After the warm response to my Christmas Story series last December, I realized that not only do readers appreciate a break from the more instructional blogs I usually post, but I enjoy it too. So I plan to offer these occasional “story breaks” as a regular feature. This week’s story is about Rupert, the first dog I ever adopted….
Surviving Rupert
my lovable, misunderstood Schnauzer
Rupert was dropped off at my house one August evening by a family who assumed we were in fact going to adopt him. (I was under the impression that we were just going to meet him.) They had taken him in after his owner, their neighbor, died, but they didn’t want to keep him permanently. It was only later that we understood why.
It seemed this dog had been well-loved, but not well cared for. His fur was overgrown and matted. His untrimmed claws curled around his feet. We gave him a bath that first night, and the water turned a thick gray each time we rinsed him.
His given name was Paddy, but we felt he deserved a more fitting moniker. So we named him Rupert, after Rupert Boneham of "Survivor: Pearl Island" —a gruff, curly-haired pirate with a heart of gold.
His first appointment the next morning was with the groomer at our local PetSmart. Rupert looked like a whole different dog when we got him back!
Rupert was a very lovable dog—to us. But he was often nervous around strangers, children, bikes, men, loud noises, and other dogs. We had heard that his former owner was elderly and ill and did not leave the house much, and we surmised that he didn't have many visitors either. It seemed that Rupert had grown somewhat fearful and over-protective.
With us, though, at home, he was gentle as a lamb.
We did our best to socialize him—enrolling him in obedience classes and introducing him to Sugarbear, our easy-going toy poodle. Rupert did improve, but he still had a tendency to lash out in unfamiliar situations. And he never seemed completely at ease.
For example, notice the difference between easy-going Sugarbear, relaxing amid the holiday glamour of Christmas 2006...
...and Rupert, who just never quite managed to be completely comfortable.
By 2007, a third dog—Moose—had joined the family. He added another mellow disposition to the mix, but it didn't seem to have much effect on Rupert's sense of belonging.
We tried to have meals together as a family whenever possible.
And on nice fall Saturdays, we would drive all three dogs over to our church, Living Springs, and let them run around the grounds off-leash.
Just so you know, Rupert was not completely pathetic. He was a very intuitive dog, and he could identify most of his toys by name. We had a lot of fun playing with him because he would often retrieve the correct toy out of his basket whenever we started asking him excitedly, "Rupert, where's your bear? Where's your ball? Where's your green toy?"
For Christmas 2008, we made ourselves laugh hysterically, trying to get three dogs in Christmas garb to pose under the tree and all look at the camera at the same time! This was the best shot of the two dozen we snapped.
Most of them looked more like this. But some of the individual shots turned out nice. Goofy, but nice....
Moose.
Sugarbear.
And Rupert.
a
All in all, a good life.
We did eventually have to put Rupert down when he began to get more unpredictable (possibly due to health problems he was experiencing). But I like to think we gave a quirky, misunderstood Schnauzer a little comfort and joy for the short time he belonged to us.
Do you have a favorite pet you’d like to give a shout-out to? Mention him by name in the comments below—and go ahead and share a favorite story!
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{ 15 comments… read them below or add one }
Bandit was my favorite pet. He was a dog of mixed breed (we never knew what kind he was) that my mom and brothers picked out. A neighbor named him Bandit because he looked like he was wearing a mask – like a little bandit. We got him when I was 5. There are too many stories to share here – but my favorite childhood memories involve Bandit. We had to put him down when I was 22 due to health reasons. Boy, do I miss him!
Mixed-breed dogs are the best! They’re often healthier than purebreds, and they can become more loyal if they’ve been adopted or rescued. Bandit sounds like a great dog.
I went with my cousin to a lady’s house who breeded cats and dogs. The lady breeder showed us this lonesome cat in a cage. She told us that the owner beat the cat. So this lady snatched the cat away from him, took him home, and yelled at the owner for being mean to him. I cuddled the cat up to my neck and couldn’t put him back. He is loved totally by us and a bit spoiled. My father and I just love him to pieces. Too bad I am allergic to him but can’t part with him. My dad says that he makes life worth living. Now how can I get rid of him after that comment?
Wow, true love conquers all—even allergies!
Our first dog, Snuggles, was a lovable protector from day one. She was as tall as my knees and 23 lbs. and believed she was a lap dog! She loved to sleep in our bed every night. When we brought our first son home from the hospital in 1991 she immediately began sleeping right next to his crib and would get us any time he made the slightest noise. In 1994, we brought home our second son and Snuggles seemed depressed. Her dilemma was where to sleep! Continue to sleep next to the bed of the boy she knew for three years or this new baby who cried? For a week she slept between the 2 doorways in the hall. Eventually she determined the big boy didn’t need her as much and slept next to the baby. She was a wonderful friend to all of us and we are thankful every day that she was a part of our lives.
Wow, that is so sweet, Julie! What kind of dog was Snuggles?
Snuggles was a mix. Her mom was a purebred Border Collie and her dad was unknown (mom snuck out one night). She looked just like a sheltie with a slightly shorter nose. Little side note – she was named after the Snuggles fabric softener…not sure why but I think I liked that commercial in 1987!
I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again—mixed-breed dogs are the best! Thanks for sharing your story, Julie.
Great story! : )
I’m a huge fan of dogs. I have a little lovable bully (Red healer/pit bull) named Addie. We rescued her from the pound. She is still a hand full outside when her nose takes over, but inside she is the best dog in the world.
She is a big bully because if I don’t take her for a walk she doesn’t stop giving me the sad sack look until I give in. It’s always a nice stress relief break, so really I look forward to the walks.
Addie sounds adorable! And you’ve raised an important point—dogs are good for our health (in lots of different ways).
I wish there were a way for people to upload photos with their comments, so I could SEE all these wonderful pets!
Animals have always been a part of my life. I currently have 3 dachshunds that were rescues – 2 came from puppy mills and 1 from a hoarder. I also have 4 cats – of which 1 came through a cat rescue, 2 were taken in as strays and 1 was adopted to be an office cat/mouser. Animals make life better – a house seems empty to me unless an animal lives there too. Fortunately, my husband likes animals just as much as I do! I only had 4 pets when I met him and our house has now grown to 7.
Carla, nice to hear from you! I remember your fondness for Dachshunds, and I’m glad to hear you continue to offer shelter and love to our four-legged friends!
Years ago my husband bought me a little white rat for Valentine’s Day. At the time I thought, “Oh God, what was he thinking…how gross…I don’t even want to touch the thing.” But you know what? That little rat became a precious treasure to me and sweet little friend. She would play games like jumping from the coffee table over into our laps–we’d say, “come on, jump” and Squeaky would. (Okay, I know we were not very original on the name, but it worked…and she did. Squeak that is)
My husband would give her baths weekly & she just loved em–her favorite part was the hair dryer. She would move her little body back and forth & you’d almost swear she was smiling.
He would then take her out to the concrete section in front of our apartment pull her by her hind-end backwards to grind her nails down. She would actually position herself in such a way that he could do it easily without even hurting her. (Her brain must have been very large, for a rat!!!)
I’ll never forget her final hours–I had taken her to the vets because she was having some tremors. While I sat in the vets office holding her she was very weak, but even in her weakened state she was licking my hand. She died that day a few hours later, but was her sweet little self right up to the end.
If anyone had told me that a rat would have been one of my favorite pets I’d never have believed them–God sure has lots of surprises for us … doesn’t He?!
Ya know, I’ve actually heard that rats make good pets—and I guess your story confirms it! Squeaky sounds like a fine little friend. :)