by Betty Zubritsky<\/p>\n
There is no cast in granite way to pick a Kennel Boyfriend. Everywhere I\u2019ve been, farms and race kennels one and all, I\u2019ve always had at least one. Or two. Sometimes three or four. But never more than a dozen. Almost never.\u00a0 Because I\u2019m all about the boys. I can and I do love every dog in my care, but I have favorites. Truthfully, if anybody ever tells you they DON\u2019T have a favorite, run hide and save yourself. That person is either lying or just plain doesn\u2019t care about the dogs. I wouldn\u2019t want anybody in my kennel who couldn\u2019t declare at least one that was special.<\/p>\n
I started (and abruptly stopped) picking boyfriends on Marys farm. Zoni didn\u2019t like anybody very much, but I have always loved a Roman nose, and he had the most dramatic one I\u2019d ever seen. To this day, I\u2019ve never encountered one like it.<\/p>\n
So I loved Zoni the moment I saw him, and he didn\u2019t care a whit. He must have raced around people who found him unattractive, because with just a little wooing and cuddling, he became my own. I watched with wonder when he took a little prance to be near me. “I\u2019ve never felt so pretty!” Honey, you\u2019re flat gorgeous. “You love me?” I do, and I always will. “Tickle me!” and my fingers went to his magic place and I tickled him to the very limit of his ability to stand upright. “HEEHEEHEE!!! Now tickle the other side!” I\u2019m a sucker for a ticklish dog. Particularly one with a gangster face who adores me. I tickled him everywhere, and my heart broke when he left me.<\/p>\n
Not broken as in irreparable. The greatest thing about a heart is that it can hold them all, and although Mary wouldn\u2019t permit me to love HER dogs the way I do, there wasn\u2019t anybody else who objected.<\/p>\n
Picking a Boyfriend is a very serious thing. Piffle, who am I kidding? It\u2019s really just silliness. It\u2019s me being all about the boys and having one (or two or five) \u2026. (or twelve, who\u2018s counting?) that simply delight me. Except for Romans, it\u2019s not about appearance. Well, unless he has an enormous butt. I do love a big squishable butt. And it\u2019s never about racing ability. However much my life depends on them, picking a Boyfriend has absolutely nothing to do with his stats. It\u2019s about personalities. Dogalities, actually. And even THEN it makes no sense because what I love in one can be thoroughly annoying in another. Doesn\u2019t make me love him less, but it knocks him out of Boyfriend status. The one and only unbreakable rule for a Kennel Boyfriend is that he cannot eat poop. My dogs learn early on that they are not allowed to touch me with a poopy-face, and the Boyfriend must be cuddled at every opportunity. His face, therefore, can never be poopy.<\/p>\n
Clear as pudding? Good. You\u2019re ready.<\/p>\n
This little blog (destined to become a Big Blog) will carry us through my many many romances. From past loves to present ones, and hopefully I’ll be able to keep a little “diary” of our daily or weekly adventures.<\/p>\n
GOODBAR<\/p>\n
Starting with this guy because, well, I have to start somewhere, and his is a peculiar Boyfriend-ness. One of our biggest boys when I worked with Craig at The Woodlands, he was officially named I Feel The Love. The Plum Creekies come up with some very strange names sometimes, and then they send them with equally strange kennel names. For some reason, they called him Barley. Craig called him Barley too. So did I because it was easier than trying to pull a kennel name out of I Feel The Love. I toyed with Barleycorn, but it was cumbersome and it just wasn\u2018t fun enough. So he was Barley until I could come up with something more amusing.<\/p>\n
Barley was a gentleman. As big as he was, he could have been a heathen and there would have been little anybody could have done about it. But a more kindly lad I\u2019m not sure I\u2019ve ever known. Truthfully, he was even a little boring. I don\u2019t mean that in a bad way at all, but when you have 65 other dogs, and most of them ARE heathens, the boring one doesn\u2019t really shine. And more truth, he wasn\u2019t my favorite color. I\u2019m not sure what my favorite color is, but he wasn\u2019t it.
\nBarley was (and still is) a black and white spotty, with lots of ticking. Spotties can be stunningly beautiful, but if they\u2019re heavily ticked they tend to look \u2026.. what\u2019s the word\u2026. Untidy? Not quite it, but it\u2019s close. Barley kind of had too many dots for my particular liking. I loved every dot on him, but he wasn\u2019t the Boyfriend. I was wooing other boys.<\/p>\n
I had an occasion to talk with our friendly bartenderess one day, and she said she\u2019d love to adopt one of my dogs because I loved them so much. Didn\u2019t matter which one, she simply wanted one of mine. I was delighted! I asked her about her family and their activities and what she was looking for. “Oh, I think I want a female. I have little children and we like to play outside. Color isn\u2019t important. Whoever you think will fit in will be wonderful.” With a smattering of experience in adoption, I did a mental scan through my adoptable girlies. One was already spoken for, and the rest were nut bags. Wonderful adorable nut bags, but not really the right fit for a home with little kids. Would she consider a male? “Oh sure! Whatever you think is best!” I homed in on Barley. This was the guy for her. Pretty much a great big pillow on legs. So I told her all about him, and she thought yes, this was her boy. We set up a date for her to come meet him, exchanged phone numbers, the whole works.<\/p>\n
She didn\u2019t show up, and she didn\u2019t call. I was annoyed, but things happen when there are little kids, so I hugged my Good Barley and told him not to worry. I\u2019d get him home. When I saw the bartenderess again, I asked what had happened and she said they wouldn\u2019t let her on the compound. Ok, I can fix that. Jim Gartland gave me permission to get her into my kennel and we set it up again. “Tell me more about him. Is he beautiful?” Of course he is. In fact, he\u2019s racing today. I\u2019ll point him out for you.<\/p>\n
“OOOOOOOH!”<\/p>\n
When she saw him in the post parade, she declared herself in love. He didn\u2019t win his race but he didn\u2019t do badly and she seemed enchanted with him from a distance. I was sure of this match. It was going to be perfect.<\/p>\n
And she didn\u2019t show up again. And didn\u2019t call. No matter what her excuse might be this time, I wasn\u2019t putting my dog in her house. It wasn\u2019t being angry with her, it was feeling that my dog wasn\u2019t important to her, and he had to be.
\nBut I saw him again in my own words, the ones I\u2019d told her. And I recalled things I\u2019d never said to her at all. And when I consoled him that second time, I made him my own. It\u2019s ok darlin\u2019. She doesn\u2019t know what she\u2019s missing. You\u2019ll just stay here with me and be my Good Barley. And that was fine with him.<\/p>\n
It was even finer with me. The more I pondered him, the more I found that I loved him. In his quiet and boring way, he was shnoogling his enormous self into Boyfriend status. “What a darling you are!” I told him one day. He agreed. He certainly was a darling and it was high time I figured it out.<\/p>\n
When I was in Kansas City, The Kennel Boyfriend would get a special playtime whenever I did a turnout. He was the one I would take out with me while I picked up the yards. All the rest of the dogs were in their beds, and my one (but not necessarily only) went out on a little “date”. Fun for me, fun for the Boyfriend. It got complicated when I had several Boyfriends, since I only took out one per turnout, but my boys were not jealous and they shared the time very well. So I knocked some letters off his Barley and turned him into Bar, left the Good intact (because he\u2019s a VERY good Bar) and there he was. My Goodbar. And out we went to pick up the poops.<\/p>\n
Oh my, what had gotten into my boring dog? He romped, he played, he spun circles around me and wiggled with delight. I leaned my tools against the fence and studied every ripple of his body. In an instant, this boring dog who wasn\u2019t my favorite color had become the most beautiful dog I\u2019d ever seen. It\u2019s what I tell people all the time and I\u2019d finally seen it happen. When you love the dog, it doesn\u2019t matter what he looks like. He\u2019s the prettiest dog there is.<\/p>\n
The next morning, I told Craig I wanted to adopt him. He promised to tell the Creekies the next time they called. He\u2019d already told me I could have pretty much any dog I wanted (as if having 66 of them in the kennel, where we practically live anyway, might not be enough for me). Goodbar was languishing in the lower grades, and would be sent out to another track if they had no reason to keep him there. An adoption is reason enough, and they agreed to let him stay for me while I tried to get a fence put up, and I cuddled my suddenly beautiful boy every time I had the chance. How could I have thought he was boring? How did I not see how gorgeous he was? I even started to love his registered name.<\/p>\n
“I Feel The Lurve!” I declared him at weigh-in, and there were chuckles all around because all the officials knew I was taking him home. Happy for me, happy for him.<\/p>\n
Finances were tight and I was really struggling to get a fence done. Damn things cost a bundle no matter how you do \u2018em, and I was sure the Creekies were getting impatient with me. Nobody had ever said so, but they couldn\u2018t be thrilled with my dragging feet. I knew that we needed to make room for some youngsters to come in. Craig scanned the kennel and made his list of the dogs that we\u2018d be sending out to other racing venues. He didn\u2019t say a word about my Goodbar, just left him off the “send” list and went on. My boy was still safe with me, but I was being unfair to my employers. The Creekies had treated me very very well. “Put him on the list. It\u2019s ok. Just please ask them to make sure he gets into a good adoption group when he retires.” Craig saw the tears in my eyes and said “well, let me see if we\u2019ll have room. We may be able to keep him.” Craig wasn\u2019t nearly as mushy about the dogs as I am, but he had his favorites too, and he understood my wanting to adopt. I had a decision to make. “No, he can shine at another track. It\u2019s too tough for him here. And I\u2019m not anywhere close to getting my fence up. If he grades off here, I won\u2019t be able to take him home. Please, send him.”<\/p>\n
Nod. Scribble. Goodbar was on the list.<\/p>\n
In the days that followed, I lavished cuddles on my darling boy. He didn\u2019t know why I was crying and my words wouldn\u2019t tell him. I traced his face with my fingers, to remember it forever. Every crease, every ridge, a sculpture in my hands. I love you. We almost got there, but somebody will love you even better than I do, I promise. I promise. And I don\u2019t even have to tell you to be a good boy because you\u2019re perfect.<\/p>\n
And then he was gone, with my tears on his sweet head.<\/p>\n
~B<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
by Betty Zubritsky There is no cast in granite way to pick a Kennel Boyfriend. Everywhere I\u2019ve been, farms and race kennels one and all, I\u2019ve always had at least one. Or two. Sometimes three or four. But never more … Continue reading