Queenie, a black cocker spaniel, was with me from infancy until she, deaf and blind, lie down in the sun on the warm cement of our driveway to take the final sleep when I was in my teens. She birthed a litter of 10 puppies during the war. As they squirmed and wiggled through the uncut grass of our defense housing, they soothed the fears of a young girl who saw her parents cry the morning of Pearl Harbor. She was the ballast to our family, never missing a camping trip or a sing along with grandma at the piano, her silken ears available to stroke for comfort. At 86 the only the photos I have of her are in my heart.
Dogs really are a ballast through the ups and downs of life. Grateful that I have a few good photos of my childhood dogs. Have you ever drawn or sketched Queenie?
No, but I can see her as clear as if she were in the room with me. Her coal black coat was always shiny. I wonder if my dad must have occasionally bathed her? It wouldn’t have been like him but I can see his hands now in the suds. How evocative the memory of a dog. Thanks for giving me this memory. It’s a good thing you do.
I was about 5 when we got two boxers. Rebel was mine and Mitzi was my sister’s. When I started first grade, Rebel visited me often at school, which was a mile away. He was big and brawny but pure sweetness. My fellow 1st graders were afraid of him so I opened his mouth and stuck my arm in his mouth and said, “see, he won’t hurt you.” If he came in the morning, they let me walk him home alone including crossing a busy street. If it was the afternoon, he rode the bus home but wouldn’t get off the bus because he loved it. So we had to open the back door and push him off the bus. Rebel started my love of boxers. I have had various dog breeds but boxers have always remained my favorite breed. We have our 4th boxer now but Rebel was truly a special boy.
As a little kid, my parents took us to see the Move “Old Yeller.” It was 1957. I am still traumatized! The dog died in the end. To this day, if there is a dog in a movie, I check ahead to make sure nothing happens to him:her! So glad you are doing these Substacks! Thank you!
Traumatizing! Fun fact, there's a website called "www.doesthedogdie.com", which helps you decide whether or not you should watch dog movies if you're easily traumatized by dogs dying (and is also a nice source of movies with dogs if you're looking for one).
We moved when I was 13. It was in the spring and between elementary and middle school. I had no friends and was very lonely. I did a lot of neighbor babysitting and saved all my money to buy a carin terrier puppy. I loved having my own "Toto." I wanted him to be my buddy. By the time I was able to bring him home, I was back in school and my mom was the one home to bond with Linus. that dog never liked me!
Now I only get pets when I know I will be home to bond with them.
My first dog was a German Shepherd named Lady. My father her brought her home after witnessing her being pushed out of a car in Brooklyn in 1974. I don't know how old she was when dad brought her home. Dad put her in the garage until he could talk to mom about her. He wrote a note specially addressed to me, not my 3 older brothers, telling me to stay away from the dog in the garage. I ignored the warning of course & went right to the dog in the garage. Lady was the first of quite a few wonderful dogs in my life.
My parents said my sister could have a dog if she got all A’s on her report card….well she didn’t even get one A 😵💫but they said we all could have the dog…3 sisters 🤦🏻♀️. We got a male cocker spaniel a real snuggler❤️ He lived a long happy life and was really my Mother’s dog.
Duchess was my guardian angel. I don’t recall how she came to our family I was about 5 when we got her and lucky me, she picked me to bond with. The story is told that everyday at 2:30 she arrived at my kindergarten to escort me home. Duchess was a master if escape, free range and a character, welcome at every neighbors home. She played with whatever kids weren’t in school, demanded syrup on her pancakes and only wanted people food. We couldn’t keep a collar and tags on her and she would hide from the pound on the garbage & delivery trucks- mind you this was the 60’s and we lived rural. Duchess lived to be 16 years old. I still think of her-so much love in a furry brown package.💜
Picturing her A) not eating pancakes without syrup and B) evading animal control by hiding in the trash trucks is quite the visual. Sounds like a canine character out of a movie!
Im 66 now but remember clearly the brown dog we had when we were young. He was undoubtedly a mutt, but he was a great dog and we kids doted on him. He had a white tip of his tail, hence the name Tippy. I only know of one photo of him.
Unfortunately, Tippy chased motorcycles and my mom and dad were afraid he was going to get someone hurt, so they gave him away to someone else. We had more dogs when we were a little older, but Tippy was the first dog in my memory. :)
I remember an all white Lhasa Apso named Happy. Before him, our family had a large poodle that helped me learn to walk but I don't remember him. Happy as a puppy was often mistaken for a stuffed toy when he sat on the couch. He loved to pop birthday balloons! He lived to 13.
My first dog, Tina, came into my life when I was three years old. My sister and I ran down the steps on Christmas morning to find Santa’s surprise, a tiny black dachshund that Santa thought would help me overcome my fear of dogs. I shrieked and ran back upstairs. Tina would become my comforting companion through my fear-riddled early years. She was the family pup, but we all knew she was mine. I overcame my big fear of leaving home when at the age of 12 I went away to camp for eight weeks. On the ride home from the airport, my three-year-old brother jumped up and down on the back seat, “Can we tell her now?! Tina jumped out of the car on the highway and died!!”
There were many dogs to follow throughout my childhood and marriage, but I never gave my heart to them completely. When the last one died, I said no more. We moved cities twice and travelled a lot with the kids grown and gone, and there was no space in our lives for a dog again. But then during a visit to see the grandkids in Los Angeles, our three-year-old granddaughter, my namesake, sheepishly approached with a small dog curled in her arms. “Gigi, does this look like a Colorado dog?!!!!!!” He was a rescue dog that the family had picked out to match the cream color carpet of our new vacation home in the mountains of Colorado. When we bought the house, I announced that I’m wasn’t going to have dogs traipsing in and out of there on that carpet. But how could I resist? That was the beginning. The family of dogs expanded to three, then at 76 years old my husband and I who had retired and moved across the country to be with the kids and grandkids, got a puppy, Honey, a mini-Australian Labradoodle, who quickly burrowed her way into my heart so deeply that my husband of 57 years jokes that I love Honey more than him. Last summer, with kids and their friends and our Honey, we had six dogs for six weeks in Colorado. When the last ones left, a crew came in and ripped out the carpet and installed wood floors.
My first dog memory was from when I was 6 years old. We had a feisty dachshund named “Rot” (long O, means “red” in German). As fate would have it, I witnessed his demise when he ran after a car and was run over. The worst part of that was that I assumed it was our neighbor’s dachshund, and I ran over to tell them….only to be greeted by their dog at the door. 😳 We never had another dog until I was 12. We had just moved to a new town and I had a difficult time making friends (middle school kids can be so cruel). I was clearly depressed (my parents were understandably concerned). They decided to get another dachshund puppy, who we named “Max”. Max was literally my saving grace. My parents left him barricaded alone in the kitchen at night (while he was being housetrained), but I secretly rescued him and brought him into my bed. He never had an accident after that! Anyway, he was MY dog and definitely pulled me out of my depression. (I’m 70 years old, and now have a small rescue pup (Zander) who got me through a very traumatic divorce. He’s sleeping peacefully at my side as I type this.
The love of my young was a beautiful boxer dog named Queenie. My stepdad and my oldest brother Jack found her while they were walking the railroad tracks near our town in northern Mississippi. We took her home and fed her and kept her after three weeks’ worth of newspaper ads produced no response. She lived in our back yard in a doghouse Jack and Dad built. She loved all of us, and was the very embodiment of love to all of us as our family broke apart in 1966. The short story I wrote about her brought my wife and me together in 1976. I brought the story to her and after she read it, she had tears in her eyes as she said, “I never thought I’d ever meet someone who felt about things the way I do.” So thank you, Queenie, for your unbounded love and for bring my dear wife and me together!
My first dog, Tina, came into my life when I was three years old. My sister and I ran down the steps on Christmas morning to find Santa’s surprise, a tiny black dachshund that Santa thought would help me overcome my fear of dogs. I shrieked and ran back upstairs. Tina would become my comforting companion through my fear-riddled early years. She was the family pup, but we all knew she was mine. I overcame my big fear of leaving home when at the age of 12 I went away to camp for eight weeks. On the ride home from the airport, my three-year-old brother jumped up and down on the back seat, “Can we tell her now?! Tina jumped out of the car on the highway and died!!”
There were many dogs to follow throughout my childhood and marriage, but I never gave my heart to them completely. When the last one died, I said no more. We moved cities twice and travelled a lot with the kids grown and gone, and there was no space in our lives for a dog again. But then during a visit to see the grandkids in Los Angeles, our three-year-old granddaughter, my namesake, sheepishly approached with a small dog curled in her arms. “Gigi, does this look like a Colorado dog?!!!!!!” He was a rescue dog that the family had picked out to match the cream color carpet of our new vacation home in the mountains of Colorado. When we bought the house, I announced that I’m wasn’t going to have dogs traipsing in and out of there on that carpet. But how could I resist? That was the beginning. The family of dogs expanded to three, then at 76 years old my husband and I who had retired and moved across the country to be with the kids and grandkids, got a puppy, Honey, a mini-Australian Labradoodle, who quickly burrowed her way into my heart so deeply that my husband of 57 years jokes that I love Honey more than him. Last summer, with kids and their friends and our Honey, we had six dogs for six weeks in Colorado. When the last ones left, a crew came in and ripped out the carpet and installed wood floors.
Queenie, a black cocker spaniel, was with me from infancy until she, deaf and blind, lie down in the sun on the warm cement of our driveway to take the final sleep when I was in my teens. She birthed a litter of 10 puppies during the war. As they squirmed and wiggled through the uncut grass of our defense housing, they soothed the fears of a young girl who saw her parents cry the morning of Pearl Harbor. She was the ballast to our family, never missing a camping trip or a sing along with grandma at the piano, her silken ears available to stroke for comfort. At 86 the only the photos I have of her are in my heart.
Dogs really are a ballast through the ups and downs of life. Grateful that I have a few good photos of my childhood dogs. Have you ever drawn or sketched Queenie?
No, but I can see her as clear as if she were in the room with me. Her coal black coat was always shiny. I wonder if my dad must have occasionally bathed her? It wouldn’t have been like him but I can see his hands now in the suds. How evocative the memory of a dog. Thanks for giving me this memory. It’s a good thing you do.
I was about 5 when we got two boxers. Rebel was mine and Mitzi was my sister’s. When I started first grade, Rebel visited me often at school, which was a mile away. He was big and brawny but pure sweetness. My fellow 1st graders were afraid of him so I opened his mouth and stuck my arm in his mouth and said, “see, he won’t hurt you.” If he came in the morning, they let me walk him home alone including crossing a busy street. If it was the afternoon, he rode the bus home but wouldn’t get off the bus because he loved it. So we had to open the back door and push him off the bus. Rebel started my love of boxers. I have had various dog breeds but boxers have always remained my favorite breed. We have our 4th boxer now but Rebel was truly a special boy.
I would've loved to have been on that bus with Rebel as a kid
Me too!!
As a little kid, my parents took us to see the Move “Old Yeller.” It was 1957. I am still traumatized! The dog died in the end. To this day, if there is a dog in a movie, I check ahead to make sure nothing happens to him:her! So glad you are doing these Substacks! Thank you!
Traumatizing! Fun fact, there's a website called "www.doesthedogdie.com", which helps you decide whether or not you should watch dog movies if you're easily traumatized by dogs dying (and is also a nice source of movies with dogs if you're looking for one).
Thank you! Will use it on my life for sure! Minimizing the trauma! 😆😆
SAME. Except I had to watch it in 1st grade. WHO DOES THAT?? And then I watched Turner and Hooch and now I don’t trust movies
We moved when I was 13. It was in the spring and between elementary and middle school. I had no friends and was very lonely. I did a lot of neighbor babysitting and saved all my money to buy a carin terrier puppy. I loved having my own "Toto." I wanted him to be my buddy. By the time I was able to bring him home, I was back in school and my mom was the one home to bond with Linus. that dog never liked me!
Now I only get pets when I know I will be home to bond with them.
My first dog was a German Shepherd named Lady. My father her brought her home after witnessing her being pushed out of a car in Brooklyn in 1974. I don't know how old she was when dad brought her home. Dad put her in the garage until he could talk to mom about her. He wrote a note specially addressed to me, not my 3 older brothers, telling me to stay away from the dog in the garage. I ignored the warning of course & went right to the dog in the garage. Lady was the first of quite a few wonderful dogs in my life.
My parents said my sister could have a dog if she got all A’s on her report card….well she didn’t even get one A 😵💫but they said we all could have the dog…3 sisters 🤦🏻♀️. We got a male cocker spaniel a real snuggler❤️ He lived a long happy life and was really my Mother’s dog.
Well your parents get an A in my book for following through despite the report card!
Duchess was my guardian angel. I don’t recall how she came to our family I was about 5 when we got her and lucky me, she picked me to bond with. The story is told that everyday at 2:30 she arrived at my kindergarten to escort me home. Duchess was a master if escape, free range and a character, welcome at every neighbors home. She played with whatever kids weren’t in school, demanded syrup on her pancakes and only wanted people food. We couldn’t keep a collar and tags on her and she would hide from the pound on the garbage & delivery trucks- mind you this was the 60’s and we lived rural. Duchess lived to be 16 years old. I still think of her-so much love in a furry brown package.💜
Picturing her A) not eating pancakes without syrup and B) evading animal control by hiding in the trash trucks is quite the visual. Sounds like a canine character out of a movie!
Im 66 now but remember clearly the brown dog we had when we were young. He was undoubtedly a mutt, but he was a great dog and we kids doted on him. He had a white tip of his tail, hence the name Tippy. I only know of one photo of him.
Unfortunately, Tippy chased motorcycles and my mom and dad were afraid he was going to get someone hurt, so they gave him away to someone else. We had more dogs when we were a little older, but Tippy was the first dog in my memory. :)
I remember an all white Lhasa Apso named Happy. Before him, our family had a large poodle that helped me learn to walk but I don't remember him. Happy as a puppy was often mistaken for a stuffed toy when he sat on the couch. He loved to pop birthday balloons! He lived to 13.
I grew up w/boxers, my Dad’s favorite. They were really Dad’s dogs PS: just got 2 copies of your book for Christmas gifts!
Thank you! Have a merry doggy Christmas!
This is gonna be interesting 😊
My first dog, Tina, came into my life when I was three years old. My sister and I ran down the steps on Christmas morning to find Santa’s surprise, a tiny black dachshund that Santa thought would help me overcome my fear of dogs. I shrieked and ran back upstairs. Tina would become my comforting companion through my fear-riddled early years. She was the family pup, but we all knew she was mine. I overcame my big fear of leaving home when at the age of 12 I went away to camp for eight weeks. On the ride home from the airport, my three-year-old brother jumped up and down on the back seat, “Can we tell her now?! Tina jumped out of the car on the highway and died!!”
There were many dogs to follow throughout my childhood and marriage, but I never gave my heart to them completely. When the last one died, I said no more. We moved cities twice and travelled a lot with the kids grown and gone, and there was no space in our lives for a dog again. But then during a visit to see the grandkids in Los Angeles, our three-year-old granddaughter, my namesake, sheepishly approached with a small dog curled in her arms. “Gigi, does this look like a Colorado dog?!!!!!!” He was a rescue dog that the family had picked out to match the cream color carpet of our new vacation home in the mountains of Colorado. When we bought the house, I announced that I’m wasn’t going to have dogs traipsing in and out of there on that carpet. But how could I resist? That was the beginning. The family of dogs expanded to three, then at 76 years old my husband and I who had retired and moved across the country to be with the kids and grandkids, got a puppy, Honey, a mini-Australian Labradoodle, who quickly burrowed her way into my heart so deeply that my husband of 57 years jokes that I love Honey more than him. Last summer, with kids and their friends and our Honey, we had six dogs for six weeks in Colorado. When the last ones left, a crew came in and ripped out the carpet and installed wood floors.
Honey.jpeg
"Such short little lives our pets have to spend with us, and they spend most of it waiting for us to come home each day."
— John Grogan
My first dog memory was from when I was 6 years old. We had a feisty dachshund named “Rot” (long O, means “red” in German). As fate would have it, I witnessed his demise when he ran after a car and was run over. The worst part of that was that I assumed it was our neighbor’s dachshund, and I ran over to tell them….only to be greeted by their dog at the door. 😳 We never had another dog until I was 12. We had just moved to a new town and I had a difficult time making friends (middle school kids can be so cruel). I was clearly depressed (my parents were understandably concerned). They decided to get another dachshund puppy, who we named “Max”. Max was literally my saving grace. My parents left him barricaded alone in the kitchen at night (while he was being housetrained), but I secretly rescued him and brought him into my bed. He never had an accident after that! Anyway, he was MY dog and definitely pulled me out of my depression. (I’m 70 years old, and now have a small rescue pup (Zander) who got me through a very traumatic divorce. He’s sleeping peacefully at my side as I type this.
P.S. I firmly believe that Max orchestrated the circumstances that led me to adopt Zander!
The love of my young was a beautiful boxer dog named Queenie. My stepdad and my oldest brother Jack found her while they were walking the railroad tracks near our town in northern Mississippi. We took her home and fed her and kept her after three weeks’ worth of newspaper ads produced no response. She lived in our back yard in a doghouse Jack and Dad built. She loved all of us, and was the very embodiment of love to all of us as our family broke apart in 1966. The short story I wrote about her brought my wife and me together in 1976. I brought the story to her and after she read it, she had tears in her eyes as she said, “I never thought I’d ever meet someone who felt about things the way I do.” So thank you, Queenie, for your unbounded love and for bring my dear wife and me together!
My first dog, Tina, came into my life when I was three years old. My sister and I ran down the steps on Christmas morning to find Santa’s surprise, a tiny black dachshund that Santa thought would help me overcome my fear of dogs. I shrieked and ran back upstairs. Tina would become my comforting companion through my fear-riddled early years. She was the family pup, but we all knew she was mine. I overcame my big fear of leaving home when at the age of 12 I went away to camp for eight weeks. On the ride home from the airport, my three-year-old brother jumped up and down on the back seat, “Can we tell her now?! Tina jumped out of the car on the highway and died!!”
There were many dogs to follow throughout my childhood and marriage, but I never gave my heart to them completely. When the last one died, I said no more. We moved cities twice and travelled a lot with the kids grown and gone, and there was no space in our lives for a dog again. But then during a visit to see the grandkids in Los Angeles, our three-year-old granddaughter, my namesake, sheepishly approached with a small dog curled in her arms. “Gigi, does this look like a Colorado dog?!!!!!!” He was a rescue dog that the family had picked out to match the cream color carpet of our new vacation home in the mountains of Colorado. When we bought the house, I announced that I’m wasn’t going to have dogs traipsing in and out of there on that carpet. But how could I resist? That was the beginning. The family of dogs expanded to three, then at 76 years old my husband and I who had retired and moved across the country to be with the kids and grandkids, got a puppy, Honey, a mini-Australian Labradoodle, who quickly burrowed her way into my heart so deeply that my husband of 57 years jokes that I love Honey more than him. Last summer, with kids and their friends and our Honey, we had six dogs for six weeks in Colorado. When the last ones left, a crew came in and ripped out the carpet and installed wood floors.