I have a blog that nobody knows about. I write stories in there to help me remember things I like... stories of my childhood, things that make me laugh, things that make me smile. I copied and pasted this from there. I wrote it on Zoey's 11th birthday, September 19, 2006.
Zoey is missing. That's all I know. We spent the last 4 hours out in the cold and dark with flashlights calling her and looking for her. We are going out again in the morning. I am not optimistic, and I hate that.
I have been asked to write about Zoey. I don't even know where to begin. I guess from the beginning would work...I picked Zoey for Alex. That's what I told people. My young son needed a puppy, I said. In truth, I wanted her so bad, she was the cutest most cuddly orange ball of fur I had ever seen.I said we were going to look at these puppies, that we would simply pick one, pay for it, and go back in a couple of weeks and pick her up. Our home was not ready for a puppy on that day.
Our home wasn't even our home. My husband, my young puppy-deprived son and I were living with my mother. We were homeless, and she took us in. I told her we would not be bringing a puppy into her home, I thought bringing a husband and child were enough for her. She has since admitted that she knew I would be coming home with a puppy that day.
I think I knew it, too.But it was a nice charade to play.
We brought her home, and I asked young Alex what he thought we should name the puppy. She had papers, so we needed a good name, something that looks good on paper, but also works when you're yelling it out the back door in the dark.Alex loved Sesame Street. I was happy that he did not follow the crowd and get on the "Elmo" bandwagon. He preferred Zoey, the orange girl/child/monster. He suggested naming the new puppy Zoey because she was a girl and she was orange. I agreed, but suggested we wait a bit before sending in the papers to give us time to figure out if "Zoey" was enough, or if she needed a middle name. In time, we realized that we used two middle names for her. One, Louise, when she was naughty: "Zoey Louise, you naughty girl" and the other, Bear, for when she was being cute and lovable: "aww, such a sweet little Zoey Bear". Thus she was named Zoey Louise Bear.
Zoey was a smart pup, right from the beginning. I was not a smart puppy owner in the beginning. Zoey had trouble house breaking me. She knew the drill: have to pee? Go stand in front of the person with the thumbs, they'll get the door. If that person does not acknowledge you, go find a quiet spot and take care of it indoors, maybe the thumb endowed person would get the hint after having to clean up a few piles.But, no, it took me awhile, poor dog.I thought she was dumb, and naughty... Turns out it was me.
Once we got past that hurdle, we moved on to other "learning opportunities". I am so lucky that I had Zoey for awhile, she taught me how to be a good dog owner. I say that now, but back then, all I could say was what a bad dog we had. I have seen the error of my ways, thank you Zoey.When my small, but growing family moved out of my mother's home, we were not far away. Zoey taught me that she was in charge, as long as I let her be. Looking back, I realize that I was not taking control, and SOMEONE had to, so Zoey took it upon herself to step up. What a trooper, what a team player!I was still convinced I had a rude dog, not so much dumb anymore, but unruly and illmannered. She was convinced that it was her job to sort my garbage every day. All over the kitchen floor. Like I said, not dumb, she ate anything she could. Which of course gave her some of the worst gas I have ever been subjected to. Unruly. Rude. Illmannered. Smelly, too.
There came a day when we had to move, for my husband's job. He had found us a place to live in the great north woods, some 5 hours away. He said it would be fine until we could find a better place. The only issue was that it was a rental, and Zoey was not welcome.All the while, raising this rude girl, my mother was there, seeing the garbage, seeing the carpet ripped up, seeing how this dog does not listen to me. She was not impressed. After two years with us, Zoey went to a new home. She did not go willingly, and she wasn't exactly welcome at first either. I begged my mother to keep her for us, just until we could find a new home in the great north woods, where Zoey would be welcome. Zoey was not happy. Mom was not happy. I was not happy. As naughty and rude and illmannered as she was, she was still my...er, my SON'S dog. I didn't want to have to leave her behind. I didn't want to have to leave her with someone who didn't like her. It was a bad situation for all involved.
Within six weeks of the great trek north, my mother came for a visit, I was having a baby. She brought Zoey with her. I knew that day that I no longer had a dog. I knew she would never be coming back, except to visit with her new person, my mother. It was as if she had a twin, and the twin was everything my Zoey was not. This new Zoey was polite, trained, and most important, NOT gassy. I asked my mother what she did, what brought about this wonderful change in a dog that I had a love/hate relationship with.
She told me the story of the day she and Zoey clicked. It was about four days after we had left. She came home from work, a bad day at work, gave her daughter's dog a sideways glance with a bit of a snarl on her lips. The thought popped into her head "I'll give Nik a call, she can bring the kids out for supper, and that'll cheer me up". No sooner did this thought come to her, than she realized that it couldn't happen, we were up north, too far away to pop in. She stood in her kitchen and just started to cry, she missed us. Suddenly she felt something pawing the back of her leg, it was Zoey. She just sat there and looked up at mom with the biggest saddest eyes. She missed us, too. Mom melted to the floor, and she and Zoey just hugged and cried together.That sealed it, not my dog anymore.
I was sad at first, but then I realized that it was best for everyone involved. Mom was happy, she had a project, a dog to reform, and she had a new friend who understood her crying. Zoey finally had a person who understood what she needed, someone who knew what those looks meant. (You, Thumb person, OPEN THE DOOR). Zoey was a better dog with my mom than she was with me. Maybe I just wasn't ready, with small kids to house break, and working, and the stress of it all, it wasn't the right time for me to have a dog. It was the right time for mom, she just didn't realize it until Zoey came to her in the kitchen and they bonded.
We went to visit mom and Zoey, and Zoey's friend Apollo. He was a Rottweiler, and he was huge. But he came to live with them as a puppy, so he had been raised getting his butt kicked by Zoey every day. He was used to it, it's what worked for them. It never occurred to him that he outweighed her and could easily knock her out. He just never would, that would be rude.Mom raises dogs who are not rude, that's what she does.
I always loved to watch Zoey beat him down. The sight of a loving family dog, a breed known for their tolerance and loyalty, kicking the living crap out of a Rott, a huge one at that, one of the most rumored vicious dogs, was the highlight of my visits to mom's. Zoey would go from herding and corralling Apollo, nipping and biting his neck to trotting over to my young children and stand there still as can be so they could pull their little toddler butts up to standing position. She never moved, toddler yanking her hair, didn't matter. She was rough and tumble with Apollo, but the ever loving and gentle family friend with my children. I never worried about my kids with Zoey around. She would never let anything bad happen to them, after all, that would be rude.
Zoey is not perfect, but her imperfections are what makes her Zoey. She is scared to death of guns. Not just the sound of gun shots, but the sight of a gun-- she knows what they are and what they do, and she wants no part of it.
When my mother leaves, and on the rare occasion, does not take Zoey with her, she gets either the silent treatment from Zoey, or the quivering, shaking, about-to-have-a-seizure act. Zoey still has control, she has just found more subtle ways of enforcing it.
The day my mother picked out a puppy for me, another golden retriever, of course, was a day that Zoey will never live down.
The day Zoey was rude.
Mom also got herself a pup, my Hailey's sister, Kate. Zoey was not impressed. She did not really care for these smelly, rude little fluffs who were, by the way, taking all attention away from Zoey. She was jealous. She was pushed aside. She was forgotten. She was pissed.
She wanted to show mother just what was in store for her, getting two puppies. Bringing them into Zoey's house? Oh, please, that was just asking for retaliation.Mother woke one morning, within a few days of getting these puppies. I had not been able to make the trip down to get mine yet, so she was staying with mom, and her sister... And Zoey. She awoke to the most horrific stench one can imagine. Just off my mother's bedroom was an office/library. Zoey slept in my mother's room, the puppies slept in a kennel downstairs. There was no way mom was believing that the puppies did this. In the library was the biggest pile of dog feces ever seen. This is where I believe that Zoey was being vindictive, not sneaky, not trying to get the pups in trouble, just plain mean. She wanted revenge, and she got it.
"See what puppies do? Just an example, THIS is what they do!"
Zoey is sweet, and loving, but she can be a cold calculating bitch when she wants to be.
Me, I just laughed when I heard this, then again, I was not the one cleaning up the world's largest pile of poo. I don't think I remember my mother telling me this with a chuckle. She wasn't laughing. I think Zoey was.
Revenge is a dish best served hot, steaming and fresh, in her opinion.
Zoey cannot be summarized in one entry, I will have to come back to her. She is worthy of many entries. She is interesting, probably the most interesting animal I have ever had the pleasure of knowing.
This is the only post I got done about her.
