My first dog was a black Cocker Spaniel appropriately named Blackie. She was my dog. I sang to her, talked to her, put on shows for her. She was my captive audience, but I have to believe she adored me. When I was ten years old, she died. I laid down beside her body on the ground, put my head on her side, and cried my heart out. I don't think anyone ever knew.
We also had a wonderful Siamese cat named Lady. Although I loved her, she slept with my sister and was really my mother's cat.
Fast forward to my adult life. I bought another Cocker Spaniel- a buff this time. I named her Megan Marie Bennett. That was her AKC registered name. I could never get Megan to calm down. In those years, I wore panty hose and dresses or skirts nearly every day to work and when I returned home, Megan would jump on me and tear my stockings. She would also run away from me. She might chase a bunny or hear some children playing in the distance or get a whiff of a trash can. And she was gone. Each time, someone would find her, read her tags and return her to my veterinarian. I would get a phone call and go pick her up. Finally, she ran off and I didn't get her back. I placed an ad in the newspaper, offering a cash reward. My daughter was two and a half and it was winter. I got all sorts of phone calls from people who had "found my dog." I bundled my daughter into her snowsuit, strapped her into her car seat and off we would go on a wild goose chase. I was amazed at how many people didn't know what a Cocker Spaniel was. All it took was two words, cash and reward. I never got her back. Whenever I would see a buff Cocker with a white blaze on its chest I would wonder if it was Megan.
I cried for three weeks. My then-husband said "For God's sake, it is a dog." (Please see the word then.)
I had her before I had my daughter and Megan had been my little girl. I was heart broken.
When I moved to Bloomington I decided I wanted to get another dog. I studied every breed. When I mentioned getting a dog, someone wanted a large dog. I wanted a small dog. I decided upon a Corgi. Finding a breeder in a nearby small town, I drove out to the farm to take a "look" at the puppies. They were three weeks old and couldn't walk. Someone suggested something was wrong with them because they couldn't walk. I retorted "Oh, could you walk on your knees and elbows when you were a little baby on gravel in a farm lot? That hushed someone up. By the time I left, I had paid a deposit on the smallest of the litter. I named her Chelsea Kabob Bennett. Once again, this was her registered AKC name. I'm certain someone at the AKC said "oh, that Bennett woman has bought herself another dog."
|Isn't she lovely?|
Chelsea Kabob 4.5 years old
I love how Corgis put their chin out flat when they lie down. She will cuddle up with me and put her chin on my leg.
My cat, Milo, was an indoor cat before moving here. In my hometown I lived on a busy street and never imagined he would ever go outdoors. When I first moved here, every door had a sign Orange Cat Does Not Go Out! Then the orange cat started to see the other cat and the dog going out and you could see him thinking...hey, why don't I get to go out? I was worried at first but now I know he is fine being outdoors. Milo is fourteen years old and if he wants to do anything other than lie around and sleep, I am going to allow it.
|This is why we cover the sofa. |
left to right: Tree, Chelsea Kabob and Milo
How do they know, I wonder. How do they know when I don't feel well or I am feeling blue? They seem to know and give me lots of love and affection. Chelsea and Milo greet me every morning and I pet them simultaneously saying "there is enough love...there is enough love for everyone."