TestSubjects

We're one of those childless couples who turn their pets into substitute children . . . unless we're using them for horrid medical experiments to learn things that mankind was not meant to know. Yes, it's sad, but at least we don't have to put them through college and pay for weddings.

Ollie Pix

Ollie was our first dog. We picked her from a local breeder after she untied Mary Ann's shoelaces.
     We'd decided upon a Scottish Terrier after we'd read a story about a Scottie who'd fallen out of a second-story window after swinging on the drapes – it was OK. Any breed that produced a dog like that was one we'd want to own.
     Ollie – short for Oliver – was an ebony female who hated her eyebrows. She'd always rub her face on the carpet to scrub them back.
     She was nine when she died of cancer.

Stan Pix

     Stan was our second Scottie. I'd seen a wheaten Scottie at the Western Reserve Kennel Club dog show and it wasn't long until we got Stan. She was from a Tennessee breeder. I flew down to pick her out when she was six weeks old. She was shipped by air to us at eight weeks. Big mistake. Don't ever do that, it's too rough on the puppy.
     Our other big mistake was the way we introduced Stan to Ollie. Stan was in the back yard when Ollie came out. "What! Another dog in my yard! I'll fix your wagon – but good!" Ollie barked at poor jet-lagged Stan and bowled her over. Stan later repaid Ollie with dominance games. At first they were more like Bud and Lou than Laurel and Hardy.
     She and Ollie made a nice set. Stan was sweet, but she was always a frail dog.
     We only had Stan for two years when she died of pancreatitis a day after Mary Ann's father died. A hell of a double-whammy.

Woodie Pix
     Woodhouse started out as the baby. We got Woodie a couple of months after Stan died. Mary Ann went through a nation-wide search for a Scottie breeder who had wheatons. She found a little old lady in Missouri who hand-raised her litters.
     After some questioning about our fitness as owners, the little old lady agreed to send us Woodie, although the deal almost fell through when she asked us what we'd name her. We said "Woodhouse" and there was a long pause – until we explained it was after Barbara Woodhouse, the dog trainer.
     Within a few days we were racing to Columbus where we'd meet the little old lady's son who was passing through there. The little old lady was less than clear about time zone differences. We were an hour early, but thought we'd just made it by the skin of our teeth – ummm, tooth skin. We waited on pins and needles under the son arrived.
     He got Woodie out of the back of his van – she was sleeping. She was 12 weeks old and had the biggest nipples we'd ever seen on a puppy. The son had been feeding her french fries during the trip. That was her favorite fruit.
     I held Woodie on his lap as Mary Ann drove back to Cleveland. Woodie slept all the way. Learning from the mistakes we made with Stan, we introduced Woodie to Ollie on the sidewalk a few houses away -- neutral territory.
     Woodie survived kidney failure and hypertension. She was getting deafer each day and had cataracts as well. All she needed was to lose her voice and it would have be See No Evil, Hear No Evil, and Speak No Evil.
     We had another scare back in March, 2003, when we found a large lump on her belly. Turned out to be benign. Phew.
     But, eventually she succumbed to Addison's Disease and Kidney Failure. We held her as we had her euthanized.

Pi Pix

     We'd both been intrigued by cartoonist Ed Booth's depictions of bull terriers in "New Yorker" – something of a cross between a nitwit and a flea magnet. Just the type of description to endear a breed to one's heart.
     A few years after Ollie's death, we decided to become a two-dog family again. We met a breeder at one of the Western Reserve Kennel Club's shows and "placed an order" for a pup from her next litter. Her bitch, Calliope, had two surviving pups – an all-white and one with brindle ears. I'd wanted a brindle like Calliope – a very sweet dog – but wasn't disappointed with the white ones.
     Often mistaken for "pit bulls," bull terriers are as stubborn as mules and nearly as smart. We got Picard at 12-weeks because of the success we'd had with Woodie at that age. Instead of a wondrous dog with nearly human intellect, we got a spoiled puppy with some nasty traits that we had to change with a bullwhip and flaming hoops. For all of the details, see the forthcoming day journal link of our first few weeks with a Bullie.
     With a firm hand, lots of attention, and a cattle prod, Pi's turned into a BIG lap dog. Something we didn't quite expect.

Tris Pix

     Soon after Woodie died, Mary Ann wanted to get another dog.
     "It's hard to feel sad when you're trying to keep a puppy from peeing on the floor," is her philosophy.
     Personally, I wanted to wait a while. First, because I wanted to mourn the loss of Woodie. Second, I didn't want to try to house-train a puppy in the middle of winter. Mary Ann agreed to wait a while, especially since the Western Reserve Kennel Club dog show was coming up in December. We could see if there were any breeder contacts to me made at the show. There weren't.
     Soon after the show, Mary Ann began calling around the network of Scottie breeders and found Lisa at Scotland Yard Kennels.
     The good news was that she had a bitch that was pregnant, the bad news was that we were third in line for a pup from the litter. Go to the Tristan page to learn more.