Heart of Dogness

Mickey and the Bunny

Mickey was the Best Dog Ever, as I've said before. I probably haven't made this case strongly enough yet, but another piece of evidence is his relationship with Ana.

Ana was Dahlin' Daughta's pet rabbit, acquired from a shelter when Mickey was about six. She was a beautiful black smooth-coated creature, a hot-tempered Havana with an unpredictable streak of pure evil.

Ana was litter-box trained except when she wasn't, and ate through electric cords and woodwork like they were her natural diet. Maybe they were her natural diet. Somebody told us to put hot sauce on the woodwork to keep her from eating it. Turns out she really liked hot sauce.

When she wasn't eating the house, Ana was eating its occupants. She'd sidle up like she wanted to make nice, and then lay a chomp on you that required sixteen stitches. Bit me, plenty. Bit the Wee Lad, often. Bit my Lovely and Charming Wife, enough times to remember.

God knows we tried to like this bunny. But next to a rabbit, a tomato looks both intelligent and witty, and whatever reasoning powers Ana may have had were not employed in peace-making endeavors. She only got along with Dahlin' Daughta and, for some reason, Mickey. Bit neither, ever.

We've got a deck with a small fenced area around it, where both MIckey and Ana would enjoy the sunshine. Every now and then, you'd look out to see Mickey saunter by, with Ana hopping along behind him. A little while later, you'd see Ana hop by, trailed by Mickey. Eventually, you'd see them both napping, Ana between Mickey's outstretched front paws.

After about six years, Ana died. A few months later, we got Gus. And you already know how that story comes out.

Mickey: Best Dog Ever

I've mentioned Mickey a few times without explaining who he was. Mickey was Gus's predecessor and, though I won't say it where Gus might hear, a much better dog.

Mickey was a Cape Cod Retriever, which is a Black Lab mixed with whatever happened to be walking by that day. In Mickey's case, that was a German Shepherd, and he looked just like you'd expect a Black Lab/German Shepherd mix to look.

In his early years, Mickey ate a couch, a lamp, and several window screens. His whole life, although he was officially not allowed on the couch, whenever we came home we'd find the still-warm impression of Mickey there (please note: I never said he was the best-BEHAVED dog), but he was extremely tolerant of our kids. In spite of several years of poking and prodding, the only time he ever nipped at The Wee Lad was once when that party stepped on his stomach. Heck, I'VE bit the kid more often than that. When The Dahlin' Daughta was a baby, she could crawl on Mickey for hours, and when he'd had enough, he'd lick her face a few times and she'd take off.

He was also highly tolerant of other dogs, something his successor will probably never be. When our neighbors' dog Emma (the same mix, who looked like Mickey's twin) needed to be taken off their hands for a few months, she moved in seamlessly. The only real problem was figuring out which dog we had to give back. When Gus joined us, Mickey took the pup under his tutelage and taught him everyting he needed to know to be a worthy successor. Gus, of course, didn't learn a damn thing. Except maybe how to chase cats and the UPS guy.

When he was 12, Mickey developed arthritis and over the next couple of years found that he could no longer climb stairs, get up on the couch, or finally, go outside without assistance. A few months before he died, I broke my foot while carrying him out for a pee. Fell down with him in my arms, which literally scared the crap out of him.

We finally had to let him go when he was 14. He could no longer stand up by himself, couldn't stand to pee even when I held him up, and stopped eating. The day after Thanksgiving, 2003, we took him to the vet and had him euthanised. He's buried out back, with a dogwood tree over him to mark the spot.