Funny Pet Storys

 A young boy, about eight years old, was at the corner ‘Mom & Pop’ grocery picking out a pretty good size box of laundry detergent. The grocer walked over, and, trying to be friendly, asked the boy if he had a lot of laundry to do. ‘Oh, no laundry,’ the boy said, ‘I’m going to wash my dog.’ ‘But you shouldn’t use this to wash your dog. It’s very powerful and if you wash your dog in this, he’ll get sick. In fact, it might even kill him.’ But the boy was not to be stopped and carried the detergent to the counter and paid for it, even as the grocer still tried to talk him out of washing his dog.
  About a week later the boy was back in the store to buy some candy. The grocer asked the boy how his dog was doing. ‘Oh, he died,’ the boy said. The grocer, trying not to be an I-told-you-so, said he was sorry the dog died but added, ‘I tried to tell you not to use that detergent on your dog.’ ‘Well,’ the boy replied, ‘I don’t think it was the detergent that killed him.’ ‘Oh? What was it then?’
   ’I think it was the spin cycle!’ the boy replied again.

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They can be helpful

They protect our children

They look out for the smaller ones

They are great at decorating for the Holidays

They have “great” expectations

They show us how to relax

They “converse” with each other

They help you when you’re down

They are Patriotic

They are happy to “test” the water

They love their “teddies”

They know who’s “BOSS”

AND – They know when we need a good LAUGH!

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Dogs as Teachers
If a dog were your teacher you’d learn stuff like:
When loved ones come home, always run to greet them.
Never pass up the opportunity to go for a joyride.
Allow the experience of fresh air and the wind in your face to be pure
ecstasy.
When it’s in your best interest–practice obedience.
Let others know when they’ve invaded your territory.
Take naps and stretch before rising.
Run, romp, and play daily.
Thrive on attention and let people touch you.
Avoid biting when a simple growl will do.
On warm days, stop to lie on your back on the grass.
On hot days, drink lots of water and flop under a shady tree.
When you’re happy, dance around and wag your entire body.
No matter how often you’re scolded, don’t buy into the guilt thing and
pout. Run right back and make friends.
Delight in the simple joy of a long walk.
Eat with gusto and enthusiasm. Stop when you have had enough.
Be loyal.
Never pretend to be something you’re not.
If what you want lies buried, dig until you find it.
When someone is having a bad day, be silent, sit close by and nuzzle
them gently.

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ONE BY ONE …

One by One, they pass by my cage,
Too old, too worn, too broken, no way.
Way past his time, he can’t run and play.
Then they shake their heads slowly and go on their way.
A little old man, arthritic and sore,
It seems I am not wanted anymore.
I once had a home, I once had a bed,
A place that was warm, and where I was fed.
Now my muzzle is grey, and my eyes slowly fail.
Who wants a dog so old and so frail?
My family decided I didn’t belong,
I got in their way, my attitude was wrong.
Whatever excuse they made in their head,
Can’t justify how they left me for dead.
Now I sit in this cage, where day after day,
The younger dogs get adopted away.
When I had almost come to the end of my rope,
You saw my face, and I finally had hope.
You saw thru the grey, and the legs bent with age,
And felt I still had life beyond this cage.
You took me home, gave me food and a bed,
And shared your own pillow with my poor tired head.
We snuggle and play, and you talk to me low,
You love me so dearly, you want me to know.
I may have lived most of my life with another,
But you outshine them with a love so much stronger.
And I promise to return all the love I can give,
To you, my dear person, as long as I live.
I may be with you for a week, or for years,
We will share many smiles, you will no doubt shed tears.
And when the time comes that God deems I must leave, I know you will
cry and your heart, it will grieve.

And when I arrive at the Bridge, all brand new,
My thoughts and my heart will still be with you.
And I will brag to all who will hear,
Of the person who made my last days so dear.

- – - – - – - – Author Unknown

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This past December, I think it was, I had houseguests for the holidays. December 24, my friends’ little boy said he thought it would be funny if my dog went under the tree and got one of her presents. He had heard that she likes opening gifts (with supervision, of course) and knows which ones are hers.

Well, wouldn’t you know it… My dog snuck under the tree and the child was giggling. He starts shouting, “She has a present! She has a present!” Sure enough, there was my dog and she was opening her present: From the little boy . He couldn’t have been more happy. Nor could she. It was her own Elmo.

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My youngest daughter Anna started back to school last week. She and our 18-month-old Springer Spaniel are inseparable and great buddies. When Anna started putting on her school uniform the dog kept running back to her room and fetching her ‘normal’ clothes as he knew that seeing her in school uniform meant she’d have to leave him.
debs04

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We had our lovely little girl, Foxie, for 14 years. She came to live with us strictly by accident. I came home from doing some chores one afternoon to discover a cardboard box. It was closed up, with the endflaps wedged shut. My old dog, Regal, was barking at it and I went to see what it was. Well, inside was a wet, woebegone, bedraggles little black and brown puppy. That puppy soon became our Foxie lady. Every day of her life, after she was ours, was filled with love for her. She was in our hearts to stay forever.However, there came the time when we finally had to say our sad goodbyes to her happy (but graying) face. Her health had deteriorated and the vet sadly said it was time. And so we said goodbye.

But to my way of thinking, a home is not a home without a dog in it. So two days after our farewell, I was at the local Humane Society talking to the animals to the animals there who needed to be loved as badly as I needed to give love. One little guy in the corner kennel caught my eye. He was in there alone, and very depressed acting. He obviously wasn’t happy with his surroundings. Stooping down to talk to him I thought to myself – this little guy doesn’t meet your criteria Lillian Ann. I’d set out to find a short hair dog, a female, a small dog, and an older dog. This fellow was none of that.

The card his previous owner had filled out stated he was untrainable, not house broken, aggressive, a nipper and biter, and had been kept in the bathroom all day while owners worked, walked twice a day and lived in an apartment. After reading all this negativity, I thought to myself, there’s nothing here that time and training won’t cure.We discovered he was a border collie mix, 4 1/2 months old. He came home with us.

He was already named Gary, so we just kept his name, thinking he had enough adjustment to make without worrying about a new name. As soon as he learned that he door in the kitchen led to the garage which led outside, he was housebroken – about 60 minutes time. He ran and played in the backyard until I thought he was going to faint. He chased balls, toys, lizards and squirrels along the top of the fence. He was enrolled in puppy kindergarten, and socialized, socialized, socialized. He was taught that good puppies don’t bite and nip hands, feet and ankles when they play. Chew toys, Kongs, and stuffed puppy toys are great fun to chew, and when you play and chew them, you get clicks and treats.

One year later, my little mischievious puppy has turned into a marvelously well behaved dog. He’s a real eager beaver when it come to learning new things. We go to the dog park and he runs and plays with his friends for two hours every evening.

He’s a very special boy, and he has a very special in his Mom and Dad’s heart. We still miss our Foxie girl, we still love our Foxie girl, just as we still miss and love all our other dogs before her. Gary has not filled the empty spot she left. He’s done something, better, more important. He’s created his own spot in our hearts. He’s accepted the love we have to offer and give us more love and pleasure every day we have him with us. He is truly love in a big golden, fur wrapped, red tongue, brown eyed package.

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“Welly come! Welly … Weeeeelly!” Our screams were futile, too easily drowned-out by the ocean’s roar. We weren’t sure, but it appeared our dog was succumbing to the relentless walls of crushing water. Our champion swimmer doesn’t flounder like this, could it be he was actually drowning before our eyes? Veins popping with the rush of adrenaline, we concluded he must be saved; but in the end, I wonder exactly who saved whom.

“Saved.” That’s the title of an entrancing painting by Sir Edwin Landseer that refines our living-room ambience. It features Milo, a glorious Newfoundland dog, cradling another hapless victim of the turbulent waters off New England’s Egg Rock lighthouse. Local lore has heaped legendary status on Milo’s rescues, plucking dozens of his best friends before being consumed by a watery grave. Change Milo to Welly, the location to Fort Canby State Park in Washington State, a few other details and I’m suddenly immersed in my own real life version of “Saved.”

Perhaps most sinister of all was how the picturesque splendor and tranquil beauty of Beard’s Hollow lulled my fiancée Cheryl and me into a false sense of security. We had been, after all, 3 hours in a hot car, so who could blame us for becoming lax as the soothing ocean breezes caressed our sun-chapped skin. Only footsteps away the frothy surf beckoned irresistibly, and so off came the sneakers and up rolled our pant-legs for a toe-wiggling stroll at the ocean’s edge. Welly too, decided to get his paws wet, and that’s where all the trouble started.

You see, our golden retriever is “blessed” with the swimming gene. Here’s how it works: first, the paws get wet. Then, this stimulus triggers the swimming gene into producing such overwhelming impulses that the dog simply plunges into the water with reckless abandon. No matter how rough the waves; no matter how strong the rip currents; these are powerful genetic forces at work, and won’t be denied.

So there he suddenly was, way out there, bobbing up and down and riding the waves as though auditioning for the sequel to Blue Crush. Having witnessed his marathon swimming stints in the Puget Sound and local lakes many times, Cheryl and I maintain a watchful yet unconcerned eye. Soon, however, mild apprehension turned to near panic, as it’s now clear that Welly is disoriented and struggling for air amidst the tumbling waves.

Just as powerful as Welly’s swimming gene, and capable of rendering wanton disregard for one’s own safety, our protective impulses now kicked in. Cheryl, acting first, stripped down and entered her lifeguard mode while I braved a slippery, jagged rock formation. From my daunting perch I waved ferociously, bellowing “Welly Come, Welly Come!” Cheryl, already in her breaststroke, yelled too. From my vantage point I saw another fella around the cove entering the water to help Welly. The pivotal moment had arrived: a dog seemingly lost at sea and three humans about to risk life and limb so that it be saved.

Then, on the precipice of disaster, it all ended as suddenly as it had begun. Welly caught the perfect wave and rode it to shore in the most splendid “hang ten” I’ve ever seen. Still, the rocks beneath me presented a formidable obstacle, and I had dreadful thoughts of my golden retriever’s Blue Crush dreams ending in an orange crush under my feet. Miraculously, however, he shimmied between the crags and into the arms of an adoring “mommy.” We celebrated life heartily that night with a sumptuous feast, and I didn’t let on that I noticed Cheryl snuck Welly the largest steak.

Now, when I look at that painting of Milo, I also see Welly, for it takes little imagination to see exactly who saved whom here. We’d have entered the water deeper and longer, so stifling was the heat, but thanks to Welly the “graveyard of the Pacific” was denied it’s morbid appetite that consequential day; and now we can go on loving him and all his furry friends. Pass it on; the love, that is.

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