Blog Bio Good Memories of Growing Up with Dogs

When we moved to Wyoming, Skipper, a large yellow dog, was already waiting for us. He refused to leave with the last pastor’s family. Though he scared those feeding him, he took right to our family and was our companion until he died.

Topper was a small, short-haired lovable mutt. Together, we explored the creeks, valleys and tunnels behind the parsonage in Wyoming. I had a freedom to wonder we can seldom afford kids today. I had to carry my pocket knife and be home by dusk when the night creatures, like bobcats, started hunting. Topper had a litter of puppies. One survived. Cutie was a long, curly-haired, black and white puppy—rather like a dusty mop.

We took Topper and Cutie with us when we moved to northern Kansas for the Lund Covenant Church. Six months later Topper died in trying to have another litter of puppies. I mourned my dog. Then we only had Cutie. He would have been but a mouthful for the ever-present coyotes. But somehow, he identified with them and his coyote howl would send chills down the back. Cutie loved wondering as far as thirty miles away. Eventually, everyone got to know him and would bring him back, letting him off in the driveway. He loved the car rides and loved getting home. Strangely enough, the coyotes never bothered our little dust mop.

After I got sick, Cutie would leap on my bed and snuggle with me. He lifted my spirits. Cutie was my brother’s dog until Paul got a “real”—a larger black dog. Cutie was too much a wanderer to take with us to the church in Iowa. We left him with a farm family who let him wonder. 

In Iowa, we had an adult cat who thought she was all that. When Paul got a Golden Retriever puppy, the cat baited him, jumped on him, and made his life miserable. Then the dog grew up.

Usually, we made sure our dogs and cats got along. This was a whole other situation. The dog knew he wasn’t supposed to hurt the cat. Instead, he’d wait until no one was looking, grab the cat at the neck, and shake until, at times, he broke the skin. He never tried to kill the cat,, just bully her as though getting revenge. We had to be vigilant.

When Keith and I raised our kids, each of them chose a pet when they were seven years old and proved they would handle caring for a pet. Our older son chose a Black Lab. Our daughter, two years later, chose a feisty black cat with a white snip across her nose. They were part of our family until they died of old age—the cat at 19 years old.

Since then, we spoil the pets of our friends and family, leaving us free to visit our kids and grandkids in Lincoln and Omaha. Once on her own, Cassie took in a rescued dog who was a sweet little dog. Melvin dog accepted into their home Kurt when he married Cassie and then their two children. It was hard when he died since he’d been so much a part of the family.  

More recently our son added to his family of three almost-grown kids. With his daughter leading the charge, they added a beautiful Husky named Bear and then, as a companion, a white dog nicknamed Candy.

Dogs are wonderful companions. They give unconditional love, listen when you share secrets, and simply want to be loved in return. I’m thankful for my memories and glad our kids and grandkids can make memories with loving pets as well.

Many of our dogs were rescued animals. They make wonderful companions. Looking for a dog (or cat)? Check out the nearest shelter. You’ll be glad you did.

(c) 2022 Carolyn R Scheidies

Hub Column published 05/02/2022

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Blog Bio Dogs, fosters, adoption and love

Recently my seventeen-year-old granddaughter told me she’d been cleaning up the backyard because they planned to foster a Husky dog. She was so excited to bring home a shelter Husky named Bear. I could tell she was already loving that dog.

I can’t blame her. Several years ago, our daughter Cassie had a friend who fostered dogs. She told Cassie about a little dog foster that had been rescued from a puppy mill. The young dog had spent his life in a cage.

Cassie ended up adopting Melvin who proved to be a sweet dog without a mean bone in his body. His main anxiety was not wanting Cassie out of his sight. She had Melvin for many years, giving him special attention as he aged.

She married and Melvin adopted Kurt as part of the family and then included two children. When he died, the family grieved.

My brother pretty much always had dogs—usually larger dogs. He brought a dog into his marriage with Lorene and throughout their marriage, they adopted several dogs from the shelter. Their dogs were their kids. Finally, they decided not to get another dog.

At least, they thought they both decided that only to discover both were, on their own, checking out dogs at the shelter. That did it, they adopted another dog who needed them.

This dog was big, gentle, and huggable. He also thought he was a lapdog. When they settled in their recliners, Franee would jump into a lap and snuggle down. Paul walked the dog up to our house, but often they walked Franee at Yanney Park. They loved that dog.

Then Paul had a massive heart attack and was gone. The love she and Paul shared with a needy animal came back to sustain Lorene as she dealt with Paul’s loss. Because they were willing to adopt, she received a gift of Franee’s love that has helped her through her grief.

We usually had dogs and often cats when we grew up. Since dad was a minister, we moved every few years. Some places were more conducive to pets than others. Wyoming was a great place for pets, but we didn’t buy them. They came to us. A dog or cat who needed a home found our place. If they looked hungry, mom fed them.

Some moved on. Others stayed and became part of the family, though the restriction was that their main home was outside. (Dad built a dog house.)

One of my best memories is the day we moved to Lance Creek Wyoming. Mrs. Wilson who ran the motel for truckers just down the road had the key to the parsonage. We walked over with her. Mrs. Wilson pointed out the huge dog on the stoop.

She started explaining most were afraid of the animal, but he had refused to leave with the last pastor. Members threw food over the fence for the dog. She wasn’t sure what to do, but Paul, a toddler, before anyone could stop him, opened the gate, marched up to the dog, and hugged him.

I followed, leaving the adults stunned. Skipper had adopted us. He proved to be a wonderful dog. When he died, he left us with many good memories. I could tell many more stories of dogs who met a need for those who adopted them or whom they adopted.

Looking for a dog? Instead of paying through the nose for some fancy breed, consider a shelter pet. These dogs are so ready to give love and are often brave, smart, ready to love the individual or family who reaches out,

© 2021 Carolyn R Scheidies
Published in my Kearney Hub Column 2021 November 8
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