In case you missed it last week, this year’s 138th Westminster Dog Show- America’s oldest sporting event- was won by After All Painting The Sky, a wire hair fox terrier. “Sky” was the record-breaking fourteenth fox terrier to bring home the gold.
And no wonder. She was adorable and on her game. I was rooting for her because I, too, am a longtime wire hair fox terrier owner.
Sort of.
Thirty-five years ago, when my daughter Natasha was born, my sister-in-law (and brand new aunt) Mary Lu gave her a lamp for her nursery. Its base was a handmade, pink and white paper mache doll. And in her arms she held a small Steiff fox terrier.
It was a knockout of a baby present and it graced the room for years as it turned from a baby’s into a little girl’s.
But little girls grow up and big girls like me have interior designers. And when Natasha was eight, her room fell under the gimlet eye of Bruce Gregga.
“Time to make it a young lady’s bedroom,” he declared.
And so it was out with the old pink and white color scheme and in with the new blue and white decor.
And the doll lamp got sent to storage.
But not before I had plucked the little fox terrier from her grip. He became mine and I christened him “George”- after the fox terrier in Bringing Up Baby. (I loved the way Katherine Hepburn crooned, “Good George, nice George,” in her posh Bryn Mawr accent.)
And loyal George has remained by my side ever since.
True, he’s not much of a watchdog. But he’s stalwart, steadfastly dogging my heels as we walk down Life’s unexpected byways together.
He’s easy to care for. He never needs to go to the groomer or the vet. And I don’t get a hernia lugging in forty pound bags of dog kibble for him.
He’s a perfect city dog. He never yaps or howls. My neighbors love him.
Although he’s kenneled on my bedside table, George is small enough to fit neatly into my carry-on bag end pocket. And that’s where he goes whenever I take a trip.
I’m not much of a world traveler (see My Cousin Vinnie for the reference) but George is a regular Marco Polo. He’s been to Bora Bora and Hong Kong. Edinburgh and Eagle River. Monte Carlo and Mayfair.
And he never gets old. When was the last time you had a dog for thirty-five years? He looks as fit as the day he arrived. He’ll see me out of this vale of tears, that’s for sure.
So thanks, Mary Lu. That was some great baby present all those Septembers ago.
And congratulations to Sky and her loving family on her historic win.
George couldn’t be prouder.
I remember buying that little dog when Natasha was born, like it was yesterday. It made for an adorable addition to her room. And we saw Best In Show together in Az. What wonderful memories all around. And btw, I was rooting for Swagger again this year. But Sky and George are plenty cute!
You’re right. It does seem like yesterday, ML. And George has been with me all this time. (But then you’ve always been a great gift giver.) Sounds like you’re having a blast in the Big Apple keeping up with “The Realistic Joneses.” See you soon. And thanks for the comment- and the little dog.
Ellen – I was rooting for the Best of the Toy Group, a Miniature Pincher like our rescue Tommy. He also engages in and performs most of your listed items as well as 2 additional numbers.
Yes, I follow Tommy on Facebook, so I know who he was cheering for. And, btw, a shout out now to all rescue owners. All three of my beloved Scotties (real not Steiff) Andy, Murdoch and Wee Gillis were rescues. There is nothing more satisfying than giving a rescue dog a great home. My tam’s off to both of ye.
I still have my Teddie Bear from childhood. “He” must be 81 years old now. Sally still has her Raggedy Ann doll from her childhood. Not as old as mine!!!
Herbie
That is so freakin’ awesome, Herbie. (I, too, have stuffed animals from my childhood but wild stuffed horses couldn’t get me to say how old they are.). And I love my Bakelite Scottie pin that I got from the Sally Loeb collection. I smile every time I see it.
In our move to our new house, I came across our “pet rock” from the 80’s. Unlike your George – the upkeep was too much. It had the potential of growing moss on it if not cleaned or nudged (a rolling stone gathers no moss), you had to keep it out of strong winds and rainstorms as it might get eroded and even if left out in the winter it was subject to the same forces that cause all of those potholes in Chicago. And you certainly couldn’t role it down hills as it may break. A manual came with it and it recommended it to be watered (the type that drips (rich in minerals) from caves to add growth to it) about every 50 years. Come on, who can keep track of that? Too bad I never went to one of those stone (geological) shows where people show off their prized stone. I can see why people stick with dogs (real or not).
This was my lol for the day. I forgot about pet rocks. They do sound very high-maintenance. Were the kids devastated? Did you have to tell them the rock was now happily living on a farm?