| Man's Best Friend? Peter: Half dog, half horses ass |
Oh no you say, another dog story? I’m afraid so. But this story may be therapeutic for the
writer. Let’s begin with Mans Best Friend, indeed.
His name was Gus. Many a Pubgoer is familiar with Mr. G. He was the multi-brown colored dog
of medium built with the super mellow personality. He looked a lot like Alf. Gus never had a
leash in his life, never needed one. He would simply walk by your side, stop when you stopped,
and never darted out. He didn’t have ‘dart’ in his vocabulary.
I obtained Gus in an odd sort of way. He had initially been rescued from the shelter to be given
as a birthday present for my 'then to be eight' nephew Adam, son of the wicked sister Susie of
the North. When Susie denied Linda the right to bring a dog into her house (and knucklehead
Linda should have known better to give a dog as a gift), Linda kept him.
The first day I saw the little puppy (just after he threw up in Linda’s pocketbook on the drive
home from the shelter, and yes, he had every right to puke with her driving record), I said to
him in Eddie Murphy-eese, “choo got some big fuckin’ feets Gus”. The name stuck, Gus caught
on as the #2 dog in the Ferrentino residence, and partnered up with the black lab mix Bessy.
The two were inseparable.
When hard times feel on my sister’s family, they had to move and could only bring one dog with
them. They chose the dog they had first, Bessie. Gus (now about 1 year and a half old- 12 dog
years) was offered to lots of people, but nobody was in the position to take him. Just before he
was to head back to the shelter (and most likely the Gus Chamber), I talked my roommate and
homeowner Mario into taking Gus in.
After being primarily an outdoor Gus, he cleaned up nicely. He was good in the townhouse, only
getting sick and pooping one time that I can remember. Shortly afterwards, Gus and I moved to
Brigantine, and Gus now had two roommates. Ed Sites became his best friend. The two were
inseparable.
After moves from Brigantine to Franklinville, Blackwood, Sicklerville, and finally
Williamstown, Gus had wowed everyone who ever had the pleasure to meet him. At roughly 15
years of age (105 dog years), after arthritis, kidney problems, and other assorted paper cuts, we
decided to put Gus to sleep. He never lost his personality, but his body was letting him down.
He was ashamed of himself I think. It was the hardest thing I ever had to do. I was at his side
to the surprisingly peaceful end. He is buried in the corner of our yard, in what for whiffle ball
purposes are now called the Gus Grounds.
For over two years past Gus’s departure, the thought of getting a new dog was foreign to me.
Mostly because I didn’t’ think I could ever have a dog as good as Gus, partly because dogs like
children, are a major responsibility. You have to make plans to go away, you feel bad if you
have to work late. The grass was just starting to come in.
In January of 2004 through the constant “you know what would make me really happy”
reminders, our family decided to once again jump into dogdum. We decided to get a Golden
Retriever, since they are manly dogs, handsome, and great with kids.
We purchased a puppy in Berlin, had him five days, he got sick and died three days later. That
didn’t go well. His name was Jackson. We exercised our 'puppy lemon law rights', got a refund,
and weren’t going to get another dog for fear of disease in the house. A few weeks later, and
after discussion with our Vet and lots of reading, we decided to give dogs another chance. We
found a nice place in Burlington County, picked out a puppy, and took him home to our son CJ.
On the way home, we decided to call him Peter. Deneen says the name is after her maiden
name, and that’s fine. For me, the name reminded me of Peter Gibbons from the movie Office
Space. The thought of coming home from work each day and saying “hey Peter, whuuuut’s
happnin’” was too good to refuse.
A new ball of energy in our home. Teeth sharp as razors. Pooping in the house, chasing the cat,
and basically looking for trouble around every corner. We had him for a week (and thus already
outliving Jackson), and every sneeze or cough he made, we thought was the beginning of the
end. No such luck. Peter was here to stay.
Like all young Golden Retreivers, this one was a pain in the ass. Sure he was friendly (a little
too friendly for our cat Puddi’s liking), and destructive. If he could reach it, he could shred it.
Shoes, socks, every shirt CJ owned, hair brushes, pictures, CD’s, everything. The costs began
to mount. Purchase price, vet bills, ruined stuff. On several occasions we considered getting rid
of him. All I saw when he ran by me with what used to be my favorite baseball cap for example,
was a thousand dollar bill, eating smaller bills.
He would dig holes in the backyard. He ate several leashes. Dozens of almost used hot dog rolls
fell by the wayside. One day Deneen came home from a party in which the owner raised Golden
Retrievers. She said her dogs were HUGE. She said she didn’t want a big dog like that. I told
her it was a bit late for that, now wasn’t it? She said that Goldens stay puppy-like in behavior
for about two years.
The internal clock began, only eleven more months to go.
We decided to give the shock collar a run for its money. Worked out pretty good, until we
realized that each set of batteries was good for about five "adjustments". In the morning alone,
Pete typically gets adjusted a half dozen times. We gave up trying to keep him off the bed. If
Deneen was up at 6:30, Pete was in her spot and dead asleep by 6:31, head on pillow and all.
Half the time I couldn't tell who was behind me, as they are both about the same size.
He'd eat hair brushes, steal toothbrushes, try to run away with the previous nights socks. Buzz,
buzz, buzz.
We tried obedience school which went rather well, until the trainer failed to show up several
times and not keep her appointments. I wondered about the feasibility of shock collars for
people.
Through all the trouble, through all the daily shouts of "Pete, Pete, PETE", and "DROP IT!",
one thing remained a constant. He certainly had a good disposition, and CJ and him were
inseparable.
We had a nice doghouse that I had purchased for Gus, and I tried to show Pete how luxurious it
was. After all, everyone has heard how smart Golden Retrievers are, right? Well, for whatever
reason he didn't care for the house, no matter where I put it. He would rather sit out in the
rain next to the house, then go inside where is was warm and dry. After I came to realize the
house was just taking up space, I decided to put a free ad for it on the Internet and sell it. Just
for kicks, I also pointed out for an additional $1000 you could have the dog too.
The responses I got were ridiculous. Many people thought I was serious about getting rid of the
dog, and felt it their duty to point out how sad a dog owner I was. I let the first few slide, merely
responding that I was joking. A couple of people were just too high on the hog for my liking, so
they got something like this...
"Dear Idiot, I was just kidding. Unless the thought of a daily morning swim, three squares,
followed by an afternoon napping in the shade, poolside in a chaise lounge is torcher to you, my
suggestion to you is to get a life and lighten up".
Of course, as I was returning various emails to the good people of PITA, I glanced out the
window only to see Pete doggy paddling back from the deep end, drinking the water as he went
along. He reached the stairs, looked around for Uncle Jerry to shake in front of (he wasn't
there to Pets's despair), caught a glimpse of a strange new shadow, and proceeded to bark
playfully at it for about five minutes.
Thru all of Pete's shortcomings, he's always maintained his superior disposition. He is
welcoming to a fault. For example, at the appearance of a new guest to our house, first he runs
to find the nearest doggie toy on the floor. Then he brings it to you while shaking his tail so
violently you'd think his back end will fly off, all the while making strange playful
doggie/Chewbacca noises. The greeting ends with him standing on his back feet and
simultaneously giving you a hug with his front hooves. To our neighbor Kevin, the former
applies, however Pete has grown a liking to finishing off this move with a swift paw to the groin.
Through all of Peter's shortcomings, we almost always maintained our superior patience. There
was a day not too long ago, when we nearly admitted our shortcomings as dog owners. Pete had
stolen a small vial of blue food coloring from CJ (don't ask), and happily paraded around the
house with it in his mouth. While this would cause many a homeowner to gasp, consider the
fact that the carpeting he so playfully decorating was less then a week old. Blue food coloring
and new carpet. The two are inseparable.
With friends and family Pete has become famous in a way. A typical greeting to our family is
"how's the family, what has Pete done wrong lately?"
By my math, in four months he will reach the magical age of two. The age the experts say our
Golden will 'mellow' and lose the puppy demeanor. The age in which we will see just what type
of dog we have raised for ourselves.
I pull a few weeds from our little Gus shrub in the corner of the yard, and think to myself that
this Pete character will never be as good as Gus. I turn to walk away only to catch a glimpse of
Pete in the middle of the yard, in deep thought standing proud. The low afternoon sunshine
electrifying his thick coat. He sees me coming and happily wags his tail.
Man's best friend, huh? Only time will tell, and time's not talking. We'll just have to see about
that.
writer. Let’s begin with Mans Best Friend, indeed.
His name was Gus. Many a Pubgoer is familiar with Mr. G. He was the multi-brown colored dog
of medium built with the super mellow personality. He looked a lot like Alf. Gus never had a
leash in his life, never needed one. He would simply walk by your side, stop when you stopped,
and never darted out. He didn’t have ‘dart’ in his vocabulary.
I obtained Gus in an odd sort of way. He had initially been rescued from the shelter to be given
as a birthday present for my 'then to be eight' nephew Adam, son of the wicked sister Susie of
the North. When Susie denied Linda the right to bring a dog into her house (and knucklehead
Linda should have known better to give a dog as a gift), Linda kept him.
The first day I saw the little puppy (just after he threw up in Linda’s pocketbook on the drive
home from the shelter, and yes, he had every right to puke with her driving record), I said to
him in Eddie Murphy-eese, “choo got some big fuckin’ feets Gus”. The name stuck, Gus caught
on as the #2 dog in the Ferrentino residence, and partnered up with the black lab mix Bessy.
The two were inseparable.
When hard times feel on my sister’s family, they had to move and could only bring one dog with
them. They chose the dog they had first, Bessie. Gus (now about 1 year and a half old- 12 dog
years) was offered to lots of people, but nobody was in the position to take him. Just before he
was to head back to the shelter (and most likely the Gus Chamber), I talked my roommate and
homeowner Mario into taking Gus in.
After being primarily an outdoor Gus, he cleaned up nicely. He was good in the townhouse, only
getting sick and pooping one time that I can remember. Shortly afterwards, Gus and I moved to
Brigantine, and Gus now had two roommates. Ed Sites became his best friend. The two were
inseparable.
After moves from Brigantine to Franklinville, Blackwood, Sicklerville, and finally
Williamstown, Gus had wowed everyone who ever had the pleasure to meet him. At roughly 15
years of age (105 dog years), after arthritis, kidney problems, and other assorted paper cuts, we
decided to put Gus to sleep. He never lost his personality, but his body was letting him down.
He was ashamed of himself I think. It was the hardest thing I ever had to do. I was at his side
to the surprisingly peaceful end. He is buried in the corner of our yard, in what for whiffle ball
purposes are now called the Gus Grounds.
For over two years past Gus’s departure, the thought of getting a new dog was foreign to me.
Mostly because I didn’t’ think I could ever have a dog as good as Gus, partly because dogs like
children, are a major responsibility. You have to make plans to go away, you feel bad if you
have to work late. The grass was just starting to come in.
In January of 2004 through the constant “you know what would make me really happy”
reminders, our family decided to once again jump into dogdum. We decided to get a Golden
Retriever, since they are manly dogs, handsome, and great with kids.
We purchased a puppy in Berlin, had him five days, he got sick and died three days later. That
didn’t go well. His name was Jackson. We exercised our 'puppy lemon law rights', got a refund,
and weren’t going to get another dog for fear of disease in the house. A few weeks later, and
after discussion with our Vet and lots of reading, we decided to give dogs another chance. We
found a nice place in Burlington County, picked out a puppy, and took him home to our son CJ.
On the way home, we decided to call him Peter. Deneen says the name is after her maiden
name, and that’s fine. For me, the name reminded me of Peter Gibbons from the movie Office
Space. The thought of coming home from work each day and saying “hey Peter, whuuuut’s
happnin’” was too good to refuse.
A new ball of energy in our home. Teeth sharp as razors. Pooping in the house, chasing the cat,
and basically looking for trouble around every corner. We had him for a week (and thus already
outliving Jackson), and every sneeze or cough he made, we thought was the beginning of the
end. No such luck. Peter was here to stay.
Like all young Golden Retreivers, this one was a pain in the ass. Sure he was friendly (a little
too friendly for our cat Puddi’s liking), and destructive. If he could reach it, he could shred it.
Shoes, socks, every shirt CJ owned, hair brushes, pictures, CD’s, everything. The costs began
to mount. Purchase price, vet bills, ruined stuff. On several occasions we considered getting rid
of him. All I saw when he ran by me with what used to be my favorite baseball cap for example,
was a thousand dollar bill, eating smaller bills.
He would dig holes in the backyard. He ate several leashes. Dozens of almost used hot dog rolls
fell by the wayside. One day Deneen came home from a party in which the owner raised Golden
Retrievers. She said her dogs were HUGE. She said she didn’t want a big dog like that. I told
her it was a bit late for that, now wasn’t it? She said that Goldens stay puppy-like in behavior
for about two years.
The internal clock began, only eleven more months to go.
We decided to give the shock collar a run for its money. Worked out pretty good, until we
realized that each set of batteries was good for about five "adjustments". In the morning alone,
Pete typically gets adjusted a half dozen times. We gave up trying to keep him off the bed. If
Deneen was up at 6:30, Pete was in her spot and dead asleep by 6:31, head on pillow and all.
Half the time I couldn't tell who was behind me, as they are both about the same size.
He'd eat hair brushes, steal toothbrushes, try to run away with the previous nights socks. Buzz,
buzz, buzz.
We tried obedience school which went rather well, until the trainer failed to show up several
times and not keep her appointments. I wondered about the feasibility of shock collars for
people.
Through all the trouble, through all the daily shouts of "Pete, Pete, PETE", and "DROP IT!",
one thing remained a constant. He certainly had a good disposition, and CJ and him were
inseparable.
We had a nice doghouse that I had purchased for Gus, and I tried to show Pete how luxurious it
was. After all, everyone has heard how smart Golden Retrievers are, right? Well, for whatever
reason he didn't care for the house, no matter where I put it. He would rather sit out in the
rain next to the house, then go inside where is was warm and dry. After I came to realize the
house was just taking up space, I decided to put a free ad for it on the Internet and sell it. Just
for kicks, I also pointed out for an additional $1000 you could have the dog too.
The responses I got were ridiculous. Many people thought I was serious about getting rid of the
dog, and felt it their duty to point out how sad a dog owner I was. I let the first few slide, merely
responding that I was joking. A couple of people were just too high on the hog for my liking, so
they got something like this...
"Dear Idiot, I was just kidding. Unless the thought of a daily morning swim, three squares,
followed by an afternoon napping in the shade, poolside in a chaise lounge is torcher to you, my
suggestion to you is to get a life and lighten up".
Of course, as I was returning various emails to the good people of PITA, I glanced out the
window only to see Pete doggy paddling back from the deep end, drinking the water as he went
along. He reached the stairs, looked around for Uncle Jerry to shake in front of (he wasn't
there to Pets's despair), caught a glimpse of a strange new shadow, and proceeded to bark
playfully at it for about five minutes.
Thru all of Pete's shortcomings, he's always maintained his superior disposition. He is
welcoming to a fault. For example, at the appearance of a new guest to our house, first he runs
to find the nearest doggie toy on the floor. Then he brings it to you while shaking his tail so
violently you'd think his back end will fly off, all the while making strange playful
doggie/Chewbacca noises. The greeting ends with him standing on his back feet and
simultaneously giving you a hug with his front hooves. To our neighbor Kevin, the former
applies, however Pete has grown a liking to finishing off this move with a swift paw to the groin.
Through all of Peter's shortcomings, we almost always maintained our superior patience. There
was a day not too long ago, when we nearly admitted our shortcomings as dog owners. Pete had
stolen a small vial of blue food coloring from CJ (don't ask), and happily paraded around the
house with it in his mouth. While this would cause many a homeowner to gasp, consider the
fact that the carpeting he so playfully decorating was less then a week old. Blue food coloring
and new carpet. The two are inseparable.
With friends and family Pete has become famous in a way. A typical greeting to our family is
"how's the family, what has Pete done wrong lately?"
By my math, in four months he will reach the magical age of two. The age the experts say our
Golden will 'mellow' and lose the puppy demeanor. The age in which we will see just what type
of dog we have raised for ourselves.
I pull a few weeds from our little Gus shrub in the corner of the yard, and think to myself that
this Pete character will never be as good as Gus. I turn to walk away only to catch a glimpse of
Pete in the middle of the yard, in deep thought standing proud. The low afternoon sunshine
electrifying his thick coat. He sees me coming and happily wags his tail.
Man's best friend, huh? Only time will tell, and time's not talking. We'll just have to see about
that.
| The distinguished greys of Gus |
| Young Peter |
| Pete Spitz |
| "Inseparable" |
| Getting in much easier then getting out... |
| A smiling dog and a leash that lasted until the following day |
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