"Queen Anastasia”
(The
title of this particular story)
Yes,
I know. The original Anastasia was a princess. But, as you might guess, I’m not
referring to the unfortunate young Russian princess; (who never became a
queen).
For
you see, I tend to afford my pet pooches multiple names; very much like ‘real
people.’
The
little black and white cocker spaniel of my youth, a full sixty years hence,
was simply, well, “Princess.” (I have only to hear or say her name, and my
memories are automatically triggered, and my eyes well up with tears.
The
second of the bunch was a precious white and auburn Shih Tzu named, “Buddy
Angel McDonald.” (A male name for a female dog).
The
third, (drum roll) was named, “Lucy Ellen Snow Henrietta Nine McDonald.” (And
as you might expect, there’s quite a story behind her extraordinarily long
name. However, too long a story to enumerate here).
I
have written and published a little volume which commemorates the lives of the
second and third of my three previous canines, (my recollections of the first
are limited) entitled, “A Man’s Tribute to His Devoted Dogs.”
And
as you might expect, I am currently working on my fourth (and what I expect to
be my final) pooch. Her name? (They were/are all ‘hers’). As my title infers,
“Queen Anastasia McDonald,” (or “Queenie” for short).
And
as I’m doubtful I will expend the time and effort to write another volume on
her behalf, (as I did for “Buddy” and “Lucy”) I thought I would, at least,
write a blog about her.
Pt.
2
I
have been looking for Buddy’s flat ceramic gray marker for days; ever since
Hurricane Irma so rudely blew across central Florida. My back yard consists of
27 scrub oak trees, and about a quarter acre of fern. I knew approximately
where to look, but though I’d found the 3x2 concrete tile surface I had laid
over Lucy’s final resting place, Buddy’s gravesite had eluded me. (Oddly
enough, I had buried my two dearly departed pooches within feet of one
another).
Today
I walked to the back of my property again, and having reached the general area
of my quest, I looked down and… there it was. Perhaps a recent rainstorm had
washed the slate-gray surface clean. A caricature of Buddy, taken from an old
photo, had been etched into the surface, (and I had always marveled that such a
process was both available and inexpensive). And in spite of the 100 mph winds,
to which my home and yard had recently been exposed, a tiny white plastic Shih
Tzu still stood vigil on one side of my little Buddy’s marker.
While
Buddy and Queenie both had the good fortune of being born Shih Tzu’s, (or
perhaps my wife and I are the fortunate ones) sadly this is where their
similarity ends. But I almost forgot. There is one more thing they have in
common.
They
both wandered up in somebody’s yards.
Buddy
wandered up in our yard, and it’s a long story, but a male dog, apparently her
brother, wandered up with her. They were filthy, but it was easy to see they
were beautiful, (and rather expensive) dogs.
And
in like manner, Queenie wandered up in the yard of one of my former (now adult)
children’s church members during a thunder storm. “John” already had a couple
of dogs, and since Lucy was aged, and very close to leaving us at the time,
(and departed within a few short weeks) I volunteered to take Queenie home.
Pt.
3
Whereas,
Buddy was very young when she came to us, and easy to potty train, Queenie was
approaching a decade of age, and was an entirely ‘different animal.’ While I
was assured by her short-term owner that she knew how to hold her water, (and
that other ‘stuff’) and that that she would let us know when she needed to go
outside, my friend’s assurances have not been exactly accurate.
I
mean, I’m convinced Queenie knows how to do the right thing, but I’m equally
convinced she is just plain lazy, and enjoys “doing her thing” on our soft
carpet. (Had I buried her nose in it, and come down on her rear end with a
newspaper on a recurring basis, perhaps I might have trained her to make better
choices. But I guess I’m just an old softie).
It
amazes me how dogs of the same breed, and which could be identical twins, can
exhibit such different personalities.
Buddy
hated to walk. Snapping her leash on, and in my failed attempt to provide her a
bit of exercise, she resisted any attempt to walk fifty yards to our
neighborhood dog path. I was forced to pick her up, and walk to the
afore-mentioned location; at which time and place she voluntarily, but rather
grudgingly strutted back home.
Queenie,
on the other hand, is very choosey about where she “makes her deposits.”
(Rather like choosing the right bank, I suppose). She is more than happy to
walk with me, or more frequently ahead of me. And there are times when I can
barely keep up with the aged dog. However, as I have previously inferred,
walking and ‘going’ are two different things. She has been known to walk and
sniff, and walk and sniff, and return home without so much as a momentary
squat. (I don’t mind telling you, it can be absolutely infuriating).
Pt.
4
Like
many Shih Tzu’s, Buddy was ‘eat up’ with allergies, and had to be administered
steroidal medication. Otherwise, she would have literally scratched her eyes
out. I have often reflected it was like taking poison to stay alive since the
medicine impacted her liver values, and, ultimately, robbed her of as much as
half a decade of life; as she left us at the premature age of ten.
Queenie
has never exhibited any propensity for allergies. None. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Zero.
And while we don’t know her exact age, based on her teeth (or lack thereof) and
eyes, she is quickly approaching her terminus. And while ‘The Queen’ sleeps
twelve or fourteen hours a day, she remains frisky, and expends very little
effort jumping up on either of our two couches.
Buddy
was the most caring, giving little creature with which God ever graced the planet.
Oh, she sometimes ‘put on airs,’ but she was Empathy Incarnate, and fulfilled
her mission, whereas some people never do. I could provide you several
examples, but I will desist here; in favor of my little volume; (to which I
alluded in Part 1).
Queenie?
Well now, she is “a dog of a different color.” (And we’re not talking about the
long, silky hair with which she is covered). Her demeanor is as different from
Buddy as apples and oranges. Selfish? Well, yes, she is. But then, she got her
name honestly. For you see, Shih Tzu’s are believed to have originated in
Nepal, to have lived in the king’s palace, and to have (drum roll) been wet nursed
by women chosen as maternal surrogates. (Don’t ask me why)!
I
don’t recall Buddy having experienced any particular trouble with the weather.
Rain, thunder and lightning would come and go, and she was just about as sedate
as her human counterparts.
Queenie
Mac, on the other hand, has the most audacious response to it. And since the
Tampa Bay area is the lightning capitol of the world, you can imagine, this can
present a real problem. Perhaps it may be attributed to the fact that she
wandered up in my former student’s yard in a thunder storm. Perhaps it’s just
her somewhat aberrant personality.
Pt.
5
I
mean, when the lightning flashes and the thunder rolls, she goes absolutely
berserk; (with the exception of our recent hurricane when she was as cool as a cucumber. Go figure).
At any rate, with the advent of a typical thunderstorm, her immediate response is to “lose her liquid” on my hallway carpet. Her next is to
make sure anyone and everyone who happens to be in the house is present in one
place. If my wife or college-age granddaughter happen to be in their rooms at
the time, Queenie will flam on their doors with her front paws, (all the while
scratching the living h_ _ _ outta the varnish) ‘til Jean and/or Sarah responds
to her command “to join the fam.” In the meantime, once sleep has been
consigned to the next regularly scheduled season, she refuses to be comforted.
She will beg to be picked up, and seconds later insist on being put down, and
will proceed to walk in ever-widening 360’s.
If
we happen to be up town or at church when the rain begins to fall, and the
lightning begins to flash, well, suffice it to say, it gets even ‘more
interesting,’ especially if we have left a certain door open; the effects of
which are all too obvious when we return home.
I
mean, it would seem all those hours in which she lain on our laminate floor
gazing at The Weather Channel have not been in vain; since if we have left her
unattended, and the lightning booms, and the thunder rolls, she makes a beeline
for the hallway bathroom. (You know, “the safest room in the house”).
However,
once she dashes in, and shuts the door behind her, she recognizes a
corresponding decrease in light, and she, apparently, decides the stormy
weather is marginally preferable. And not being tall enough, nor possessing the
requisite appendage to turn the door knob, she begins to scratch the
ever-loving tommy rot out of the door.
Did
I mention my hallway doors are hollow? (Well, they are). On one occasion we
returned home to find the entire bottom fourth of the bathroom door had been
carved up like a honeycomb.
On
a couple more occasions, upon entering our domicile, it was all too obvious
that our little queen had chosen a different target. For as I transited our
dining room, entered our living room, (our layout is backwards) and stepped
into the kitchen, I noticed the all too noticeable. Hope against hope, and
given its lack of a knob or latch, Queenie has managed to open the door below
our kitchen sink. And (you guessed it) she has not only managed to open the
door, but she has found a way to occupy her temporary dwelling place. For scattered
across our kitchen floor was a sundry collection of bug spray, and sink
cleaner, and furniture polish and Windex.
Afterward
A
slightly smaller version of “Marley” (of “Marley & Me”), I have sometimes
been tempted to usher Queenie across “The Rainbow Bridge;” (and have even
threatened her with the possibility of a one-way drive to the Vet). But I think
I never could, and would rather she make her way to “Doggie Heaven” as
naturally as her lookalike, (but not do alike) counterpart did.
For
no apparent purpose, (and to no avail) I have often uttered the all but empty
words,
“Don’t
look now, Queenie Mac, but the last time I checked, this definitely ain’t
Nepal, and you definitely don’t live in a castle.”
At
the end of the day, and for all their apparent similarities and differences,
you gotta love ‘em.
…You
gotta love them all.
by William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from (Mc)Donald's Daily Diary. Vol. 70. Copyright pendingIf you wish to copy, share or 'save' please include the credit line, above
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