The tales I can tell about my oodles of Poodles
- col-leslie-pearce-keating
- July 17, 2023
- 703
I was trying to explain my thumb and left-hand pain to the orthopedic surgeon. Yes, I have suffered a few falls, mostly involving dogs.
Once on my daughter’s stoop when her two furry kids and my two furry kids — cousins, we call them — converged, I went tumbling. Once my dog ran in front of me while walking. She was after a squirrel; I was in the way. And then there was the time when I tripped over my purse strap. I can’t blame the dog that time. Oh, and yes, I train dogs, I said — big dogs. So yes, my hand hurts and is slightly damaged.
I’ve had five Standard Poodles, the big kind, if you include the Doodle in the mix. They are hunting dogs — water retrievers, to be exact. Each one, I swore, was my favorite. As a result of loving them, walking them and training them, well, my left hand is a bit tired, arthritic too. There’s even a small hairline fracture in my thumb, I’ve discovered. But the gifts they brought to my life, how can they be measured?
Hannah, the first of the bunch, was my tried and true girl. Like Nana in "Peter Pan," she watched over my children as babies. The ebony girl escorted us on our 2-mile walk each day with my two toddlers in a double Huffy stroller. She sat beside me as I administered meds to my then very sick little girl stricken with Lyme. She scared away a stranger one day too. She became a therapy dog and went to nursing homes to comfort the sick and elderly. Hannah died at 13, so old and arthritic. She was my protective angel.
The night of her demise, her understudy Hazel Belle came to give me kisses as I mourned. Hazel was a big, blocky Poodle who had more energy than I could sometimes handle. When I moved to a smaller house eight years ago, the 60-pounder was a literal bull in a china shop.
One day she jumped, I fell and the damage was severe. I’d broken 14 bones in my face. That was the other fall, but my hand was not involved, just my face. My hand was holding a leash or two. I began to look for a new home for my sweet girl, somewhere she could run and play. I found the right people. They adored her. When they called to say she died four years later, I wept. Her gift was her comic personality.
Finnigan was the third, a gray and white distinguished fellow I adopted as a rescue from a neglectful home at age 5. He came to me with no name, coiffed yet starving, Lyme stricken too. He weighed in at 42 meager pounds when he should have been 65 or 70, and then he endured follicular cancer surgery months later. He became a therapy dog and followed me to school at OSU for years ministering to my students. I never loved a boy more. Finn was my hero dog.
And then came Teddy of the two-year lifespan. He was the darling boy, all 93 pounds of him. Teddy was a Golden Doodle, a star in obedience. He earned his therapy award right after his front leg was amputated because of osteosarcoma. At age 2 the cancer metastasized to his lungs. How could I lose the 93-pound pup my daughter saved from a kill shelter? His fur was so black, his nose a giant gum ball. He was the sweetheart of the bunch.
Zuzu came on the scene just when I most wanted a puppy. She needed a home, my sweet friend Shari told me when she heard Teddy had died of cancer. The ornery 4-month-old pup was a bit of a stinker with her paper fetish, especially bathroom toilet tissue. In fact, the first time she came home with me, she grabbed the toilet roll and ran helter-skelter through my house. I laughed because I knew I needed the silly goofball in my life. The merle-coated girl learned quickly. Her problem was she was so darned smart. She became my fourth therapy dog and will attend OSU with me this fall. She is my lap dog, all 60 pounds of her.
I’ve had a few small dogs, but the big ones, sitting beside me on the couch, driving with me to see my mom, visiting hospitals or schools, they are my true partners in crime.
So about that left hand of mine. I guess I won’t be getting any big dogs any time soon. But I’ve had five wonderful big dogs that have literally filled my life, licked away my tears, made me laugh and even entertained me.
So what if my training hand is a little weather worn, right?