Over the past ten years, we’ve rescued three Schnoodles and given them all literary names. Boo Radley (To Kill a Mockingbird) was found behind the door of an empty duplex, abandoned by his former family when they moved out. Ollie (named for my favorite poet, Mary Oliver) was a young stray found on the streets of north Georgia. Fitz (short for F. Scott Fitzgerald) came to us following a badly broken leg (the x-ray looked like a candy cane snapped off at 12:00 of the hook) that the vets barely managed to save. He also had extensive road rash, leading us to believe that he may have been thrown from a moving car. He’s had a large cyst removed from his neck and had most of his rotting teeth extracted since he came to us, including his canines because of CUPS Disease. He also has cataracts, but he can still miraculously spot a lizard from a mile away. Fitz is the happiest little dog I’ve known in all my years.
Fitz is my soul dog – he sleeps right next to me, he has to be in my lap, and he invades my space right down to the air I breathe (he’s usually checking to see what I’ve most recently eaten when he gets in my face, being the little foodie he is). He likes to do what I do, so if I get up from writing to refill my coffee, he assumes the writer position in my chair in front of my computer. He heard it was NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month), so here he is – working on his first novel. He’s going for those 50,000 words this month.
Boo Radley sporting his Parti spotting shades of gray, more evident following a grooming.
Boo Radley gave us a scare this week. Our sevenish-year-old Parti Schnoodle who came into our lives as an abandoned, starving, severely matted rescue whose tangles were so horrible they nicknamed him Einstein, had a lump pop up over his left hip.
We went straight to the verge of panic, stopping short of it when the vet had a quick opening.
I dropped him off Thursday morning for some tests and left a skeptical, trembling Boo with the look of betrayal in his eyes in the caring hands of our veterinary clinic’s staff, who always greet us by name.
The call came during a state Zoom call when some of our students were presenting their projects on poverty to leaders across the state.
I shut off my camera and muted my microphone and took the call.
“Boo Radley is going to be fine,” the office assured me. “He has a lipoma, a benign tumor of fatty tissue.”
They’d performed a fine needle aspiration and examined the cells to be sure that they were not cancerous.
I picked him up after work, and as I was waiting for him to be brought up front, one of the veterinary technicians whispered, “I just want you to know how sweet your dog is. I was back there earlier, and I caught him looking at me with his big eyes, pleading with me to love on him. I opened his kennel and took him out and he showered me with kisses. He is one sweet boy!” This vet tech was a man, and Boo has always taken to men much more quickly than women. On the Schnoodle Facebook page, this seems to be a Schnoodle trait to prefer men.
He’d already forgiven me for leaving him by the time they handed him back to me. He caught a glimpse of the dog before him leaving, meandering with his family back to their car, and barked cuss words at them like a little banshee.
“This is ‘the other side’ of Boo Radley,” I pointed out. “Sweet boy can’t mind his own business. He has strong opinions and forces them on others.”
They chuckled and handed me the bill. I did not chuckle, and paid it.
As we neared the Johnson Funny Farm, I cracked the window so Boo could do his favorite thing – – sniff all the smells of the fauna and flora of the realm that is now his permanent place in the world – not a place of abandonment, but a place of love and belonging. The place where he will live out his full life, grow old, and cross the Rainbow Bridge someday. Just not today, thankfully.
#lovestoride #frontseatdog
I assured him when he got up this morning that he did not have to go back to the vet today. He went outside, did his business, and came in and had his blue jean time where he plays tug of war with the legs of my husband’s jeans for a moment, then had his treat. As I write at this very moment, Boo is snuggled by my right shoulder as he is each morning, snoozing in the comfort of the life he knows.
I might be on my way out of the doghouse. One of our Schnoodles, Fitz, had oral surgery yesterday, and he was having no part of that! He gave me the stink eye as I left him in the capable medical hands of those who could help surgically minimize the symptoms of his CUPS Disease. He’s been suffering from debilitating ulcers in his mouth for a year now, and removing the canines has been part of the plan.
Five teeth later (three additional teeth more than we’d planned), he was ready for pickup at 4 p.m. yesterday.
There was no forgiveness in his eyes whatsoever.
His whole body language made it clear that he was not even close to forgiving me for all I’d put him through yesterday.
And although we’d picked up all the food and held treats after 9 p.m. the night leading up to his procedure, I got a reporting call from the vet saying that the bloodwork indicated he’d had a snack. I told him I didn’t see how – – we’d picked up the bowls and not given any treats at all that morning, and since he sleeps with us, I could only conclude that if he’d eaten anything, he’s got a secret stash somewhere.
Which wouldn’t surprise me. He’s the food bully of the family. Strays from the street learn their ways of food supply survival.
His brothers had completely different reactions when I brought him home with that little cone head of his. Boo Radley was concerned and wanted to be gentle. Ollie, on the other hand, teased Fitz for looking like a bit of a clown.
Fitz’s brothers welcome him home after oral surgery
But here is where I think the forgiveness was found – exactly where it usually is with Fitz: in food.
He’s supposed to be eating wet/canned food, but since we had leftover pizza in the fridge, I heated up the soft crust and cheese and hand-fed him his dinner like I would feed a baby bird. One bite at a time, until he’d had the equivalent of an entire piece of cheeze/pizza crust.
And this morning, he looks a little closer to forgiving me.
I’m not there yet, but I’ll take the baby steps to forgiveness.
Today’s guest blogger is my dad, Reverend Dr. Felix Haynes, Jr., sharing the story of his best Valentine’s Day gift – and his deep love and gratitude for his best girl!
Dad with Kona on her first birthday in the dog park
Two key words on Valentine’s Day are BE MINE. Kona has officially been mine now for two loving years!
I celebrate her surprise appearance into my life on that Sunday afternoon of Valentine’s Day 2021 when my children conspired and collaborated on this life-changing rescue. Kim rescued an 8-month old Schnoodle from Tallahassee, Florida and drove her to Tifton, Georgia. There, she met her brother Ken, who drove the last leg of the journey to my home on St. Simon’s Island.
Ken Facetimed his sister as he disclosed the terms of the deal for me.
“Dad, Kim rescued this dog, and you have 48 hours to decide on whether you want to keep her. No pressure. We had you in mind, but Kim fell in love with this sweet puppy, and I did too.”
Within thirty minutes, I knew she was mine! Kona remains the love of my life! She is the best gift ever and the best definition of true Valentine love! I couldn’t let the day go by without celebrating my cherished girl – Kona! My Valentine!
Within a few days, she had already put me on a strict routine. She makes sure I get a walk to the pier and village area every morning at 5 a.m. She licks my face and breaks into the full body wag, her nub of a tail a language of joy all its own.
Time to Go!
I grab our gear and leash. She’s more excited than a kid on Christmas morning as we step out into the fresh morning air – – a beautiful start to every day for both of us. She eagerly greets a couple of other wee hour canines and their walkers as we make our way toward sunrise over the Atlantic Ocean.
When we return, she leads me to the kitchen to fix our breakfast, still vigorously wagging her tail. I move to the easy chair with my coffee, and she cozies up beside me, snug and warm, bringing complete peace and love into my heart and home.
She takes me on rides in the car, mid-day walks, and quick trips to the grocery store, where she accompanies me inside on the leash and sets an example for me to behave as well as she does. Cashiers and customers alike know Kona and shower her with attention and praise as we make our way down the aisles shopping for each item on her grocery list.
She brings me home to rest in between our outings. We recharge our batteries and sit a spell as she climbs into her very own chair – – the one covered with the big beach towel. She knows when I feel tired or stressed and cuddles up to say, “It’s Ok.”
My Valentine is the queen of the dog park family. I take her there each afternoon, and every occasion is one big family reunion. We meet people from all over the country who fall more deeply in love with St. Simons Island because of the dog park. Glynn County acknowledges that the Mallery Street Dog Park has been the number one amenity they have provided through the Recreation Department (pickleball courts are a close second, but even pickleball can’t compete with dogs). Kona and her buddy Seamus, a pug, are two of the most present magnets of this fun loving community.
Dog Park Family
Kona knows when I dress up (by which shoes I put on) that she is not going with me on the occasion. She asks with her inquisitive eyes, “Why can’t dogs go to church?”
Her intuition is astounding. When I see Ken arriving and announce, “Kasa is coming,” Kona runs to the door to welcome her cousin canine! Any time I return home, she hears the distinctive sound of the car door and waits by the door to welcome me back.
I cannot even begin to enumerate the moments of love that Kona provides. She is simply the best Valentine’s Day gift ever. I can surely say how much I love my children( their mother raised them so well), but I love them a thousand times more for the gift of Kona.
Common Threads 