THE MILK OF ANIMAL KINDNESS

Until recently Toby called me “Granddad.” But now, he calls me “Dad.” 

Well, let me back up a bit. It would probably be helpful for you to know that Toby is a black and white Papillon, and he had lived with my daughter, Kristy ever since the beginning, well, his beginning six years ago. However, in the past couple of weeks Kristy bequeathed Toby to my wife, and me primarily because she has three other dogs and one cat in the house. And with the recent addition of a pug puppy, the little mini-spaniel became a recluse in his own house.

Queenie, our little beige and white Shih Tzu, which we have owned since 2013, and is approaching 110 in human years, has tolerated Toby well. And “tolerate” might be a good word for their relationship. They merely co-exist. And while they don’t play together, they are generally not antagonistic towards one another. At least not as a rule. Well, until yesterday.

My wife had just walked into the house, and told me she had groceries in the car, and that she needed help getting them in. I walked through the garage, and began carrying two and three bags at a time into the house. After covering every available space in the kitchen with bags, I laid the remaining bags on the living room sofa, and sat down in my typing chair to finish a blog.

Suddenly, I heard a sound like a rat, well, a big mouse, chewing on a bag of dried potato flakes. (I admit, we have experienced a recent minor infestation of the critters, so I clearly recognized the sound). Getting up, I walked into the living room, and saw my little Queenie, her nose in a plastic grocery bag.

Pt. 2

It was then that Jean said,

“Well, look at that. Queenie has discovered the rubber balls I bought for her and Toby” (and) “I guess she smelled the bacon flavoring on the outside of the balls.”

Shooing my little pooch away, I grabbed the two balls, and cut them from their wrappers, since each was attached to the cardboard with what looked like fishing line. And now, I threw one of the green rubber balls to each dog.

Both Queenie and Toby made a beeline for the balls, and scooped them up in their open mouths. Well, Toby did anyway. Queenie has long since lost every solitary tooth in her mouth, and all she could do was gum the ball.

However, my precious pooch quickly tired of her ball, and decided to abscond with Toby’s. Self-assuredly strolling up to him, Queenie pounced on Toby’s ball, and began mouthing and pawing it, in an attempt to move it away from Toby’s immediate presence.

What followed was, in retrospect, sheer self-defense on Toby’s part. Queenie was all over him now, snarling and gumming and pawing her middle-aged counterpart. Now, Toby joined the battle, and began giving his opponent as good as he was getting. While my wife and I have rarely seen the two creatures fight, what we observed now was a Battle Royale.

I lost no time in grabbing Queenie up in my arms. Her anger was stronger than her ability, and she was about to get hurt. As I lifted her up from the floor, Toby casually walked off with his ball.

Returning to my computer, I finished typing a blog, and got up from my chair. As I rounded my desk, and walked into the living room, I noticed Queenie sitting on the floor; a green ball on her right, and a green ball on her left.

It was apparent to me that in the couple of minutes it took me to finish typing my story, Queenie had managed to retrieve one of the balls from where it had rolled when I scooped her up in my arms, and Toby had… returned his own ball to Queenie.

And I thought,

“The sensitivity and compassion of animals is nothing less than amazing.”

At this point, I walked over, picked up Toby’s ball and laid it next to him. I mean, for all his compassion, Queenie could only play with one ball at a time. With this, I walked into my bedroom to get my coat. I had work to do in the yard.

I could not have been gone for more than two minutes. As I came back up the hall, and walked into the living room, I saw it.

Toby had once again returned his ball, and set it down next to Queenie. Just as before, there was a green ball on her right side, and a green ball on her left side.

They say a dog doesn’t live as long as a human being since it doesn’t take a dog as long to learn to be perfect. I am beginning to believe it.

by William McDonald, PhD. Copyright pending