DOGS OF OUR LIVES – TUSK THE TERRIBLE

How can you possibly hold out when your son and the neighbors and your friends are all telling you that your dog, Fang, is getting old, that this is probably the only chance to ever have one of his children, that you simply cannot pass up the opportunity to add this small black dog to your family. So, we did.

She was AJ’s dog and he got to name her. He (maybe we) wanted something that would tie into Fang and came up with Tusk. She was a cute and very friendly little puppy, and she never met anyone she didn’t like or want to give kisses. It was our hope she would take after her father rather than her mother, the ugliest dog in the world (okay, neighborhood). And, by ugliest dog, I mean the mother was mottled black and white and always looked greasy and as though she had mange.

Tusk grew to adulthood and, unfortunately, took after her mother. Not only was she greasy, lacking fur in various places at various times, but she smelled bad. We took her to the vet numerous times, tried all kinds of flea treatments and spent who knows how much money in trying to relieve Tusk of whatever problem she had but to no avail.

Since Tusk was AJ’s dog, I asked him for memories he’d like to share and the following has been adapted from his email:

I remember first seeing and holding her where she was born. Her owner and I noted all the markings on her coat were just like Fang’s so he had to be her dad. I still remember the dinner where Ma and Pa informed me that, yes, it would be okay for me to go get her after dinner as long as I fulfilled my duties in caring for a puppy. I couldn’t eat fast enough so I could bring her home and the best part was that she was a kisser.

Tusk went everywhere with me even before I drove. If I rode my bike to 7-11 or the playground to shoot hoops, I would stick the basketball between the bike frame, pick her up and off we’d go. Of course riding a bike with one hand and holding a dog in the other while barreling down 35^th or 37^th seems batshit crazy now, but like all dogs, Tusk loved the wind in her face. On the way home, we’d walk and she would scout ahead doing what dogs do.

When we’d go camping, huckleberry or blackberry picking, Tusk always went along. Usually, she would rush off to scout the area for 20 or 30 minutes and then return to find me wherever I was. Most of the time, I had to pick seeds and brush she always accumulated on these excursions out of her coat.

My favorite memory of Tusk relates to her spot on my bed. It was hers and it was right next to me. Whenever a girlfriend came over and wanted to sit down, lay down or hang out in my room, Tusk would give a low growl…her way of letting the girl know she didn’t consider her good enough for me. The only girl she never gave the growl to was Angie and looking back now as I write this, it was Tusk’s way of showing she approved of Angie.

When I began to drive, I wasn’t home a lot, but whenever I could, I would take her with me. One of my favorite times was on my paper route. She loved going with me and would hang out the window or, if we were delivering to a cul-d-sac, I’d let her out at the entrance and then wait for her to catch up when I returned.

And when it snowed, I think she enjoyed it more than I did. Sledding down the big hill sometimes she’d hop aboard and flirt with danger as we bombed down the slope or she’d chase and slide all on her own.

As Mom wrote earlier, Tusk always had a hygiene problem. The various vet remedies and bathing and combing her once a week helped, but she was still greasy and smelly. Once I went to work, I heard about a vet up north who specialized and so I took Tusk to him. It was one of two things; one was really serious and one not so much. It turned out she had a bad thyroid for which she could take medication.

Once Tusk had been on the medication for a while, her fur grew in all over and it was silky and soft and curly…she became a beautiful girl and smelled good. She also began to act more like a puppy than the older dog she was. Tusk was with me from age nine through age 24; and, smelly and mangy looking or soft and beautiful I loved my girl.

When AJ moved out, Tusk went with him and we, our neighbors and friends missed this friendly little bundle of fur that was always happy to see you no matter what. No wonder then that when the time came for Tusk to join Fang under the apple tree, that she had quite a sendoff.

AJ came and dug a hole under the apple tree. The day of the sad event was a snow day and when word got out that Tusk was taking her final trip to the vet, all the neighborhood kids came to the door wanting to say farewell and get a final kiss. Even some of their parents came knocking and stayed for a while to pet her and tell their favorite Tusk stories. Uncle Al (She was always his favorite and he'd send her post cards from around the world.) drove through the snow all the way from Green Lake to hold her and get some final pets and kisses.

To this day, I don’t know how or who came up with “Tusk the Terrible.” She was never terrible at all, especially once her hygiene problem was solved. The following fall, we had Tusk apples and with each bite of pie that winter, we remembered both Tusk and her dad, Fang. Actually, since we're still here as is the apple tree, we've never forgotten either Tusk the Terrible or Fang the Wonder Dog.

DOGS OF OUR LIVES…FANG THE WONDER DOG

We hadn’t been married for six months when we answered an ad in the newspaper for a free dog…supposedly a cocker spaniel. Back in those days, you didn’t have to fill out any paperwork, or have your home inspected before you could bring your new puppy home. We brought him home the same day and he was so little he could fit in one of my hands, and my hands are not huge.

He was all black and we decided to call him Fang, Fang the Wonder Dog. He had a terrible first night away from his family, so I brought him into bed with us. Of course, he peed at some point and I had to change the entire bed. Bad dog!!!

Back then, you also weren’t asked how long your puppy would be home alone during the day, so when we returned to work after the weekend, Fang was left alone in the laundry room, the floor covered with papers. It was spring, so it wasn’t long before we allowed him to stay outside on a leash during the day. Two things I remember from this time in Fang’s life. First, I used to hang all my sheets out on the clothesline. Without measuring Fang’s leash, I hung them out and came home to find Fang had amused himself for the entire day by removing and dragging my clean sheets all over the yard. The second thing I remember was that the laundry room imprinted as his bathroom. If the door was open and Fang had to go, he would run back inside the laundry room to do his business.

Fang was our first child. He went everywhere with us. If we visited friends, went for a drive, camping, whatever the excursion, Fang rode along. He was welcomed in all our friend’s homes, even when the first time he saw a Christmas tree he walked over and lifted his leg. Fortunately, he’d just gone outside so there wasn’t much. He didn’t do that again.

When AJ came along, Fang appointed himself AJ’s keeper. Years later neighbors told me they always knew to slow way down because if they saw Fang that meant AJ wasn’t far away. Fang quit sleeping in our room and took up sleeping with AJ once he graduated from a crib to a real.

The vet told us at one point that only one of Fang’s testicles had descended, but that didn’t dampen his desire for a female in heat. His first conquest was an escaped purebred dog from  up the street. When her owner came looking for her, John had to tell the owner he’d bring her home as soon as the dogs were finished. Apparently Fang got stuck and couldn’t disengage. When returned, his first love was immediately taken to the vet and spade. Alas, no cute black and white puppies.

Much later on, when Fang was really old enough to know better, the ugliest dog in the world went into heat. It was freezing cold and about 2:00 am and Fang hadn’t come back home after being let out. John was sure he was at the neighbors hoping to get lucky and refused to walk down the icy street to get him. So, I did and there was Fang, shivering like he’d never get warm, sitting on their back porch waiting and hoping that he’d get an opportunity. I had to pick him up to lug him home because he wasn’t leaving on his own.

Apparently Fang did get lucky at least once because the last puppy born was black. Immediately AJ and the owners began a campaign to get us to adopt Fang’s progeny, but that’s the next story.

Like us all, Fang grew older and older. First he became deaf and then blind. On our last trip to our friend’s farm he went along as always. Fang was the only dog ever allowed in their house because the resident dogs were farm dogs. He took the privilege seriously and never had a single accident.

Anyway, as always, there was a big get together of our friend’s huge family. At one point all the kids went down the road to the horse pasture. Later on when it was time for us to leave, we couldn’t find Fang anywhere. You would have thought we had misplaced our two-year-old. Absolutely everyone turned out looking for Fang. He was eventually found down the road in the middle of the horse pasture having followed the kids when they went. He was just standing there waiting and knowing that someone would come and rescue him.

Fang lived with us for 17.5 years and in the end, he was blind, deaf and we had to pick him up and carry him outside so he could do his business. The day before the last trip to the vet John dug a hole under the apple tree. He went to work sad and depressed and AJ went to school sad and depressed.  It was up to me to take him to the vet…how hard could that be? I mean, really, Fang was just a dog. It was then I understood that pets are really family members.

I called my neighbor to ask if she’d watch Thor while I did this errand. As soon as she answered the phone and before I could even speak, I began to cry. I had to repeat myself because she couldn’t understand me. I cried all the way to the vet. When the vet came to get Fang, I wouldn’t let him go, but had to accompany him.  I watched while the vet shaved his paw and stuck the needle in, all the while rubbing, reassuring and talking to Fang. I managed to ask how long after the needle came out and the vet told me it was done. I cried harder.

The vet helped me put Fang into a special bag John had readied and I took him back home, but I couldn’t stand the thought of him laying in the garage getting cold and stiff until everyone came back home again. Instead, and perhaps this was selfish of me, I put him in the hole with the Christmas stocking I’d made for him his first year with us wrapped around his head and covered him up.

We went out for pizza that night and it was a pretty somber dinner except for Thor. Once he understood why we were all sad, he wanted to go home and dig Fang up. The following fall, we harvested Fang apples from our tree and remembered him fondly with stories like the above. Then, too, we had his daughter with us, so he continued to live on and not just in apple pies.

GREAT AUNT FLONNIE IS 106 TODAY

I’ve written about Great Aunt Flonnie once before and promised I’d do so again.  Today is her 106^th birthday. What an amazing woman she is and what a life she has lived. I’m lucky enough to have been given a variety of information about her life by her daughters…Etta Jane, Ella Mae and Lynna Ruth (don’t you love those names?). I’ll share more about Great Aunt Flonnie’s life in future blogs.

Just yesterday, Ella Mae sent me an email with a link (http://wate.com/2015/01/20/oneida-woman-turns-106-on-thursday/) to an interview done by WATE-TV channel 6 Knoxville TN.  I lifted the information and picture below directly from On Your Side reporter Cameron Taylor’s interview:

“Coming in at 4’11” tall and weighing 90 pounds, the community sees Stephens as a role model for people of all ages.”

                                             
                                           Flonnie Webb Stephens

“I don’t feel like I’m that old. I tell people ‘I’m not that old’,” said Stephens.

“As a graduate of the class of 1929, she lined up with the rest of the Valedictorians who could make it to the school’s centennial ceremony.

“You’re probably wondering what her secret is to making it to this age.”

“I’ve been honest, I’ve worked hard and I’m so thankful that I’m still able to go and do what I do,” said Stephens.

“She has lived in the Oneida community all her life.

“Her daughter, Etta, considers her a great role model.”

“I’m very proud of my mother,” said Price. “She’s a fantastic person.”

“Oneida High is a special place for Stephens and if you can believe it, she’s older than the school by a few years.

“It holds a deep place in her heart that her granddaughter replaced her high school class ring when she lost it.

“Oneida High School tells WATE 6 On Your Side she is the oldest living high school graduate in the state.”

Ella Maye’s email also said they received word that the Sheriff and some deputies are planning a surprise party for her at the house today…flowers and cake. On her 100^th birthday, they arrested and handcuffed her for dancing in the street at Main & Third. I don’t imagine they’ll do that today, but I bet if they do, Great Aunt Flonnie just might kick up her heels and dance her way to the paddy wagon.

I’d love to be there to celebrate with them, but it wasn’t possible this year. The flowers I ordered yesterday will be delivered today with a message of love and admiration and a request that daughter Etta Jane give her a huge hug and big kiss from me. The calendar is marked for Great Aunt Flonnie’s 107^th…I’d like to deliver flowers and hugs and kisses for that one in person.