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My first haircut .
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First Day as an
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"Hey, will you take a dollar for this?" It was a woman's voice holding up some kitchen
utensils at a yard sale at my cousin's house. I had been "volunteered" to participate even
though I had little to sell. But, there was a reason for me to be there that day -- a very
good reason.
I first noticed the little stray when I heard tires screeching and horns honking. I cringed as I watched the tiny dog scramble out of the roadway, a truck barely missing it. "Come, puppy," I called. She came eagerly to me. She looked to be well-fed, but she had no collar. And, as she got closer, I could see that she was FILTHY. Her coat that should have been white was the color of, well, dirt. Her hair was long and hung in clumps of thick mats. She was covered with ticks and fleas and she smelled -- well, I'll just leave it at that -- she smelled! Always a dog lover, my mother says I used to cry when Betty Boop lost her dog in the cartoons and since I was very young, I have never met a stray dog I didn't like and want to help. I've brought home more strays than I can possibly remember. The yard sale had just begun and the little dog was restless. I tried to keep her with me, but she kept wandering off. I would see her across the busy road at a gas station, scouting around, then she'd come back. She'd come straight to me and stand on her short little back legs and jump as if she wanted me to pick her up. I would talk to her and pat her head. I kept asking her, "Where do you live?" My cousin assured me someone had dumped her. "It happens all the time here," she said. "People dump dogs because we have no leash law. She'll be lucky to survive a day on this busy highway." I was sickened. Later in the day a woman came to the sale. The gay little dog went up to her and stood on her back legs, hopping as if to say, "Pick me up!" In a condemning voice, the woman asked, "Whose dog is THAT?!" I explained that we didn't know. "Well, it needs a BATH!" she said in a not-so-friendly manner. That only fueled my desire to help this innocent little dog. After all, it wasn't the dog's fault! I kept her by my side the rest of the day and when I packed up to go home, I packed her in a cardboard box and put her in the back seat of my car. Arriving home, I retrieved her from the box ever so gingerly and held her way out in front of me. My husband, John, who fortunately is a very understanding man, met me at the door and said, "What have you brought home this time?" I just pushed by him and took her directly through the house and out onto the back deck. I located my scissors and as if she could understand, I said, "You've got to get this hair cut now!" She lay perfectly still while I clipped her. Her hair was matted so badly that her skin was being pulled to the point of bleeding. It was horrible! After the haircut, I put her in a big tub of warm, soapy water. I let her get out, dry off and then back in she went for a total of five times that day. She looked like a totally different dog! I told my husband, "I'll take her to the humane society on Tuesday" (it was late Saturday and the humane society is closed on Sunday and Monday). We already had four dogs -- we did not need another one. Besides, we were "big dog" people - and this little thing couldn't have weighed more than 15-pounds! That night, I fixed her a cardboard box to sleep in and put it on the deck. Ignoring that, she stood at the back door barking to come in. I told her, "You are NOT sleeping in this house! Now get in that box and go to sleep!" She did and I did not hear another sound from her the rest of the night. The next morning, I woke early and went out to check on her. There she was, waiting on the deck for me. I sat down on the steps and she jumped into my lap and started licking my face like we were old friends. My other dogs, hearing the commotion out back, came running around to see me too. This little dog would turn her head to the left to look at them and show her teeth and growl viciously. Then she would look at me and lick me like mad. Then she would look to the right and repeat the growling and teeth-showing for the other dogs. Then she would look at me and lick me lovingly. It was clear that she did not want me to give any attention to anyone but her. In fact, she didn't want the others anywhere near me! That made me laugh -- this tiny little thing challenging two Dobermans, a Collie and a big black Lab! What spirit! That entire day, I played with her -- she loved fetching a tennis ball! And, I had to admit, she was cute -- just a little white muff of a thing. By that night, she was sleeping in the house! Monday morning, we went to the vet -- after all, she needed to be checked out just to protect my other animals, right? After a thorough exam, the vet proclaimed her to be fit and healthy. I asked the vet, "What kind of dog is she, anyway?" He responded, "She's a full-blooded West Highland White Terrier." I had never heard of the breed before that moment. At this point, the little dynamo had no name. After all, why name a dog that was going to the humane society? But when Tuesday came and the Humane Society opened its doors, it was too late! This dog had not only moved into the house, but into our hearts and into our BED! She was unlike any dog I had ever owned before! She was small but had a huge attitude! She wanted to be in my lap at all times, keeping all other animals at bay with her curled lips and vicious growls. I continued to bathe her every day in an effort to get the sores cleared up on her skin. And, after every bath, she would go directly out into the pasture and roll in a big, green COW PATTIE! Of course, then she would be right back to the tub! On about the fifth day, she came in from the field and was covered AGAIN with cow pie. That was when I told John, "I've got the perfect name for that dog!" "What?" he asked. "Pattie Cake!" I announced. And Pattie Cake it was. Pattie Cake quickly became top dog in our house. I told her this often by whispering in her ear, "You're our favorite, but don't tell the others!" Her love for us was limitless, as was ours for her. It was as if she knew that I had saved her from a terrible fate. I could not stop wondering how someone could have just dumped this precious animal. For days, I had been watching the paper for lost dogs, but had seen nothing. So I went to the library and searched the archives of newspaper ads back several months. I just could not believe anyone would not want this precious dog -- she must be lost -- but I found nothing. I had made a noble effort to reunite Pattie with her owner, I felt good - now, Pattie Cake was officially ours to keep! We weren't sure how old Pattie was, but believed she was an older dog when I brought her home that June day. After about two and a half years with our family, Pattie began having trouble breathing. She could not run without coughing and we spent a lot of time at the vet. We had a specialist look at her; they ran an EKG and an ultrasound. They could not explain what was happening to her, but knew that her lungs were becoming hard and closing down. She could not get the air she needed. For almost a year, we took Pattie in for monthly allergy shots, which helped somewhat. We kept her on diuretic-type drugs, which also helped. We tried our best to keep her calm and quiet - and, although it was difficult for us all, we stopped letting her run with the other dogs. At night, we would prop Pattie Cake up on pillows to ease her breathing. I think we would have done anything to keep her with us for a lifetime, but her condition continued to worsen; we could no longer watch her painful struggle to breathe. So, on a brisk November morning, after 3 ½ years with us, my husband and I took Pattie Cake to our vet. I held her tightly in my arms while the doctor administered the serum that finally brought her comfort and brought us heartbreaking pain. She would no longer struggle to breathe. She would no longer tremble and cry out when she got her shot every month. Complete peace came to the little white dog that someone had thrown away. We wrapped Pattie up in her blanket and brought her home. We buried her in our front yard underneath a beautiful Redbud tree -- we wanted her close to us. We marked her grave with a plaque, "Pattie - 1994 - 1997". The impact that Pattie Cake had made on our lives in such a short time was unbelievable. Pattie was gone only a few weeks when I saw an ad in the paper for Westies. I asked John, "What do you think about --" -- he said "YES!" before I could get the sentence out of my mouth! We missed our Pattie Cake so much and thought a new puppy might help ease the pain and emptiness we felt every day. So, we went to see the litter -- there were five little puppies and only one left that was not spoken for -- a female. And, just like Pattie Cake, she had such attitude and spirit! She was growling at her littermates and she had her tail curled up over her back - fearless! We knew immediately that she was the one! We named her Dixie Pearl. Dixie is not a replacement for
Pattie -- there is no replacement for Pattie Cake. But she is so much like
Pattie, it is remarkable! About a year later, we got Dixie a little sister --
Lacey Belle. And just a few months after that, Dixie's birth mother was ready to go
to a good home after having her two litters as a breeding dog. So, Daisy Doll came
to live with us, too. Then in May of 2001, another
"throw-away" westie was rescued from a local shelter. We
changed her name from Myrtie to Marti Gale -- a new name for a new beginning
in her FOREVER home. We are now surrounded by the love of "The
Girls". They are such a wonderful addition to our family and there is
rarely a day that goes by when I don't whisper in each of their ears,
"You're our favorite -- but don't tell the others."
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