Memories of my Dad, dogs, cats, and of course, Critter
By Liz Palika
June 17, 2009
My Dad passed away seven months ago, although it doesn’t seem that long. With this first Father’s Day after his passing, I have been thinking about him a lot. Dad wasn’t much of one to say, “I love you,” but he wasn’t embarrassed about giving affection to us kids; he gave great hugs! He was also just as affectionate to animals and most of them loved him back.
My parents had a German Shepherd named Butch when I was born. They have photos of me as a toddler hanging off Butch’s collar, lying on top of the poor dog, holding on to his tail, and Butch standing guard next to my stroller. No wonder my first dog after I left home was a German Shepherd; I imprinted on the breed!
But apparently Butch and my Dad had different ideas about child rearing. Butch would protest whenever I cried and especially if my Dad ever told me no or swatted me. I can remember my Dad telling me about the time he tried to spank me and Butch grabbed his arm and held it. Butch didn’t break the skin or hurt Dad (physically); the dog was just saying, “Don’t do that, man!” Many years later, when I got my first German Shepherd, Watachie, and later when my husband Paul and I had German Shepherds, I did notice Dad was very respectful. He liked our dogs, but was respectful.
I was a horse crazy kid, as so many girls are, and although we couldn’t afford to keep a horse Dad tried to satisfy my need for them. A friend of his worked for a horse farm near our house so he managed to get an invitation for me to come visit. We lived in Lompoc, CA at the time and so one Saturday I met Monty Roberts at his Flag is Up Farms in Santa Ynez. Monty had not yet developed the reputation he has now, but even then he had a wonderful way with horses. I loved how calm and quiet and kind he was – both with horses and horse crazy twelve year old girls! My Dad was my hero for arranging that for me.
After Butch, our other dogs were my Mom’s – mostly toy poodles – but we did have cats and the cats all loved Dad. He would come home from work, kiss Mom, say hi to us kids, change his clothes, and a cat would be following him through the house meowing. When he sat down in his recliner to watch the news a cat would immediately be in his lap and up on his chest, purring and purring and purring. Some of those cats were Bootsie, who lived with us on Martha’s Vineyard Island; Smokey in Groton, CT; Troubles in Palmdale, CA; and then Queenie, the Siamese in Huntington Beach, CA.
It was Patches, though, who broke Dad’s heart and became his last cat. I was working as a vet tech and Patches, a baby kitten, needed bottle feeding. My Mom volunteered to do it. A beautiful, brightly colored calico long haired cat, Patches worked her way into Dad’s heart. He loved her dearly. Unfortunately, after several health crises, she died far too young. Dad was devastated. He never allowed another cat into his home or heart.
Luckily, he still allowed dogs in the home and he was quite attached to several of them. Angie and Lindy, Papillons, were active, bright and great fun and Dad enjoyed their company. Cosmo, a Shih Tzu, was my sister’s dog who ended up living with my folks. Now an old dog, Cosmo and Dad got along great and Cosmo is still good company for my Mom.
Dad also enjoyed the variety of animals that my husband and I always shared our home with. We’ve had dogs, cats, birds, rabbits, and reptiles of all sorts. Although he didn’t always understand why we had some of them, he was interested in them. When he introduced me to a co-worker one day he said, “This is my oldest daughter, Liz. She’s the one I told you about who has the 16 foot python in her living room!”
Dad didn’t enjoy one of our ferrets, though. Critter, a male ferret, must have looked upon Dad as an intruding male because he would target Dad, crawl up Dad’s pant leg in a flash – as far up as he could – and then bite him. After a couple of these very unpleasant incidents, we learned to make sure Critter was caged before Dad came over to visit! And needless to say, Critter soured Dad on all ferrets!
Dad’s last dog was Rusty. Rusty was a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel who was a genetic basket case. He was over-sized, deaf and well, let’s just say he was not bright. But he loved Dad with all his heart and Dad loved him. Dad wouldn’t hear any critiques about his dog, either! Uh uh, this was his dog and he protected him.
Dad and Rusty are both gone now and I do believe that Dad, Rusty, Patches, and all his other well loved pets are together again. On this Father’s Day weekend, I’m not going to dwell on that fact that Dad is gone; instead, I;m going to treasure my pets – and my careers in animals – and thank Dad for the love of animals that he gave me.
Thanks, Dad!
That was awesome and really touching. Thanks for sharing. I am going to go home and love on my animals.
Tamara
Comment by Tamara — June 17, 2009 @ 2:11 pm
On this Father’s Day weekend, I’m not going to dwell on that fact that Dad is gone; instead, I;m going to treasure my pets - and my careers in animals - and thank Dad for the love of animals that he gave me.
Thanks, Dad!
Blogged by Liz
How lovely :)
Your Dad and mine sound very alike. At my own Dads funeral the celebrant read out the poem ‘She Is Gone’. (Although of course he replaced she with HE, ha ha )
She is gone:
You can shed tears that she is gone,
or you can smile because she has lived.
You can close your eyes and pray that she’ll come back,
or you can open your eyes and see all she’s left.
Your heart can be empty because you can’t see her,
or you can be full of the love you shared.
You can turn your back on tomorrow and live yesterday,
or you can be happy for tomorrow because of yesterday.
You can remember her only that she is gone,
or you can cherish her memory and let it live on.
You can cry and close your mind,
be empty and turn your back.
Or you can do what she’d want:
smile, open your eyes, love and go on.
I will from now on always use the moral of the poem as my guide when facing the death of a loved one (however many legs they may have)
Comment by Alison — June 17, 2009 @ 2:11 pm
From another of the recently and sadly dadless, Liz … thank you for writing this. You owe me a box of tissues.
No one loved is ever truly lost.
In loving memory:
Liz’s dad: Wray A. Stout (1929 - 2008)
and mine: Anthony J. “Nino” Spatafore (1933-2009)
Comment by Gina Spadafori — June 17, 2009 @ 2:18 pm
Thanks, Liz. My Dad had a stroke last November and has improved greatly. He was the source of my first dog love - Cisco. I’m not sure who had more influence in my raising! Cisco is gone and Dad is still here. We will be celebrating his Fatherhood together this weekend and remembering all the good dogs and fun times. Your blog helped me focus on remebering the good stuff! Thanks, again.
Comment by Connie Kelly — June 17, 2009 @ 3:58 pm
Thanks, Alison, that is lovely.
And Gina, I will be happy to send you a box of tissues - after I get some more. I think I cried a boxful as I wrote it. But we writers do need to write about things to work through them. And I feel better for the writing and the tears.
My sister also shed a few! smile….
Comment by Liz Palika — June 17, 2009 @ 4:06 pm
Also (now that I have stopped crying) … I wonder about that “imprinting” thing when it comes to dog breeds.
I grew up with boxers, which were the only breed my Dad thought worth keeping. He was crazy-nuts for boxers, never met one he didn’t love on sight and never had much nice to say about retrievers (my brother Pete’s Labradors or my flat-coats).
My brother Joe is on his second boxer, and thinks they’re the only breed worth keeping. He is crazy-nuts for boxers, has never met one he didn’t love on sight and never has much nice to say about retrievers (our brother Pete’s Labradors or my flat-coats).
So … what’s up with this imprinting thing?
Comment by Gina Spadafori — June 17, 2009 @ 4:16 pm
Thanks for the post! I lost my dad 18 years ago. It gets easier, but it never gets easy.
My dad was a gamekeeper in Scotland for 20 yrs before he met my mom and came to the US. It sounds horrible to say his job was to kill, but it often was, given that he managed an ecosystem (a royal preserve) that’d been “cleansed” of predators for centuries and thus had no way to balance itself. He never liked killing, but he understood that his job - weeding out the diseased and dying - was essential to the bigger picture.
I’m sure this would amaze the PETA types, but hunter or not, he had a deep love for and way with animals. He was a champion hunting dog trainer, and used to work with ferrets daily for rabbit control. He never met a critter he didn’t love and that didn’t love him back.
He taught me everything I know about loving, respecting, and understanding animals, wild and domesticated. I’m always sad he’s not with me, but I especially wish he could meet (and spoil the hell out of) my dogs and cats.
Laura
Comment by LauraL — June 17, 2009 @ 7:58 pm
Me too, me too—my dad was such a gentle soul and brought home a stray dog or cat once in a while. Of course, my mother would take a fit.
I am so grateful to him (where is my kleenex) and now I have passed on the love of animals to my children—and my son to his children.
I loved the poem “She is Gone”
Comment by Colorado Transplant — June 17, 2009 @ 8:17 pm