The only problem I have had, and not a big one, has been with airport security in the United States. Each time they tell me to “strip” her, take off her collar, harness, leash, and all her clothes for a security check so they can “frisk” her. It always annoys me. Frightening-looking men saunter through security, and meanwhile they are frisking my trembling Chihuahua, who is terrified of them. And they actually do frisk her. Please. One of the security guards actually asked if she would “attack” them. Are you kidding? Being afraid of Minnie is like being afraid of a hamster—and in fact, the hamsters we had years ago were a lot fiercer than Minnie. But you have to follow the rules, and do as they ask, even if they want to frisk her.
If you travel, do not put your dog through the X-ray machine in its carrier on the moving belt! You don’t have to, and it would frighten your dog unnecessarily. You can carry a small dog through in your arms, and then “strip” her when they ask you to. (Her leash and collar or harness—safer for tiny dogs with delicate necks—set off the metal detector.)
Britain has always been more rigid about bringing dogs into the country. For years, they had a quarantine, requiring you to leave your dog in a government kennel for six months, which kept most people from taking their dogs to England, unless they were moving there. (Elizabeth Taylor once chartered a boat to stay off-dock on the Thames, so she could bring her dogs into the country and not go through immigration or subject them to quarantine.) Recently, they lifted the quarantine but now require an aggressive worming process within twenty-four hours of entering the U.K., and a vet’s certificate saying the worming process was performed.
I recently passed up what sounded like a fun weekend in London with friends because I didn’t want to leave Minnie in Paris with other people, and when I checked out the worming for such a tiny dog, it was likely to make her sick for the whole duration of my stay in London. I didn’t want to put her through it, and make her sick for no reason, so I passed on the trip, and we had a nice weekend in Paris instead.
So England is not on Minnie’s travel map. Although the British love their dogs, they make it just too difficult to enter the country with one. I wasn’t going to make Minnie sick for my London weekend! So sometimes having a puppy or a dog can hamper your mobility, even for a weekend with friends close to where you live. I still think it’s worth it. And we’ve tackled no other foreign countries with her so far, just France, which is very easy, since the French are so hospitable to dogs.
Minnie in her “bumblebee” costume
Samantha Traina
There are of course other alternatives to traveling with your dog, if you don’t want to take your dog with you, or feel you can’t. You can leave them at a dog sitter’s, or with a friend, although friendships have ended over dogs getting hurt or lost while in a friend’s care. And nowadays there are some amazing boarding facilities for dogs. Several of my daughters travel a lot for business and occasionally have to board their dogs when they leave town (or leave them with each other if possible). And there is a whole new market for “dog hotels” in big cities, for young working people who can afford them. (There have always been caring reliable kennels that board dogs. And some you want to be careful of.) But the new breed of dog-boarding facility is mind-boggling.
For “regulars,” they get a badge (like airline personnel) with their photo ID on them. And the owner gets to choose from a dizzying array of options. They ask you if you want your dog to have “group play,” or be exercised, and played with alone. Do you want outdoor walks for them or keep them inside the facility? Do they have “friends” or “relatives” staying at the dog hotel you would like them to play with, and if so how many times a day? Dog bones, chew toys, special diet, grooming? It’s like dropping a kid off at camp. And I know that when my “grand dogs” stay there, they room together, play together, are allowed to sit in the window for a certain amount of time, eat the menu my daughters choose for them, and get their hair done before they come home. Frankly, it sounds like a vacation I think I’d enjoy, and the dogs come home happy and looking very pleased with themselves. I’m afraid Minnie will never know the luxury of camp for dogs, since she travels with me. But it’s also a comfort to my daughters to know their dogs are happy when they’re away.
I am lucky enough to travel with Minnie, who is definitely an international dog. We speak to her in French, Italian, and English at home, and she responds to all three. Clearly, not only is Minnie well dressed, she is a genius! What a perfect dog!!
Minnie
Victoria Traina
FIVE
Having a Good Vet (or: Sometimes Mother Knows Best!)
One thing that makes life simpler, if you have a dog, is having a good vet. I seem to apply a lot of the same principles to my dogs that I did to my kids. That probably sounds odd, but as I said, I am a “kid person” above all, even more than a dog person, and most of my life experience is with kids. That’s probably better than if I were applying dog principles to my kids, although maybe that works too, as long as you’re responsible and love your kids and dogs.
Before I took Minnie to Paris, I asked a friend in Paris for the name of a good vet. And she gave me the name of not a good vet but a great vet, with his own veterinary hospital, which is open 24/7. You don’t want to be searching desperately for a vet or a pet hospital in the middle of the night if your dog has an accident or is seriously sick.
On the other hand, in Paris there is something called SOS Médecins (SOS Doctors) for when you feel too lousy to go out, aren’t sick enough for the emergency room, but need medical help. They come to your house and are a very useful service. And they have the same thing with vets. But I feel better going to a vet I know and who knows my dog.
And the vet my friend recommended is fabulous. Not only medically, but he is kind, warm, terrific with my dog, and has a sense of humor, which always helps. He is a really nice person. In San Francisco we go to a very competent pet hospital two blocks from my house, which is great to have so nearby, but they have many vets, and I rarely see the same vet twice. So while their medical care is top notch, the personal touch is missing, and the vet on duty may not know my dog. In Paris, going to the same doctor who knows me and my dog is an added bonus.
The first time I took Minnie to her Paris vet, she had been making funny snorting sounds. As I said earlier, I’ve never had a dog with a proper nose. My pugs as a child, and my griffs as an adult, all have squashed noses. Minnie is my first dog with a real nose. And she took to snorting (which I think is due to the steam heat in the apartment). I was sure she was fine, but I wanted to be reassured that the snorting sounds were normal and not something like asthma. I diligently described to the doctor what she’d been doing. It was the first time we’d met. And much to my amusement, he imitated what I’d described, asking if that was the sound. It didn’t seem like the right sound, so he asked if a second noise he demonstrated was the one. That didn’t sound like it either, so he offered a third option, each time acting out the sound. And by then I had forgotten the first sound. I thought it was snort number three, but wanted to hear snort number one again. Straight faced, he went through the repertoire again, and after he did that several times, I decided that snort number three was it, which he said was called “reverse sneezing,” which apparently Chihuahuas do, and some other breeds as well. Forevermore I will always think of him demonstrating the three snorts, without batting an eye. We became friends after that.
I was particularly glad that I had established a relationship with a vet, when one night I happened to notice that Minnie had found a pipe in my kitchen that I’d never noticed before. It was a few inches above the ground, and it was severely rusty. She was licking it when I saw her and shooed her away, but I was worried that either the rust flakes on the pipe or maybe even the paint might make her sick. She seemed fine but two hours later was vomiting violently, and I was panicked. It was three in the morning by then, and I had no idea if she’d been poisoned, or if she was just sick. But she�
��s so tiny that seeing her so sick was terrifying. I called the all-night number at the vet, and the relief vet on duty told me to come in. I bundled Minnie up, and she looked miserable. I called a cab (who took forty minutes to come!) and asked a friend to come with me to the vet. I didn’t want to be riding around alone in a cab at four a.m. with a desperately sick dog. They had already called poison control when we got there and thought it was unlikely that she’d been poisoned by the rusty pipe, although it was a possibility. They gave her a shot to stop the vomiting, we stayed there until six a.m., with impressively competent care, and they sent us home with two kinds of medicine to take for three days. Giving her the medicine with a dropper was an acrobatic (for me) adventure in itself. I was exhausted for the rest of the day, and Minnie was right as rain and hungry by noon. We later figured out that she’d eaten a piece of a toy, had gotten rid of it while vomiting, and was fine. But it was a huge relief to have a good vet to go to, who was instantly available.
We went back to see the regular vet the next day, and he put her on a special diet, which she loved. And the one time she got an upset stomach in New York, I called him too. Now I consult him about my other dogs as well. It sounds crazy, but having a great vet is like having a great pediatrician for your kids. It’s a must, and if you don’t want to go to a high-end private vet, there are clinics for dogs too. And there’s no question, having a dog with health problems can be expensive.
I think, as with anything in life, you need to trust your instincts. The vet knows medicine better than you do, particularly for complicated issues. But you know your dog better than anyone. Speak up, if you’re not comfortable with the recommended treatment, or if their assessment seems wrong to you. Find a vet who will listen to you. Your knowledge of your dog will serve you well. Elmer, my basset hound, appeared to be dying of a mysterious disease and was fading away in front of me. Out of sheer desperation, and not knowing what else to do to make him comfortable, I took off his flea collar. He sprang back to life within hours. He had a near fatal allergy to the chemicals in the flea collar. (I made him a necklace of eucalyptus pods after that, which kept the fleas away. Sometimes more natural solutions work best.)
But if you feel your vet is overmedicating your dog, say so. I always prefer more conservative solutions to radical ones. It’s sad to say, but vet hospitals are a profitable business and can sometimes be overzealous about prescribing medications, or even minor surgeries.
Minnie’s only major medical procedure to date was getting spayed. She looked traumatized by the experience and acted crabby and weird on the pain meds afterward, growling and barking at everyone, when she normally never barks. And she had to wear a plastic collar she hated. When the collar came off and we stopped the pain medication, she went back to her sweet self. I think she felt weird on the pain meds, which can happen to humans too.
And there is no question, medical procedures for dogs, and surgeries, can be shockingly expensive.
One of my friends has a dog with cancer, and the surgeries for him have been exorbitant. But if you can afford it, you do. We love our pets, and it can be a costly venture. There is medical insurance for dogs now, which may be worth looking into.
When my friend discovered that her dog has cancer, I was devastated for her and tried to think what I could do. There wasn’t much I could do, other than offer comfort and sympathy, and then I thought of something, which meant a great deal to her. I hired a dog photographer to take beautiful photographs of her dog, so that one day she would have all those pictures to remember him by. Fortunately, the dog is doing well, but she is very happy to have the album of photos. And I’m sure she will treasure them one day. It’s a nice thing to be able to do for a friend at a hard time.
Losing an animal we love is so painful. And we’ve been through that too, particularly as my children started to lose their childhood dogs recently. With much sadness, we just lost the last one. We remember them fondly, with great love for all the years we shared with them. We have a little pet cemetery in our backyard in California, with the rabbits the kids had as children, and our beloved dogs. The dog of the original owner of the house, Sugar, is still there too. We have little stone headstones to honor each of them.
One of the many things I am happy about with Minnie is that Chihuahuas usually live for a long time, some for close to twenty years. Longevity is something to keep in mind when you buy a dog, although I would have bought Minnie no matter what breed she was. When you fall in love, you fall in love.
Maxx’s Nancy: keeping busy in the office
Cassio Alves
SIX
The Gift that Keeps on Giving
More than once I have done something that no sane person should ever try to do: give someone I love a dog. It is an incredibly brave, and usually foolhardy, thing to do. And I have no idea why, but it has turned out well every time. It’s a very gutsy thing to do. One thing you should try to be sure of is that the recipient really wants a dog! (The antique dealer who sent me Greta had no idea if I wanted one, but that turned out happily too.)
When my kids were little, I gave them their dogs as gifts and surprised them. They had been asking for a dog for a while, and the gift was always met with squeals of delight. My oldest daughter picked her dog, and I surprised her with her second one, which was never really an exciting dog, so I guess that wasn’t a resounding success. Maxx’s first Boston bull, Annabelle, was a surprise, which gave him endless joy for fourteen years. All three of Vanessa’s Yorkies were surprises, and all three were major hits. Victoria picked out both of her Chihuahuas, and Sam her miniature dachshund, and all were beloved dogs, and Victoria’s Chihuahua Tallulah still is.
But the really courageous and insane act has been giving dogs to friends, and each was a special case. The difficult thing with giving a dog to a friend is that sometimes people say they want something they really don’t. Or they think they do, but the reality is a lot different than the wish. A dog, and particularly a puppy, is a lot of work and can turn your life upside down. Suddenly you have to rush home from work to walk it, or hire a dog walker, which is expensive. You can’t leave for a weekend at the drop of a hat without figuring out what to do with the dog. And you can spend a lot of time walking, training, and cleaning up after it. They’re not just cute, they’re a lot of work. The reality may be more than a friend wants to cope with. But fools rush in where angels fear to tread, and I’ve cast my lot with the fools in the dog department, although I’ve gotten lucky with the end result. And I didn’t actually “rush” into it, in most cases. I thought about it for a while and tried to be sure they really meant it when they said they wanted a dog.
A close friend of mine had a terrible bout of cancer and really went through the agonies of the damned, with fantastic results. She bravely faced the most aggressive treatments, and what was thought to be incurable cancer was cured in less than a year. It was truly a miracle, and I gave her a “miracle party” to celebrate her victory. For years she had said that she wanted a boxer, and with my heart in my throat, I decided to take her at her word. I found a good breeder and picked out a gorgeous dog for her, and the night of the party, I gave it to her. To say she looked stunned is a major understatement, and I’m sure as I gave it to her, she and her husband were thinking of the freedom they’d just lost. Their kids were grown, they love to travel, and having a dog at home was going to be a big change for them. I was terrified they’d refuse it, and instead they were both thrilled. They named the dog Miracle, she is now eight years old, and every chance they get, they tell me how much they love her. I was very lucky—it was just the right gift!! Looking back at some of the dogs I’ve given people, I don’t know where I got the courage to do it. But something told me it was just right. I haven’t done it often, but often enough to have potentially made some mistakes, but so far I haven’t. That’s a miracle in itself.
My next gift of a dog was equally brave, possibly even more so. A very, very dear friend, well into her eighties, had be
en struggling with cancer but was doing well. She was stable and seemed to have the situation in good control. She spent every Thanksgiving with us, and that year she said more than once at dinner how much she wanted a dog. She had been “sharing” a dog with a friend who let her dog stay with her, and she said she was ready for her own.
My kids responded immediately as soon as my friend went home. “Mom, you have to get Isabella a dog!” I countered their pleas with reason—my friend wasn’t young, she’d been sick, she had help but lived alone. And unlike my other friend, she didn’t have a husband to help her with the dog. It seemed like a bad idea to me. My kids, who were all pretty much adults by then, insisted I had to give Isabella a dog. By that night they had convinced me, and on Monday morning I began a search for a dog. I still had misgivings about it, but my children wanted it to be a family gift from all of us, to this beloved friend who was practically a member of the family and was the godmother of one of my children. I figured that maybe my kids were smarter than I. And by the week before Christmas, what seemed like the right puppy had turned up. A small four-month-old Maltese, all fluffy and white. She was adorable when I saw her, and by then I knew my kids were right. All of the children were home for Christmas, and I could just imagine all of us presenting Isabella with the dog. She was going to be ecstatic (I hoped), and I came home to tell the kids, so we could plan to deliver the dog to her together. I ran into one of the kids as soon as I got home and told her I’d found Isabella’s dog.
“Dog? What dog?” my daughter said, looking blank.
Pure Joy Page 5
