A GAL AND HER DOG
Ringo, formerly Rattles, became a Jepsen in 2009. After we put Douglass down, rest in peace sweet Da-Doo-Wee, we were only dog-free for five months before getting Ringo.
We searched online and did our research. We landed at the Chicago Canine Rescue on Belmont. We walked a few dogs, read some bios, looked around, and then, Rattles came out. Rattles was a big, white fluffy husky. Upon approaching him, he lay on his back, established eye contact with us, and had us rub his belly for five minutes. Hair flew everywhere - it was on our clothes, up our noses, and in our teeth. I questioned, "Wow. He's a shedder, huh?"
"No. He just had a bath and was brushed out. That's all," the volunteer replied smiling.
"Is he good with kids?"
"YES!" she stressed.
Well, Bill doesn't deny us much, so, low and behold, after the house inspection, Rattles became Ringo Jepsen, named after Rosemary's favorite Beatle.
We didn't know much else about his personality other than he was house trained and probably around one year old. We wondered: Does he like to play fetch? Will he jump on the furniture? How does he take his coffee?
Well, we quickly learned that the vacuum would become the most utilized appliance in the house, as anyone who wears black in our house can attest. Before they leave we offer them a lint roller and an apology. We learned that his tail has the strength to swipe a ceramic vase off the table in one quick wag. We learned that huskies are "escape artists" who tend to take off whenever possible. Ringo has never missed an opportunity to bolt out of the backyard and piss off the neighbors to the nth degree. Luckily, I worked with a member of Adopt-a-Husky at the time and I went to her for advice. She told me which leashes to use as well as which to avoid, how to groom him, and before we knew it, we were participating in the annual 5K Husky Hike every May. We still have his medals and pictures of him bobbing for hot dogs.
We learned that he hates to have his picture taken. No one knew for sure if he is a purebred Siberian Husky when we adopted him. Other than his beautiful white coat he has the most captivating sable eyes that one doesn't find in many huskies. But his fear of having his picture taken makes us believe that he is part Native American. It's like he's afraid that the flash is going to capture his spirit. For this reason, we believe he has some Navajo blood in him.
We learned that he is an outside dog who loves his dog house and would rather hang in the yard for days at a time if we let him. Children, nannies, and passerby adore him. He sashays over and lets everyone pet him with the same poise and patience of Bill. His popularity grows by the week. Cars beep as they drive by and we hear a "Ringoooooo," sing out the window as the car passes. If Ringo is inside I hear babysitters, nannies, and parents say, "Aw, too bad. Ringo isn't out today," in the same tone I used when the lion house was closed when I took my kids to the zoo. During quarantine, some moms on the block organized a scavenger hunt. One of the boxes was to say hi to Ringo. I happened to be walking him at the time when a herd of little ones on trikes yelled, "There's Ringo!" as they screeched their brakes to a halt and ticked him off their hunt list. I'll be stopped in the produce section at the store to questions of, "You're Ringo's mom, right? How's he doing?"
We learned that he's not a "snuggler" but would rather just chill near your feet while you read, watch TV or write. He loves his dog bed, the equivalent of a top-shelf Sealy Posturpedic from his aunt Erin. We learned that he has the energy of four Duracell D batteries at all times.
Now Ringo is ten or eleven and his boundless energy has not declined an ounce. He is more demanding and sheds enough hair for a large area rug each day. And like me, he has put on some extra lbs during quarantine, mostly because Marty is home and denies him nothing. Marty is a softy, and if Ringo demands more food, Marty caves immediately and I can hear the Purina One tumbling into his ceramic dish at any time of day.
"MARTY!" Bill and I will holler from the other room, "do NOT keep feeding him! He's already been fed today! Give him a treat!"
And the answer most of the time is, "There are none!" because Marty gave all the treats to him the day I took them out of the grocery bag. He does love his salmon jerky.
In an effort to take some of the quarantine pounds off, Ringo and I head out each day for his first walk of the day. We shoot for at least 45 minutes and I have the same path. He takes a dump on the same lawn, sometimes with the homeowners present on the porch. Really, Ringo? Do you NOT see them eyeing us from the porch? I really think he does this on purpose just to watch me sweat out this awkward situation over and over. It probably never gets old for him and he's laughing his ass off inside.
By the time we get to the woods, we are warmed up and curious Both of us are intrigued by the birds. I will comment to him, "I think that was a woodpecker." Then two squirrels will dart out of the brush and Ringo goes into high alert mode: his ears become perfect right angle triangles and his tail stops moving. I am forever intrigued by this and it never gets old. He has caught bunnies, raccoons, and birds in his jaw before, even a possum, but never a squirrel. And at this stage of his life he seems resigned to it. After the squirrels disappear he yanks me to keep moving.
Today we came across an abandoned stroller in the woods. Whoa. This is weird. And concerning. I peek around at it and it has wipes, a blanket, and a sippy cup. I look around and I see and hear nothing. What should I do? I decide to investigate. After all, I have a dog, a pair of sunglasses and an extra-large sports bra. I will solve this backwoods caper.
We trudge through the mud into the woods. Ringo is an enigma. No matter how much dirt or mud this pooch rolls around in he is always pristinely white. Me? Not so much.
I decide to send the picture to some friends and ask for advice on what to do.
Not to my surprise, my friend Tristan texts immediately, "Are you just north of 91st and Pleasant on the trail?"
"Um, yes, Magellan," I text back.
"No worries. We saw that too when we were walking the dog and we saw the same stroller. The guy came back with two kids in tow."
Solved.
Well, Ringo, it looks like our work is done here.
Until tomorrow.
We searched online and did our research. We landed at the Chicago Canine Rescue on Belmont. We walked a few dogs, read some bios, looked around, and then, Rattles came out. Rattles was a big, white fluffy husky. Upon approaching him, he lay on his back, established eye contact with us, and had us rub his belly for five minutes. Hair flew everywhere - it was on our clothes, up our noses, and in our teeth. I questioned, "Wow. He's a shedder, huh?"
"No. He just had a bath and was brushed out. That's all," the volunteer replied smiling.
"Is he good with kids?"
"YES!" she stressed.
Well, Bill doesn't deny us much, so, low and behold, after the house inspection, Rattles became Ringo Jepsen, named after Rosemary's favorite Beatle.
We didn't know much else about his personality other than he was house trained and probably around one year old. We wondered: Does he like to play fetch? Will he jump on the furniture? How does he take his coffee?
Well, we quickly learned that the vacuum would become the most utilized appliance in the house, as anyone who wears black in our house can attest. Before they leave we offer them a lint roller and an apology. We learned that his tail has the strength to swipe a ceramic vase off the table in one quick wag. We learned that huskies are "escape artists" who tend to take off whenever possible. Ringo has never missed an opportunity to bolt out of the backyard and piss off the neighbors to the nth degree. Luckily, I worked with a member of Adopt-a-Husky at the time and I went to her for advice. She told me which leashes to use as well as which to avoid, how to groom him, and before we knew it, we were participating in the annual 5K Husky Hike every May. We still have his medals and pictures of him bobbing for hot dogs.
We learned that he hates to have his picture taken. No one knew for sure if he is a purebred Siberian Husky when we adopted him. Other than his beautiful white coat he has the most captivating sable eyes that one doesn't find in many huskies. But his fear of having his picture taken makes us believe that he is part Native American. It's like he's afraid that the flash is going to capture his spirit. For this reason, we believe he has some Navajo blood in him.
We learned that he is an outside dog who loves his dog house and would rather hang in the yard for days at a time if we let him. Children, nannies, and passerby adore him. He sashays over and lets everyone pet him with the same poise and patience of Bill. His popularity grows by the week. Cars beep as they drive by and we hear a "Ringoooooo," sing out the window as the car passes. If Ringo is inside I hear babysitters, nannies, and parents say, "Aw, too bad. Ringo isn't out today," in the same tone I used when the lion house was closed when I took my kids to the zoo. During quarantine, some moms on the block organized a scavenger hunt. One of the boxes was to say hi to Ringo. I happened to be walking him at the time when a herd of little ones on trikes yelled, "There's Ringo!" as they screeched their brakes to a halt and ticked him off their hunt list. I'll be stopped in the produce section at the store to questions of, "You're Ringo's mom, right? How's he doing?"
We learned that he's not a "snuggler" but would rather just chill near your feet while you read, watch TV or write. He loves his dog bed, the equivalent of a top-shelf Sealy Posturpedic from his aunt Erin. We learned that he has the energy of four Duracell D batteries at all times.
Now Ringo is ten or eleven and his boundless energy has not declined an ounce. He is more demanding and sheds enough hair for a large area rug each day. And like me, he has put on some extra lbs during quarantine, mostly because Marty is home and denies him nothing. Marty is a softy, and if Ringo demands more food, Marty caves immediately and I can hear the Purina One tumbling into his ceramic dish at any time of day.
"MARTY!" Bill and I will holler from the other room, "do NOT keep feeding him! He's already been fed today! Give him a treat!"
And the answer most of the time is, "There are none!" because Marty gave all the treats to him the day I took them out of the grocery bag. He does love his salmon jerky.
In an effort to take some of the quarantine pounds off, Ringo and I head out each day for his first walk of the day. We shoot for at least 45 minutes and I have the same path. He takes a dump on the same lawn, sometimes with the homeowners present on the porch. Really, Ringo? Do you NOT see them eyeing us from the porch? I really think he does this on purpose just to watch me sweat out this awkward situation over and over. It probably never gets old for him and he's laughing his ass off inside.
By the time we get to the woods, we are warmed up and curious Both of us are intrigued by the birds. I will comment to him, "I think that was a woodpecker." Then two squirrels will dart out of the brush and Ringo goes into high alert mode: his ears become perfect right angle triangles and his tail stops moving. I am forever intrigued by this and it never gets old. He has caught bunnies, raccoons, and birds in his jaw before, even a possum, but never a squirrel. And at this stage of his life he seems resigned to it. After the squirrels disappear he yanks me to keep moving.
Today we came across an abandoned stroller in the woods. Whoa. This is weird. And concerning. I peek around at it and it has wipes, a blanket, and a sippy cup. I look around and I see and hear nothing. What should I do? I decide to investigate. After all, I have a dog, a pair of sunglasses and an extra-large sports bra. I will solve this backwoods caper.
We trudge through the mud into the woods. Ringo is an enigma. No matter how much dirt or mud this pooch rolls around in he is always pristinely white. Me? Not so much.
I decide to send the picture to some friends and ask for advice on what to do.
Not to my surprise, my friend Tristan texts immediately, "Are you just north of 91st and Pleasant on the trail?"
"Um, yes, Magellan," I text back.
"No worries. We saw that too when we were walking the dog and we saw the same stroller. The guy came back with two kids in tow."
Solved.
Well, Ringo, it looks like our work is done here.
Until tomorrow.
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