Dogs, Cats, Birds and Horses

Memories surrounding our childhood pets evoke some of our best memories

Indulge me, please, while I tell you about my dog.

Well, then, why don’t you tell me about your dog? Or cat? or bird? or horse? or whatever non-human friend meant the world to you.

Was he a puppy when your family got him? Did you help select the kitten you wanted? Did he sit at your feet during dinner time knowing that he would be the beneficiary of the Brussels sprouts or broccoli on your plate? Did you sneak her into your bed at night even though she wasn’t allowed on the furniture? Was your grandmother or a neighbor afraid of him or allergic to her? Did you have more than one pet at a time? Did you own a Great Dane when you lived in a studio apartment? Was your cat a good mouser? Was your bird permitted out of her cage to socialize?

Did you always want a pet but your parents said “no?” What was their reason, or didn’t they give one?

Tell about it, even if it’s about the pet that popped into your imagination after you saw your first Lassie movie. Maybe a friend had the pet you wished for. They’re all memories that tell about you, your family and the times.

JG Entry

His name was Toodles. I have no idea why my mother named him that. He certainly had poodle blood in him, but nobody had any idea what other breeds might have been part of his heritage. He was the puppy of a neighbor’s dog and my grandparents were happy to give him a home.

By the time I was aware of Toodles, he was an elderly rascal who ruled my grandmother’s household. He had no use for a leash – he went out when he felt like it and he came back when he was ready. He ate mostly “people food” – almost anything would do. And he loved my mother beyond anyone else. After she married my father and moved from my grandmother’s house, she visited him several times a week. My grandparents said they were thrilled at the frequency of their daughter’s visits with them, but they knew who she was really there to see.

My grandparents’ home in Brooklyn, New York, was a Cape Cod style house with a large dormer overlooking the front of the house in the upstairs bedroom. The dormer’s casement windows were left opened when the weather permitted. Toodles visited his favorite place when those windows any time he knew he could get out. He would jump onto the bench seat under the windows then make his way through the window to sit on the overhanging roof. To me, and to the family, it was commonplace. But when strangers passed the house, they pointed and laughed and even stopped to take a picture of the dog on the roof. Sometimes people rang the doorbell to inform my grandparents that their dog was perched precariously on the roof. Others, assuming it was a statue up there, were shocked to see Toodles stand up or move to scratch himself.

He was not groomed, never learned how to “sit” on command, and he was as happy as any dog could be. One day, when he was seventeen years old, he went on one of his independent strolls and never came home. I don’t think the family ever recovered from it, but they had to think that he died of old age in one of his secret haunts near their house. The fact that I am relating his story shows that our memory of Toodles lives on. When my grandchildren read this, Toodles will be part of a new generation.

If you need guidance or encouragement with your Personal History, contact me at judy.goldwyn@gmail.com to arrange for a complimentary consultation.