My wife wasn’t raised with family pets. Her mother thought they were too much trouble or too messy or too, too … something. In college, she and her roommates had a dog, but Marice wasn’t the chief caretaker so she really had no idea about the joys – and challenges – of dog ownership.
When I introduced her to my family, she got her first close-up look of devoted animal lovers. My mother had a succession of dogs that she treated as well as – maybe better than – she ever treated my sister and me. (Sorry, Mom, but you know it’s true.)
As for my sister, she’s owned multiple dogs and cats for years. I tease her that she’s only one cat shy of being her neighborhood’s “crazy cat lady.”
Marice was amused – make that smugly bemused – by the devotion my family showed toward its pets. She considered it quaint and eccentric.
Our children badgered us for years to get them a dog. I was doubtful about Marice’s comfort level with house pets so I left the decision to her. One day I got a call at work.
“I looked at a puppy today,” Marice said. By her excited tone, I knew the end to this particular story. “She’s the cutest thing. A little West Highland terrier. She’s very sweet and so good tempered. And guess what?
“She’s got your birthday!”
Resistance on my part being pointless, Kiera the Westie became the grand pooh-bah of Gunnels Manse. And Marice officially became a crazy dog person.
She cared for that Westie for 13 happy years, and when Kiera went to chase squirrels across the Rainbow Bridge, Marice quickly found another Westie to take her place. Now Charlotte, Lottie for short, rules our particular roost.
She’s also the toast of our neighborhood, a fact confirmed every day when Marice takes her for a walk. Everyone they encounter wants to stop and admire the little priss.
Buffy, my daughter’s Westie, is Lottie’s partner in crime. They’re two peas in a pod and compete fiercely for our collective attention. They are – why try to deny it? – adorable. As is my son’s shepherd/hound mix, Bailey. Like I said, we’re dog people.
So it’s no surprise that various dog ornaments adorn our Christmas tree. I’m particularly fond of this one. Marice always wants to know where I put it so she can sneak an occasional peak. She bought it because it reminds her of the late, lamented Kiera.
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