When Bill and I married in December of 1985, there was no rule book on blending families. Our effort to purchase a house that would have been neutral territory for everyone concerned had fallen through, so my two kids and I abandoned downtown Seattle and moved in with Bill and his kids in the Eaglesmere neighborhood of Bellevue. I’m sure his kids felt as though their home had been invaded by strangers, and we felt like we had landed on another planet. Looking for something that would be new for everyone, we came up with the idea of puppies!!! Yay for puppies! Two eight week old golden retrievers came to live with us the day after Christmas.
Bill is a retired EE—an electronics engineer, so the new arrivals were named Nikki and Tess after Nikola Tesla, one of the brilliant founding fathers of modern day electronics. We were new to the neighborhood when a serious snowstorm came through in early January. Our street had few cars on it and there was a grassy median between houses on each side, so my kids took the puppies outside to play in the snow. A few minutes later, my daughter returned carrying Nikki with a seriously bleeding front paw. Some teenagers had evidently been partying overnight and had left some broken beer bottles hidden under the snow. I was new to Bellevue. I remembered seeing a veterinary office near the Newport Way turnoff, but I had no idea what the name of it was. We wrapped our bloody puppy in a towel and headed there. The office in question turned out to be the Animal Hospital of Factoria.
As we carried Nikki inside, the vet himself entered the lobby. “Oh,” he said, looking at her. “What happened to that poor baby?” And that’s how we met Dr. Eighty Bucks—the man who would be our vet for the next fourteen years, as long as we had that generation of Goldens. And how much did he charge for that emergency visit? $80.00.
The next several months were tough. For one thing, while I sat at a computer desk in the living room, trying to write, the puppies got into everything. We had a crew remodeling the kitchen, and the puppies loved to steal the workers’ tools and bring them to me. While my back was turned, they chewed holes in Bill’s beloved Websters Third Edition.
Bill’s house was built on a steep grade with the kitchen and main living space on the ground floor and the bedrooms upstairs. Inside access to the above-ground pool in the tiny backyard was through a slider in the daylight basement. One October morning almost a year later, the Nikki and Tess were on the deck outside the kitchen barking like crazy. When I finally went to check I looked down and saw an unfamiliar golden retriever swimming around and around in the pool. Bill was working for a company in Tukwila. I immediately called him and he said, “There’s not much I can do about it from fifteen miles away.” So I put on my big girl panties, went outside through the basement slider, and tried to pull the dog out of the pool. The dog probably weighed seventy pounds dry, but soaking wet he was more like a hundred-twenty. When I couldn’t pull him out by his front paws, there was nothing for it but to climb into that frigid pool and push him out. He took off like a shot without a word of thanks. Ungrateful wretch!
The following spring the front door was left open accidentally and the dogs got out. That was a problem since the yard wasn’t fenced, but I figured they’d come back eventually, so I left the door open. Tess returned first, staggering past me like a drunk before walking straight into a wall. I called Dr. Eighty Bucks. “Sounds like she got into slug bait,” he said. “Bring her right in.” I loaded her into the car and went straight there where he dribbled a yellow powder, an emetic, into her eye, making her barf immediately. When I took her back home, Nikki was staggering around, too. So I took her back and went through the same routine. How much did he charge? $80.00. See what I mean? And in case you’re wondering, that’s the same treatment Davy Ladd’s dog, Oho, got in Hour of the Hunter, when the bad guy poisoned him with slug bait. (If you’ve ever wondered where I get my ideas, now you know. Life happens, and I pay attention.)
Yesterday, after our miniature dachshunds, Jojo and Mary, ate their mid-afternoon dinner, I let them out to play in the backyard for a little while. Shortly thereafter, they started barking like crazy. I thought for a moment that the pool lady was probably here, but then I realized she’d been here last week, so I got up to check, just in time to see a tall, gangly, Irish-wolfhound dog—a bristly tan colored one–step up onto the back porch—inside our fully-fenced yard. I brought my dogs in. Then I went outside and propped open the gates on both sides of the dog yard. When I called “Hey you,” he came right to me. He was big but not aggressive. He was wearing a green plaid collar but no tag. He looked well fed. When I called for him, he followed me straight to the dog yard and out through the gates before taking off down the driveway. Ten minutes later, he was back on the back porch.
Thinking he might be a neighbor’s dog, I called them. He wasn’t theirs, but the neighbor came up to help. Once the dog was corralled in the dog yard once again, the neighbor took photos which he carried to several houses in the neighborhood, but no one recognized our stray. I kept him in the dog yard for the next hour or so, with him barking and my dogs barking, too. Rather than be driven nuts, I finally let him out. Locking him up must have done the trick, because this time when he sprinted down the driveway, he didn’t come back. So far there’s no sign of him today which tells me he’s most likely safe and sound back home, wherever that may be.
As for me? Chasing him around the back yard was good for steps if nothing else. Yesterday’s total was 14,389.
My goodness! 14,389 steps! I was telling a friend on Tuesday about someone who had made it up to 14,000, and how amazing that was! We were wondering how long that takes, and I was thinking I’d better figure out how to do some steps despite the slippery streets–I’m getting too fat and lazy!–but now you’ve even increased that number, whether intentionally or not. Good for you–you deserve to continue living healthy! The Irish wolfhound must have sensed yours was a dog-friendly place.
10,000 takes about an hour and a half at 100 steps a minute.
Congrats on another enjoyable detour for my life. Sounds as though The canine species has given you much joy in the journey of life. I enjoy reading your blog and revisiting personal relationships with 3 Huskies in AA three German Shepards and Austrailian Healers in HI . Shilo Shepards in Tacoma/ somewhere totaling 23 or so. inall. brings joy to memories … Chuck in Tacoma ..
I read your book recently about the main character adopting an Irish-wolfhound.
What a nice story just before i was going to sleep ?.Golden Retrievers are the sweetest pups ever: however old they get. Friends have them but not me.
And, how does the vet feel about being called Dr. Eighty Bucks?
I’ll be the villain here and suggest that if a stray dog gets in your yard again, take it to a vet’s office to be scanned for a microchip. Just a PSA!
I know about chipping. My dogs have been chipped since chipping started. My husband is on a walker and I was on my own. This was a seventy to eighty pound dog that I did not know. I was not about to try to wrestle him into a car on my own to take him to a vet or Petsmart to have him scanned.
I’m on Jude’s side, but I was thinking that calling animal control to have someone with authority pick up the dog would have worked while the dog was locked up. I’ve been concerned about your big visitor all day!
I too am a dog lover. I have never counted how many dogs that I had over the years as I always have at least two. For a few years I was up to five. Mostly dogs find me. Of the two that I have now, one was thrown over a friend’s fence as a puppy and the other was found in a box at a San Diego trolley station. Occasionally I get one from a shelter. I will second Jude, if you find a stray, take it to the vet to be scanned for a chip. My dogs and cats are all chipped.
Love the dog stories. We haven’t had to corral a stay for quite a while. We miss having a dog and I no longer go for walks like I should, the 5 or 6 YMCA classes a week and the exercise bike do it for me. I did look at the Beagle Rescue sight once.
Your dog story raised some nostalgia for me. Our little rescue dog ate a tube of poisonous chemical stuff (useful to my wife at the time) when he was a pup, and we took her to a vet and – as yours did – the solution was to give her something to make her vomit. I’m sure the cost, however, was far less than 80 bucks. This was in 1952 dollars!
Oh, and in reference to a previous exchange where i mentioned that I had a pseudonym as a writer for a short time, and someone asked me what I had written about computing failure, I failed to mention that I did produce a very recent nook. In the Beginning 2.0 – Personal Recollections of Software Pioneers.
You are so entertaining! Happy Thanksgiving to you and your family.
I look forward to your weekly blog, Judy. Thank you for sharing your life with all of us!
What are the odds that an Irish Wolfhound looking dog would pay you a visit, not just once either? I wonder what Mr. Beaumont would think of that.
You went above and beyond in your effort to find his home. I applaud you!
I had a dog when I was growing up. His name was Spot and he looked like the RCA Victor dog. He spent a lot of time hunting rats around the farm buildings, but never brought a catch to the house. He was hit and killed by a car when I was in high school. Am a cat person now as they are easier to take care of. I think everyone needs an animal of some kind in their life.
Watch for an Irish-wolfhound in the next book??
Pre-chipping, I had a history of putting a collar and leash on strays (VERY uncommon in our neighborhood) and going to look for the owners. Finally stopped when the owner told me that the German Shepherd I had walked home was considered by the family to be dangerously aggressive with strangers. I hadn’t noticed but I did feel that they should have been doing a better job of keeping her inside in that case. Anyway, its not always that safe to just run the stray over to your vet for scanning, and here at least if you call animal control to scan they take the dog and it may end up being destroyed before the family is found, not a responsibility I would welcome.
So while its tempting to give advice after the fact its not always easy to know what is best to do! I always enjoy the canine characters in your books, so sensitively portrayed.
Being raised on a ranch here in Texas We had our working dogs and pets The working dogs were eager and ready to go. When milking our cow in the morning, I would pour milk in bowls for the dogs and cats. Then when also gave them some dog and cat food. The dogs went everywhere with us. In our pickups or beside us if we were horseback. They were family. I think they got to to see the vet more than I seen my doctor.
I’m glad your canine visitor was just out exploring, and seemed to have a good home to return to- Happy Thanksgiving to you and Bill and your family pets!