We Have a Big Dog – Part One of Three

A Big Heart and a Heartache

We have a big dog. I have always been a "dog" person, but I especially like the large breeds like St. Bernard, Great Dane, Mastiff, you get the idea. The problem is, I've never had enough space—inside or out—to justify owning one of these giants. But we've been owned by some pretty big dogs, usually because we find one that needs to be rescued, either from starvation, or from some nasty ailment.

We now have an American Staffordshire Terrier, but more on him later. Before this, we had a Mastiff mix, who weighed in at about 75 pounds. My wife found him dirty, underfed, and tied to a tree with several other smaller dogs. She inquired at the owners house, and bought Ike for $50.00 bill. He was a beautiful dog, but when my wife brought him home he smelled worse than a dead skunk; and so did the car! A bath was the first order of business. We learned early on that he had an unreasonable hatred for cats. At the time, we had no cats, thankfully.

We adopted Ike at an age the vet estimated to be one year old. He was a great dog, with a great personality—until it was time to clip his claws, or if a cat was nearby. We could not clip his claws. The vet barely managed to a couple of times, with the aid of a powerful sedative, but usually he just had long claws. We didn't feel right having powerful narcotics administered to him so we could cut his toenails. Not to mention the expense.

Ike developed severe arthritis in his hindquarters at an early age. He could get around okay most of the time, but was in pain and cranky. This is when Ike became an inside pet, for his aching bones couldn't take the freezing West Virginia winters; or for that matter, the 50 degree summer nights that we enjoy here, either. Once he was housebound, and the vet had given him anti-inflammatory drugs to control the arthritis, he seemed like a puppy again. A long-clawed, cat-hating puppy. Nevertheless, a truly lovable mutt.

The Neighbor has Many Cats

Like any dog, Ike wanted to be outside more than the just enough time allotted for his bathroom breaks. It was a warm early autumn afternoon, so one of us decided to tie Ike out to a stake in front of the house, using a tie-out rope, so he could bask in the sun. We had gotten in the habit of doing this, trying to give him some outside time before the weather turned bitter. The back yard was all shaded at this time of the year, so we had to have him in the unfenced front yard so he could have access to the therapeutic rays of the sun.

It was absolutely necessary that Ike be tied, because the neighbors had acquired cats. Ike did not want to see a live cat in the neighborhood, and, well, you know what would happen. Ike was a pretty big dog, and when his arthritis wasn't bothering him, he could run like a deer.

To be continued…

Learning from Kittens

On Learning Humanity from the Animal Kingdom

I have never been a “cat person,” but we have kittens. These two lively sprites are superb examples of cuteness and companionship. They are a tad over 6 months old, and appear to be twins, with matching yellow stripes--but the one we call Tut is a male, and loves to cuddle to people—especially to me--and Cleo is a female who has a different agenda. Cleo is very self-centered, so much so that she reminds me of a human teenager (and I speak with some authority here, because I’ve raised 4 teenagers, and still have a 15-year-old at home).

So similar is the appearance of these animals that we needed to color code them with a red collar on Tut, and a blue one on Cleo. What they both have in common is that they both still act like very young kittens, rather than like the nearly adult cats that they are. Their mother, Callie, is a Calico-patterned former stray who landed on our doorstep nearly two years ago. Callie is very friendly, and will follow us around like a puppy, but she does not like to be touched. She wants to be close--but not that close.

We really need to get Callie spayed. We thought that since she was such a sheltered animal, who does not associate with outside cats (though she loves to hang with our big, clumsy, Staffordshire Terrier), that we could get away with not having her neutered. Live and learn: she will be fixed next month. In the meantime, though, there are lessons to be learned from these three remarkable feline characters.

The kittens are still nursing. They are over 6 months old, they are otherwise on a diet of dry Meow Mix, they both are nearly as large as their mother, yet they still suckle from her daily. Why? Because the mother, Callie, allows them to do it. She allows them to do it regardless of what effect it may have on others, or even her own health. You see, Callie recently gave birth to a second litter of two.

The two recent additions were dropped in the weeds near the house, and ignored—left to die—while she continued to nurse the now nearly mature litter. We tried to convince her to nurse the newborns, to no avail. She would have nothing to do with them. She was on the porch, nursing the older kittens within minutes of the recent birth, and she would not so much as look at the tiny newborn kittens, even though they were meowing so loudly that it sounded like screams. It was heartbreaking to listen to the wails of the newborn kittens. The next day, the cries stopped. They were dead.

Is there a lesson in this for those of us of the human persuasion? I think so. I have seen something analogous to this feline story more than once: a child needs to be weaned in order to mature, to achieve his or her station in life; and a mother needs to wean the child at the proper time in order to take care of the other loved ones in her life, loved ones who will inevitably suffer because of the excessive attention given to the adult child.

A child cannot grow in his faith unless allowed to pursue it on his own terms, after careful training and nurturing by his parent. There is a time to let go, no matter how much it hurts—for the good of the child, and for the good of the family.

Of course, even so, good advice and appropriate faith support should be given to the newly freed individual, at every opportunity. And of course, they should be in our prayers every day. After all, they are still our children, no matter how old.

Dixon

My Ancestral Land
(The kid on the Jeep is Trey, my son's friend.)