?

Labrador ears are very soft. Our daughter was a thumb sucker and her other hand had to hold something very very soft at the same time. When no soft blanket was available, Tank's ears would have to do. He tolerated this on many occasions. And knowing him, he probably liked it.

I call Peetey our "180 degree dog" because she is the exact opposite of every dog we've ever owned.

Several years ago a man walked up to my husband with a dachshund under his arm and said, "Can you take her?" The man and his family were having some problems and promised to be back for Peetey in 2 weeks. We never heard from them. Two dogs long and half a dog high she is our little piranha..um...I mean dachshund. Yes, Peetey is a female.

We call her "the alarm" because she barks at the slightest unfamiliar noise or strange smell. She can sniff the edge of the door opening and smell someone driving by in a convertible. It is true. We also call her Wiggy, Weetey, Weeker and Rotten.

She likes the words "pickles" and "goats" and doesn't like to watch people dance. She loves treats, tunneling under pillows and covers on the couch. Sometimes we lose her in them. She doesn't come when you call her. She is very smart and will only obey commands if it benefits her in some way. Training classes for Peetey were for a total loss.

After owning only large dogs, we wonder how we ended up with a small one. All I can surmise is that God loves Peetey very much. She is a thankful dog. She seems to know that she has a good life. We love her for who she is.

The following paragraph is priceless. It at least gives me insight into knowing that Peetey's disposition is not of our doing.

"Being the owner of dachshunds, to me a book on dog discipline becomes a volume of inspired humor. Every sentence is a riot. Some day, if I ever get a chance, I shall write a book, or warning, on the character and temperament of the dachshund and why he can't be trained and shouldn't be. I would rather train a striped zebra to balance an Indian club than induce a dachshund to heed my slightest command. When I address Fred I never have to raise either my voice or my hopes. He even disobeys me when I instruct him in something he wants to do."

Goodman, Jack (1947). The Fireside Book of Dog Stories. University of California: Cassell and Co. p. 176.

If you guessed "B. Peetey, Chaney, Tank and Bear" you are right!