NOT Your Quintessential Dog Blog! (Happy National Puppy Day!)

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My family always had dogs when I was growing up. Our first dog was a Cocker Spaniel named Skipper. He hung out with me and my friends and wore a combat helmet while he played army with us. He was very good-natured. 

Back in the '60s, there weren't leash laws, and dog owners just opened their doors and let their dogs out. On the day of my 7th birthday, while I was blowing out candles in my backyard with friends, Skipper was hit by a car on the corner of Berkshire Ave. and South Main Street. At first, we thought he had run off, but later that night, I was devastated when my father told me what really happened.

My father got us another dog not long after that. I remember when he brought Hildy home. He was driving a '64 Dodge Dart at the time, and I waited impatiently in the front yard for the two of them to come home. He pulled up, opened the back door, and out came a good-size German Shorthaired Pointer. I wondered how she even fit in the back seat of such a small car, she was much bigger than I expected. The story was that Hildy was at home (Framingham) when a guy broke into her family's house, and she immediately went into attack mode. The thief shot her twice in her hind leg, but that didn't stop her. She chased the guy down and chewed him up to a point where he collapsed in the backyard, where police found him bleeding profusely. Hildy was lying next to him, also bleeding, and she had to be rushed to a vet to have the two bullets removed. Her heroic story appeared in every newspaper. When one of the kids in her family developed an allergy to dogs, my father responded to their ad and took Hildy home to live with us. They gave us copies of the newspaper articles that I proudly showed all my friends.

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Hildy was a great dog. Big enough to get respect, but sweet enough to make a lot of friends. Her weakness was food. She was a scavenger. One Thanksgiving, she came home with a partially frozen turkey someone must've left outside on their back stairs to defrost. Just across the street from us was the Heights Shopping Plaza, and one of the stores was a bakery. They baked all their own goods in-house, with the exception of bagels, which they outsourced. Very early in the morning, someone made a bagel drop, leaving a cardboard box full of bagels connected by a string. Once Hildy discovered it, she couldn't stay away. She'd be up at the bakery most mornings, ripping the box apart and running off with a string of fresh bagels. Her addiction ultimately caused her death.  She was hit by a car as she ran off with a string of bagels in her mouth one morning, almost in the same spot where Skipper met his fate.

Many years later, my father told me the truth. Apparently, Hildy was badly hurt, but still breathing. A friend of mine's father was a cop, and he showed up at the scene. Hildy was not gonna make it, and he told my father the humane thing to do was put her out of her misery. He took out his revolver and pointed it, but couldn't pull the trigger. My father said he stepped in and did it himself…

There were other dogs in the neighborhood. On the corner of Berkshire and South Main, a guy put up five-foot chain link fencing, and behind it was the dog I feared most as a kid, a Doberman Pinscher. It was an evil-looking dog, almost Satanic, and he had a reputation for biting. I don't remember ever seeing that dog not barking and showing his teeth while chasing me and my friends up and down the fence. It was scary because that dog could jump, and there was always the fear he'd make it over the fence and tear us apart. I walked by that house every morning on my way to school…

Then there was Rex… Rex was a full-size purebred German Sheppard who lived across the street from us. I knew him well, so I wasn't afraid of him. He chased cars. He would hang out on South Main Street and target passing cars. He'd almost velcro his snout to the edge of the passenger side rear bumper and run beside the car for close to an eighth of a mile. The people in the cars were shocked and scared shitless. Looking at their passenger side mirrors, they could see Rex's relentless pursuit. When Rex had enough, he'd pull away from the car, trot for a bit, and then return to where we were standing to choose another car to chase. He was fearless and an incredible athlete. He could chase cars for hours, and despite his tongue dragging on the ground and him being out of breath, he refused to stop…

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When we moved to Connecticut, my father got us another Cocker Spaniel named Skipper, just like our first one. We had him for years. He lived in Connecticut, Massachusetts, Florida, and New Jersey. When he was older, he had bad ears, eyes, and skin, and there were a host of meds he needed to take on a daily basis. He was wicked protective by then; he would aggressively go after dogs twice his size if he felt they posed a threat.

I loved both Skippers, but if I'm being honest, my favorite Cocker was Joe…

One week my parents were away, and I was taking care of Skipper at my house in Miramar, Florida. I was on the phone (landline) with a buddy who was going through a difficult divorce in Massachusetts, and the call got involved. At one point, me and my buddy decided we'd each light up a joint and get stoned over the phone together. Skip was sleeping on the floor next to the bed I was sitting on. At one point, I got up to pace, and when I put my barefoot down on the carpeted floor, it went squish, and the shit went right up between my toes… Apparently, older Skip couldn't hold it like he did when he was younger. My buddy was near suicidal, so I stayed on the phone with him for another ten minutes before I cleaned everything up…

Years passed, and it wasn't until my wife and I started looking for a house that we got our first dog together. Ruggles was part Black Lab and part Sharpei. There was a Sharpei breeder in Taunton, just behind Henry's Root Beer, and one day she left her female alone in an eight-foot-high outdoor kennel. Seemed safe enough. Well, a stray Black Lab male was cruising the area and must've smelled a bitch in heat. He scaled the fence and had his way with the Sharpei. When the breeder went out to get her in the morning, there wasn't just one, but there were two dogs in the kennel. The breeder was pissed, claiming the Lab had ruined her female for future breeding. She sold the puppies cheap…

Ruggles was fawn-colored, about 65 lbs fully-grown, very muscular, and full of wrinkles, like a purebred Sharpei. When we'd take him to the Norton Flea Market, most people were drawn to his good looks, while others were intimidated by his aggressive and muscular stance.

My next-door neighbor had a black Sheppard mix that was an incorrigible police dog given to him by the previous owner of my house, a local cop. Baron was not a nice dog and was not to be trusted. Despite being locked in a fenced-in yard, he regularly got loose. One day, while I was up on the roof of the shed I was building in my side yard, Baron got loose and came into my yard and attacked Ruggles, who I had hooked up to a 30-foot cable that was attached to a steel eye bolt I cemented in the ground. When I looked over and saw Baron chomping on Ruggles' neck, I jumped off the roof, hammer in hand, and went after Baron. Baron was a bully and a coward, and he turned and ran when he saw me coming. Ruggles was okay, but I had to talk to Baron's owner, who wasn't home at the time. 

A few hours later, when he pulled up in his Porsche, I went over to talk to him. After I told him what happened, he said, "That was just two dogs getting territorial…", but when I reminded him that his dog got loose and attacked my dog in my yard, he got violent. He was revved up on coke, and I stopped just short of throwing punches and told him to "keep his fucking  dog out of my yard!" The next day I filed a restraining order…

A week later, I took Ruggles out in the morning like I always did, and hooked him up to his 30' run. By the time I got back in the house and looked out the kitchen window, Ruggles was gone. I ran outside and caught him running in my backdoor neighbor's yard. When I inspected the cable, it appeared that it had been severed. I took both ends to the police station, and they agreed that it had been cut, not all the way through, but just enough so a good tug would pull it apart. The Cops said I had to catch my neighbor in the act. For weeks I went out in the yard every morning with a hunk of  2"x4" resting on my shoulder, not too unlike "Hacksaw" Jim Duggan. The message was, "Don't fuck with my dog, or I will fuck you up!"

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To make matters worse, my backdoor neighbor was a surveyor, and he took out his transit one day and showed me where my actual property lines were. Apparently, when my next-door neighbor put up his chain link fence, the previous owners of my house were going through a nasty divorce, and the fence between the two houses was installed well onto my property, and at the time, no one cared. He had stolen 12 feet in the back, tapering to 9 feet in the front, a big land grab by him. I hired the licensed surveyor who had done the original survey of my property when it was built, and he marked and documented the correct boundary on that side of my house for $500. Then, I hired a lawyer, another $500, who sent a legal notice to my neighbor that gave him 30 days to relocate his chain link fence…

On day 30, my next-door neighbor and his wife were removing the fencing in the pouring rain. When they started reinstalling the fence the next day, I noticed it was on the line, not on their side of the line. I went out and explained that there was a line, and their property was on one side of it, mine on the other, and that they couldn't locate their fence on the line. And, the three poles they already installed had to be moved. He was pissed, but they moved them… I ended up fencing in my entire yard, a majority with chain link, but I used a 6-foot stockade between the two houses. Unfortunately, you can't pick your neighbors…

Ruggles was a great dog, very protective of my wife, though Sharpeis can be difficult dogs to own. They have health problems because they're a breed that's a mix of other purebreds, and at one point, Ruggles got very sick. He had a tumor removed, but he never really recovered from it. When he died, I was devastated, as was my entire family, which by then included three boys.

We were offered a Rottweiler, but my wife was running a home daycare then and thought a Rotty might be too intimidating. I got a book on dogs, and the kids and I were interested in South African Rhodesian Ridgebacks. According to the book, a pack of Ridgebacks regularly attacked Lions. They're badass dogs who got their name because the hair on their spine grows in the opposite direction and appears to be sticking up. We went to look at some at a breeder, and they were great-looking, muscular, highly active dogs, and way too big for our house…

The breeder was good, he told me there's a breed for every person, and I had to find the right breed for my family and me. For us, that was Sharpeis…

There was a Sharpei breeder in Boston, just on the other side of Fenway Park, who had some pups for sale. We went and looked and chose the goofy one, and despite all the names we mulled around, Brando and Yaz, we decided on Ziggy...

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Ziggy wasn't as big or as active as Ruggles, in fact, he was quite chill. I wasn't crazy about him at first, but then he started growing on me. Eventually, he became my best friend. 

Not too unlike Ruggles, Ziggy's natural enemies were garter snakes. He'd grab 'em in his mouth, and after what looked like a Luis Tiant wind-up, he'd whip 'em up against the wood fence. The snakes would crash and then land on the ground, dazed, and Ziggy would do it again and again until the snake scurried away. After a while, there were no snakes in our yard.

Ziggy was great with kids, but he was really a one-man dog, and I was his guy. Then, my neighbor was arrested twice for threatening people with a firearm. He managed to get a warning the first time, but the second time it happened, he was found guilty and sentenced to jail time. Apparently, the FBI had their eyes on him for a while for other illegal activities, and when he suspected I had helped them, that I was an informant, he sought revenge…

Ziggy was a strong-looking 58-pound dog when suddenly he started having difficulty holding down food. When he lost 8 pounds, I took him to the vet, who said it was an autoimmune problem. We changed his food and started him on medicine. I was sure my neighbor had poisoned Ziggy, but the Vet said the liver tests were inconclusive. After a few more weeks, Ziggy was down to 40 lbs, and that's when I took him to Angell Animal Medical Center in Boston. We had to leave him there, but I visited him every day at lunch and then again with my family at night. At one point, he was all skin and bones, weighing only 28 lbs, but once he came home and I had him on the right food and a good regimen of meds, he started to gain weight. But, then he began getting sick again. When I ran out of money, it was suggested that I euthanize him, but I couldn't do that to him. I applied for a loan through Angell and got $12,000 on a special credit card, and I did everything I could to save his life.

Ziggy died one Sunday afternoon while my wife and our three boys were at Cub Scouts. I called my wife to let her know so she could tell the boys before they walked in on it. When I heard them pull into the driveway, I did my best to compose myself.

I tried to get Ziggy into a pet cemetery, but they weren't open on Sundays. I left him on his dog bed in the living room, covering him with a blanket. Dylan, my youngest, was as distraught as me, and he and I slept on the floor next to him while we waited for "the angels to take him to Heaven"…

The next morning I put him in the back of the minivan and drove him to the pet cemetery to be cremated, in what was a very difficult ride…

The house was very different without Ziggy, and although everyone was offering me dogs, I couldn't accept any at the time. I took it hard… I'll admit it, I cried for weeks, and when it became a problem, I called Jane, a plumbing customer who was, and still is, a friend, counselor, and dog lover.

The conversation began about dogs but quickly moved to my relationship with my parents, which initially took me by surprise. It took me a while, but eventually, I began to understand that a lot of people have an inherent need for unconditional love, and those of us who do and need it the most, find it in our pets. And, we're the ones most affected by the loss when they die.

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After several sessions, I began understanding more about my sorrow and my personal need for unconditional love. That was in early 2002. We never got another dog…

My next-door neighbor never served any jail time, he committed suicide… Another neighbor down the street said he also poisoned his dog, and his dog died too. I suspected red meat filled with anti-freeze did them both in, though we could never prove it. I always hoped that the two dogs got ten minutes alone with my next-door neighbor before he went to Hell…

Currently, we have a granddog who comes and stays with us once in a while. Kemba's a two-year-old Golden who has finally calmed down, and now I thoroughly enjoy her company. What a pretty girl!

My wife wants another dog badly, and she's got her heart set on a mini golden doodle, but I've never been a big fan of small dogs. I was bitten by a high-strung Shih Tzu while repairing a kitchen sink years ago, so there's that. I am willing to consider a medium size golden doodle, though…

We've started looking, but we haven't made the decision to get a dog yet. We know it's a big commitment. 

In the comments, let me know a little bit about your dog. Post a pic! It could help me make my decision. Thanks!                         

Here's my favorite Dog Song covered by Miley Cyrus. I prefer the original version by Led Zeppelin, but the visuals in Miley's video are too good to ignore…