I’m flying to Oregon tomorrow. Husband is choosing to stay home as #1 caregiver for Paddy dog, our special child still at home. This month Paddy celebrated his tenth birthday. In December 1999 Tilly, our second border collie died. I said no more dogs. Then I said no dogs until spring. Husband still took me to the kennels and even to the humane society. Those people really freaked me out.
We filled out all the adoption papers, answered a gazillion questions and then those people—I call them “those people” rather than other names—turned husband down. Said he wasn’t a good candidate to adopt because his dog had just died after ten years.
When we left there I thought husband might forget the dog getting, but he didn’t. The next day I called our daughter in Oregon after work. We were chatting away when a horrible ruckus took place on the front porch.
“Mom, what’s that noise?”
“Must be the neighbor kids selling something.” I let husband answer the door. In bounded three adorable border collie pups. One merle colored, one black and then this yellow fur ball with black patches, yes, that was Paddy Awfulous O’Reilly’s entrance into our home. He came straight from a pig farm. He’d rolled in so much farm stuff he smelled a fright and looked a deep tan/yellow cream colored. The owner gave us a Christmas discount when I continued to say “no dog.”
Husband gave Paddy three baths before he cleaned up real pretty.
Paddy’s smart as a whip. He shakes hands with both paws, plays dead, sits up, tells us where the cookies are and can spell forwards and backwards. He opens the door to let himself out and he also says his prayers. He’s also my protector.
Paddy is also smart enough to know when you enter a hospital you keep your yap shut. In December 2002 when husband was fading fast, our family doctor said to call our children from Oregon, “I’m not sure Gary will make it through the weekend.” That’s when I decided a paddy visit might stir husband from the pits. I asked my friend Jean to help me and prince that Paddy is, he walked through the hospital like a Champ winning Best of Show.
There are many reports about animal therapy, but I’m here to tell you, puppy visits aren’t always as beautiful as portrayed in the movies. Husband freaked when he saw Paddy. He grabbed his stomach and kept saying, “No! Paddy, No!” Afraid he’d have a ball of fur in his lap.
The good news is, we brought husband home from that hospital and he and Paddy still live in my house. I’m sorry husband isn’t traveling with me, but I love our Paddy dog and understand that he and his master need each other. The other really good news is, my visit to the hospital this month was only an overnighter. My cancer isn’t rare like husband’s pseudomyxoma peritonei. Hopefully, I won’t need a Paddy visit, I’ll manage all treatment from home. For that I’m so very grateful.
We filled out all the adoption papers, answered a gazillion questions and then those people—I call them “those people” rather than other names—turned husband down. Said he wasn’t a good candidate to adopt because his dog had just died after ten years.
When we left there I thought husband might forget the dog getting, but he didn’t. The next day I called our daughter in Oregon after work. We were chatting away when a horrible ruckus took place on the front porch.
“Mom, what’s that noise?”
“Must be the neighbor kids selling something.” I let husband answer the door. In bounded three adorable border collie pups. One merle colored, one black and then this yellow fur ball with black patches, yes, that was Paddy Awfulous O’Reilly’s entrance into our home. He came straight from a pig farm. He’d rolled in so much farm stuff he smelled a fright and looked a deep tan/yellow cream colored. The owner gave us a Christmas discount when I continued to say “no dog.”
Husband gave Paddy three baths before he cleaned up real pretty.
Paddy’s smart as a whip. He shakes hands with both paws, plays dead, sits up, tells us where the cookies are and can spell forwards and backwards. He opens the door to let himself out and he also says his prayers. He’s also my protector.
Paddy is also smart enough to know when you enter a hospital you keep your yap shut. In December 2002 when husband was fading fast, our family doctor said to call our children from Oregon, “I’m not sure Gary will make it through the weekend.” That’s when I decided a paddy visit might stir husband from the pits. I asked my friend Jean to help me and prince that Paddy is, he walked through the hospital like a Champ winning Best of Show.
There are many reports about animal therapy, but I’m here to tell you, puppy visits aren’t always as beautiful as portrayed in the movies. Husband freaked when he saw Paddy. He grabbed his stomach and kept saying, “No! Paddy, No!” Afraid he’d have a ball of fur in his lap.
The good news is, we brought husband home from that hospital and he and Paddy still live in my house. I’m sorry husband isn’t traveling with me, but I love our Paddy dog and understand that he and his master need each other. The other really good news is, my visit to the hospital this month was only an overnighter. My cancer isn’t rare like husband’s pseudomyxoma peritonei. Hopefully, I won’t need a Paddy visit, I’ll manage all treatment from home. For that I’m so very grateful.
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