Labradoodle & Goldendoodle Forum
Years ago, when we bought our current home, we moved from the suburbs into the country. I had spent my whole life living in the city and was unprepared for the darkness that falls at night when you are used to streetlights. The first night I stayed alone at our new house I was on high alert imaging all kinds of thing moving about in the nearby cornfields and it did not help that my husband kept referencing the old movie Children of the Corn. Sure enough, I started seeing animals darting around on our deck off of the dining room and yes, just like in a scary movie, I, of course, went over to take a closer look only to discover it was some cats. When I called my husband to tell him about the cats, he said, “Whatever you do, do not start feeding them.” As many of you know from reading my blogs, I rarely listen to reason and within minutes of hanging up, I was rummaging around in the pantry trying to see what I had that would satisfy some hungry cats.
Well, to make a long story short, he was right and the cats stayed around and over the next few years, my friends started calling me the Cat Whisperer and at times, it seemed like we were running a Cat Bed and Breakfast. My husband had a different name for me, but eventually he dropped it because it began to get too cumbersome. After all, “Stupid Woman who does not listen to her husband,” does not roll easily off the tongue. It turns out that three of the cats belonged to the previous occupants of our home who left them behind when they moved. These cats would not let you handle them or come near them, ran when you opened the screen door, and always stayed just out of reach. We have also had cats wander up onto our property that I am sure were ditched by some ratfink in the cornfield next door. I found homes for some, a neighbor kept another, managed to get one to the Animal Rescue, and I have trapped a few and had them neutered and vaccinated through a Spay and Release Program. The man that didn’t want me to start feeding the cats has helped me take one poor, injured cat for aid, left his garage door open to provide shelter, and recently drove up to help me with a cat I had come upon hit by a car in the road. These cats did not seem to know that we are dog people.
Throughout all the comings and goings, one of the original cats left by the previous owners remained the most elusive one of all. She was a beautiful, white cat and wouldn’t let you come near her and if she even saw what looked like a trap, you would not see her again for days. She seemed regal and proud and we named her Princess. Eventually, it seemed like Princess was the only cat left. It soon became apparent that Princess did not like being alone outside and she started standing at our dining room window and banging. When my husband got home from work, I told him about the banging and said, “I have good news and bad news for you, which do you want first?” First, he tried to cover his ears and hum, but I persisted and said, “I will be your wife forever, but that cat is coming in the house.” All he said in response was, “What is the good news?”
Up until this time that cat would run if we opened the door, but it was almost like she just decided she was too weary to keep running and had had enough of looking over her shoulder and trying to survive. On that day, when I opened the door, she ran in and rushed over and lay down right next to our old Lab, Hershey. Hershey was the gentlest soul around and just looked up like, what just happened? We tried our best to stay cat free, but we now had one nervous, neurotic, damaged cat residing with us. The first time we took her to the vet, it took three of us to get her in the crate and when the Vet tech asked us what would happen if we took her out of the crate, I think she must have been taken aback by the horrified looks on our faces. I finally said, “I don’t know about my daughter, but I am planning to run for cover,” and Hayley was looking around for something to put over her face. We still do not pick her up and any affection given by her is on her terms. She hates Fudge and Vern and prefers to stay downstairs in the area that we used to refer to our family room, but our daughter now calls her apartment. If our daughter is out of town or coming home late, more times than not, it is my husband, the guy who did not want a cat, who will go downstairs and sit with Princess to keep her company.
So, what does this all have to do with being lucky? Well, it is too late to make a long story short, but it has to do with this and more. My husband loves animals, but I was the driving force behind our last three dogs. When we rescued our old Lab, Honey, she quickly became known as the hardest dog we have ever had because of her severe anxiety. If I left the house, she waited by the door and barked. Many nights, I would drive up and find my husband and Honey sitting outside waiting for me. I would tell him that he didn’t need to give in to her and all he would say is it helps her anxiety to be outside. I don’t think he ever complained about having to sit outside with an old dog when he would have preferred to stay inside.
Hershey, our first dog (after she got sprung from the crate at night) always wanted to sleep with us in bed. At that time, we had a full size bed and Hershey weighed 70 pounds and the other occupants of the bed were not tiny. As you can imagine, the description full was a fitting word for that bed. When we got Fudge and Vern we made a hard and fast rule that they would sleep in their own beds at night, but as usually happens with our hard and fast rules, they rarely are enforced. The good thing about our Doodles is they get hot easily and hardly ever sleep a whole night with us, but they do like to start off the bedtime hour next to me in bed while I watch TV or work on my computer. My husband comes to bed all the time to find two Doodles in his spot. Sometimes, I will say I will get them down and he always says, “No, just let me scoot them over.” Vern weighs almost 100 pounds, so in his case, a scoot could turn into a Herniated Disk.
The other night Fudge stayed with us in bed a little longer than usual and when my husband got up to use the restroom, she moved right over to take up the warm space he just vacated. When he came back, he moved her a little and mentioned that she was stealing all his covers and it was really cold that night. I told him to make her move and he said, “No, she is comfortable. I am fine.” For some reason, whenever they are on that bed they encroach on his area, not mine, and I will see him, the man who did not want dogs on the bed, reach out and pet them as they snuggle into him or reading his Kindle with one of their paws in his hand. The other day, I told him if I died first, I wanted him to find a really good home for Fudge and Vern with someone that would be home during the day and he said, “My dogs are not going anywhere! We will manage.” That is how you know you got very lucky!!
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