Sincerely Sire - February 2006


The Last Dog


We just bought the cutest little Boston Terrier puppy—pictured above—on the face of the earth. I was holding her the other day thinking how incredibly cute she was, when I suddenly realized that I, at age 56, could die of old age before she did. I hate it when that happens. But, hey, it’s about time a dog mourned me for a change. Why should I always get stuck with the body?


Until we got Frankie Finnegan Sire, Finn for short, we had been without a dog for almost five years, our longest stretch ever without a doggie.


I bought Finn “for Roe” one night while she was away on a trip to Florida. I was home alone, all lonely and dogless, so I called on the first ad I saw in the paper and bought her that night. The owner drove down from Studio City and met me in a parking lot behind a Denny’s restaurant in Long Beach. It was very exciting. I gave her the cash and she gave me the Boston pooper.


Did I say pooper? Yeah, that’s about all she does, it’s fantastic. All over the place. We had to roll up the carpet and take it out of our family room. This dog is truly amazing. We put a doggie door in the wall right after we got her about a month ago, and she is finally, thank goodness, starting to figure it out. I had forgotten what a challenge it is to housetrain the little critters.


She weighed less than a pound when I got her, but now, I would guess, she has at least doubled in weight. She eats a lot indeed, but she likes to keep an eye on me at the same time, so she grabs a mouthful of nibbles and drops them on the floor directly in front of me and chews, all the while watching me to make sure I don’t move a muscle. Cracks me up.

And when she wants to play, I better be ready. If I’m sitting on the couch and she’s in the mood to fool around, she just starts barking and dive-bombing at me with jaws flapping wide open. She goes for a mouthful of flesh, doesn’t matter where it is on my body. I feel like I’m being slowly tenderized.


And she, of course, has already become Roe’s shadow, following her all over the house. She can even make it up the stairs now, and up onto the couch, but down from neither, which can be frustrating for her at times, as was the case the other night. She had found a way out of her homemade pen area that we constructed around the doggie door by crawling up onto the sofa. But she couldn’t get down from the sofa which she wanted to do very badly so she could bounce up the stairs and jump into our bed which she gets to do every morning. But she couldn’t get off that darn couch, so she just started barking like a big dog. It was very startling, kind of like hearing your first baby crying for the very first time in middle of the night.


Speaking of scary, let me tell you about something else that happened about a week ago just a little past midnight.…Roe and I were sound asleep when we were both awakened by something pawing, thumping at our bed. We were both jolted to consciousness by this sound. But no problem—we figured Finn had gotten out of her pen again and wanted to get up on the bed. This pawing scratching sound was followed by the pitter patter of little feet scampering across the floor and down the hall. We both clearly heard this as well.


So, as usual, I turned on the light, got up, grumbled something about how wonderful it was to have a dog again, and told Roe I would put Finn back in her pen. But as I stood up, there was no Finn. This was unusual because during the past few weeks when Finn had gotten out she had always stayed at the edge of our bed until we lifted her up, but not tonight. Kind of freaked me out a little, but I bravely forged ahead to find our little doggie. I expected to see her in the hall outside our bedroom since I knew she couldn’t get down the stairs and we had closed the doors to all the other rooms, but still no Finn. Hum, this was strange. What/who had been in our bedroom? Was she stuck on the stairs? Nope. So, I go downstairs and into the family room but still no Finn. Where in the heck could she be? And then, finally, I look over at the last place I expect to see her—in her pen—and there she was looking me straight in the eye as if to say, “What in the world are you doing up at this time of night?”

I was perplexed to say the least as I went back upstairs to bed scratching my head trying to figure out what had happened. Had I imagined the pawing at the bed and the pitter patter of little feet? I suppose I could have been dreaming, but what are the odds of both Roe and I having the same dream at precisely the same moment? Not likely. And if Finn had come up the stairs, how had she gotten back down the stairs? She couldn’t go downstairs. And then back into her pen so quickly? Why would she go back into her pen anyway? It didn’t make any sense.


And then I remember another dog named Callie, our previous Boston terrier that we had loved so very much and who we lost to a sudden and mysterious illness when she was only five years old in 2001…Could it be? Had our dear Callie been back for a midnight visit? Maybe just a little jealous? Hey, don’t forget about me guys…Don’t forget about me! …


Not a chance Callie. Never. We finally got another Boston terrier but there will never be another Callie.


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