For the last 20 years I’ve owned hookbill birds, as you already know if you’ve been coming to Meander’s End for a nice sit down and a chat but birds are relatively new to my life. The first pet I remember as I was growing up was a dog.
And not just ANY dog.
I’m told that when I was knee-high to a grasshopper we had several consecutive dogs, one of whom was a Great Dane I used to ride like a pony but I have no recollection whatever of that dog. According to family folklore he bit one of my siblings and was suddenly canis non gratis.
No, the first and most long-lived dog in my memory was Pepper. He arrived as a puppy, and my first sight of him was as a small grey creature curled up on the kitchen floor where my brother and I were invited to make his acquaintance and give him some gentle petting. Soon after this ritual the opinions of all four of us kids were solicited to decide on a name for this new family member. Monikers were shouted into the air, ranging from “Prince” to “Eyeball-Sockety”. Well, that last one was summarily rejected and I don’t exactly remember who came up with the name Pepper but I’ve always had a sneaking suspicion that it was our mother. The name was entire appropriate, as his short, dense coat was a sprinkled grey, black, and white which looked exactly like a mixtureof salt and pepper. And so began our life with the smartest dog I’ve ever known.
Pepper was a mutt in the very best way. We never knew a great deal of the details of his heritage except that a large percentage of him (perhaps 50%) was Timber Wolf. Pepper wasn’t a terribly large dog but looked pretty intimidating because he had a black tongue, sharp, bright, brown eyes, and claws that grew nerves down to the tips so they could never be trimmed. He also had a wonderful set of long, sharp teeth and since he loved people he’d often bare them in a big, toothy smile. Along with all these intimidating features he also had an entirely curled up tail; incongruous in this package of teeth, tongue, and claws.
We used to put him on a really long chain fastened inside the garage of the home in which we grew up so he could not only wander around the garage but also step outside about five feet onto the driveway where he could sit in the sun. From this vantage he would watch the world and greet anyone who came to visit. Imagine this if you will; It’s a lovely spring day and our garage door is open so you, the traveling sales person (it was the 50s, and that sort of person happened) drive up and step out of your car, sample bag in hand. Suddenly, out of the garage steps this salt-and-pepper animal with these grizzly-bear claws, baring his gritted teeth at you and meeting your eyes as an equal. Not too many people ever got past the sight of those teeth to notice the curly tail wagging like mad, so not a lot of those visitors ever made it as far as the door to ring the bell.
Pepper was actually quite friendly to most people; the exception being the trash collectors. It appears that one day around Halloween when he was a pup, the trash collectors came by to empty the cans. He went to the door to greet them and one of them put on a scary mask and frightened him. From that day to the end of his life he hated the trash collectors vividly and would actually snarl and growl and bark at them.
My earliest recollection of an activity involving Pepper had to do with lunch. I’m sure I couldn’t have been more than three at the time. One of my brothers and I were sitting on the back step of the house and we had just been handed peanut butter sandwiches (a staple for American kids even back then). We were just beginning to munch down when Pepper showed up and sniffed with great interest at my sandwich. Brave little munchkin that I was, I immediately stood up and started to run around the exterior of the house, shouting, “He’s gonna get my sandwich!” and other pre-school examples of high wit. According to other members of the family, my brother, who would have been 6 if I was 3, sat on the step, unconcernedly eating his peanut butter sandwich when I came around the corner, the puppy not far behind, yipping with glee at this wonderful, if only vaguely understood game. As I passed by the step, Pepper’s nose went alert and without stopping for more than a second, he grabbed the sandwich out of my brother’s hand and had himself a treat.
His life of crime didn’t last very long though – Pepper quickly grew into a very well behaved dog; due in great part to his intelligence and quickness. In fact, Pepper was so quick and clever that he could outrun or evademost things on either two or four legs. Back then, before leash laws and pooper scoopers, if Pepper wanted to visit the great outdoors he’d come to one of us and whimper a bit. The phrase, “You wanna go out?” would result in a leap of four to five feet into the air, then he’d wait for us at the door and we’d let him out. When he was done exploring and answering nature’s call etc he’d come to the door and bark and we’d let him back inside. Many’s the winter day that we’d watch him romp, leaping from snowdrift to snowdrift and chasing snowflakes as they dropped (we lived in New York which has four genuine seasons). His joy in living spilled into us and we could watch him for hours before he came inside, where he’d enjoy a rub-down in a thick towel and a rest in front of the snapping, dancing fire in the fireplace. Courier & Ives might’ve been there with sketchbooks. Sounds idyllic, doesn’t it? Trust me; it was.
Speaking of outrunning anything on two legs; we were aware that we weren’t really supposed to just let Pepper out but it became a sort of joke in our home town police department that if an officer wanted a promotion he’d have to catch our dog. NOBODY ever got promoted that way.
His outdoor sojourns notwithstanding, Pepper was a really well-behaved dog. He knew his boundaries and respected them. You could put a steak on a plate in the middle of the floor and Pepper wouldn’t touch it without a specific invitation. If you encouraged him to climb up onto the sofa he’d look at you like you were crazy and his expression would make me think he was about to say, “Are you nuts? Dogs aren’t allowed on the furniture!!”
When my husband Al came into my life Pepper was already in his mid-teens. His vision and hearing were starting to fail and when you wanted to invite him to go outside you’d have to speak fairly loudly. The four foot jumps into the air had turned into a tired but interested look and now you’d have to wait for him by the front door. He’d also developed into somewhat of a curmudgeon (if you’re curious about curmudgeons just read the blog immediately before this one). Remember my telling you that in his prime he wouldn’t touch a steak on the floor? Well, once he’d achieved curmudgeon status, that rule went by the wayside. One afternoon Al and I were sitting on the living room floor watching TV and Al had a glass of cool water beside him. Pepper came up and nonchalantly starting drinking Al’s water right out of the glass. Al looked at the dog for a moment then quietly said, “Pepper, what are you doing?” The dog looked up, water dripping from his chin and looked at Al with an expression that said, “What’s your problem? I’m bothering you, maybe?” Then he went back to unconcernedly lapping up the water. Hey, the old guy was thirsty and his water dish was ‘way in the other room!
Oh yes, curmudgeonhood had definitely been achieved! It was not long before this event that I had caught him doing something else that in his prime he never would have tried. I had been in my bedroom reading late one evening and decided I wanted a beverage, so I walked across the house toward the kitchen. In order to reach the kitchen I had to pass by the living room. As I walked by I saw Pepper sitting tall and proudly, looking like nothing less than a king on his throne, in the center of the sofa. I stopped and looked at him for a moment before quietly saying, “Caught you.” He jolted, having been looking in another direction, looked at me, actually hung his head in an embarrassed way and slunk off the sofa.
Even so, getting old and deaf and blind, Pepper was a great watchdog. I watched him protect me from a huge, strange bug that had invaded the garage when I was working in it, biting and backing away and clawing at it until it was dead (I still have no clue what the thing was, but it was humongous. It must certainly have been an alien invading from a planet of odd-looking, fist-sized creatures). He also, as I’ll always believe, protected me from a human intruder.
See, it was shortly before my wedding and I was not only home alone but was on crutches, because my right thigh bone was broken (that’s another story). As I sat in the living room watching TV a strange banging sound started at the back door, scaring the bejeezus out of me. Brave Pepper ran to the door and barked and growled and presented a serious argument against anyone unknown making an appearance if they wanted to keep their fingers attached to their hands. The sounds soon stopped and whoever it might have been went away. I like to remember him as saving me from God-only-knows-what.
Time went by and Pepper got older and his health began to fail. Not only did his vision and hearing worsen but he started having seizures and collapsing. Al and I weren’t married for very long when I went to my parents’ home to visit during my lunch break from work. After we ate, my mother quietly said, “do you notice anything missing?” I knew immediately what she meant and said, “No, you didn’t!” She nodded and told me that she’d taken Pepper once again to the vet to see if anything could be done for the seizures but the vet told her it was only putting off the inevitable. She gave her consent and at the age of 16, Pepper’s funny curly tail wagged its last.
I was crushed. I spent the rest of my workday sniffling and quietly weeping and upon my return to our apartment Al, seeing my distress, chivalrously took me to a fancy French restaurant to make me feel better. I wept quietly thoughout the soup, the entrée, the soufflé, the entire evening.
Yes, it was like losing a brother.
Now you know why we own long-lived birds. They’ll outlive us by decades.
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This, to my knowledge, is the only surviving photo of Pepper.
He's flanked by my brother and me. This was taken in the 1960s. |
