By Peggy Frezon
Having a sister is like having a best friend you can't get rid of. You know whatever you do, they'll still be there.
~Amy Li
There comes a time in most couples' lives to decide about children: When? How many? How far apart? In the same way, the time had come for us to make a decision about pets. Should we welcome another dog into our family?
Having a sister is like having a best friend you can't get rid of. You know whatever you do, they'll still be there.
~Amy Li
There comes a time in most couples' lives to decide about children: When? How many? How far apart? In the same way, the time had come for us to make a decision about pets. Should we welcome another dog into our family?
"Wouldn't Hudson like a sibling?" I asked my husband one day, looking down at our older, and I was sure, lonely yellow Lab.
"I think Hudson believes one dog is enough," Mike answered diplomatically.
"But he must get lonesome. He needs a friend." I tried to make my best pleading puppy-dog-eyes at Mike. Mike shot me a doubtful look.
Eventually, Mike warmed to the idea. We brought home a silky little mixed breed from the rescue shelter. Her name was Kelly. Part Cocker Spaniel and part longhaired Dachshund, we guessed she was about eight months old.
"Here you go Hudson," I said, setting the wiggly pup gently on the rug. "A little sister."
Hudson studied her for a moment. He put his big yellow nose down to her face. Kelly looked up with big innocent eyes. Then, quick as a viper, she curled her lips, growled and snapped.
Mike lifted Kelly away. "No! No growling!"
"And no biting," I added.
Later, I knelt next to Kelly and gently stroked her soft fur. She'd been in a shelter and was probably frightened by all the changes. I hoped she'd soon feel a part of the family. And she did. In the following weeks she jumped and played in the backyard, bounded after a ball, and claimed the best spot at the foot of our bed. She followed Mike around the house. She even jumped on the back of the couch and draped herself around my neck like a scarf. But with Hudson? Although she never growled or snapped at him again, she didn't play with him the way we'd hoped. She never chased him or frolicked like most dogs. In fact, when she did pay attention to him, she bossed him around and took his toys. If she was a sister to Hudson at all, it seemed she was a bratty little sister.
One day I opened the back door to let the dogs out. Kelly pushed past Hudson to be the first one out. Later, I offered them doggie treats. First Kelly. But as soon as I gave a treat to Hudson, she dropped hers and grabbed Hudson's biscuit right out of his mouth. I sighed. If there were two chew toys, she'd end up with both. Two bowls of food. She ate both. She even tried to drink all Hudson's water. Worse, whenever we went to pat Hudson, Kelly sprinted from across the room and nipped at our hands.
"No, Kelly," I said. "Hudson deserves some loving too." Not to be ignored, Kelly plunked down close by. Poor Hudson. What could I do? Kelly's behavior stumped me. Perhaps it had to do with the fundamental differences between the two dogs. Hudson was big on brawn and a little short on brain. He loped happily around the house, his main goal to please us for the mere reward of a pat on the head. Kelly, however, was cute and little with delicate paws and flowing long hair that looked like a fancy gown. Somehow she got the idea that she was queen. Poor Hudson seemed only to be a serf in her fiefdom. We did all we could to discourage her bossy behavior. We separated their food and water bowls. We took Hudson on walks and gave him extra attention. We slipped him treats in secret. Still, as much as we loved both dogs, I felt guilty. Hudson was there first. Did he really deserve this interloper?
"I'm afraid my idea backfired," I finally admitted. "Kelly hasn't been much fun for Hudson at all."
One day Hudson was more lethargic than usual. I could tell he didn't feel well. He just sniffed at his food and plunked down in the corner. When we took him to the vet, they wanted to keep him overnight for observation and a few tests. That evening, Kelly wasn't herself. She curled up on the floor with her head between her paws. She didn't eat her dinner, but just looked at her bowl, then Hudson's, and walked away.
"Maybe she's sick too," I worried.
Early the next morning, the veterinarian called. All the tests were negative. Hudson was going to be fine and we could bring him home. When we got home and let Hudson in the door, Kelly pushed her way between us and made little circles around our legs. Typical. But then she bounded over to Hudson and rubbed her face against his neck. She wagged so hard her whole body wiggled and she even licked his face. Our mouths hung open as we watched.
"What do you make of that?" Mike asked. I laughed. But then it all made sense.
"It's like when I was a kid, and my brother went off to camp. I thought I couldn't wait for him to go. But when he was gone, I discovered I missed him after all," I said.
It seemed that Kelly had room in her heart for Hudson after all. Over the next few weeks I occasionally noticed Kelly following Hudson or lying down beside him. One night I even saw her licking his face. Hudson responded with gentle acceptance. The more I watched them, the more I noticed moments of interaction. Sometimes Kelly was jealous and bossy and other times she was affectionate and loving, but they were bonded together as part of a family. In that way, just as I'd hoped, Hudson did get a true little sister.
"I think Hudson believes one dog is enough," Mike answered diplomatically.
"But he must get lonesome. He needs a friend." I tried to make my best pleading puppy-dog-eyes at Mike. Mike shot me a doubtful look.
Eventually, Mike warmed to the idea. We brought home a silky little mixed breed from the rescue shelter. Her name was Kelly. Part Cocker Spaniel and part longhaired Dachshund, we guessed she was about eight months old.
"Here you go Hudson," I said, setting the wiggly pup gently on the rug. "A little sister."
Hudson studied her for a moment. He put his big yellow nose down to her face. Kelly looked up with big innocent eyes. Then, quick as a viper, she curled her lips, growled and snapped.
Mike lifted Kelly away. "No! No growling!"
"And no biting," I added.
Later, I knelt next to Kelly and gently stroked her soft fur. She'd been in a shelter and was probably frightened by all the changes. I hoped she'd soon feel a part of the family. And she did. In the following weeks she jumped and played in the backyard, bounded after a ball, and claimed the best spot at the foot of our bed. She followed Mike around the house. She even jumped on the back of the couch and draped herself around my neck like a scarf. But with Hudson? Although she never growled or snapped at him again, she didn't play with him the way we'd hoped. She never chased him or frolicked like most dogs. In fact, when she did pay attention to him, she bossed him around and took his toys. If she was a sister to Hudson at all, it seemed she was a bratty little sister.
One day I opened the back door to let the dogs out. Kelly pushed past Hudson to be the first one out. Later, I offered them doggie treats. First Kelly. But as soon as I gave a treat to Hudson, she dropped hers and grabbed Hudson's biscuit right out of his mouth. I sighed. If there were two chew toys, she'd end up with both. Two bowls of food. She ate both. She even tried to drink all Hudson's water. Worse, whenever we went to pat Hudson, Kelly sprinted from across the room and nipped at our hands.
"No, Kelly," I said. "Hudson deserves some loving too." Not to be ignored, Kelly plunked down close by. Poor Hudson. What could I do? Kelly's behavior stumped me. Perhaps it had to do with the fundamental differences between the two dogs. Hudson was big on brawn and a little short on brain. He loped happily around the house, his main goal to please us for the mere reward of a pat on the head. Kelly, however, was cute and little with delicate paws and flowing long hair that looked like a fancy gown. Somehow she got the idea that she was queen. Poor Hudson seemed only to be a serf in her fiefdom. We did all we could to discourage her bossy behavior. We separated their food and water bowls. We took Hudson on walks and gave him extra attention. We slipped him treats in secret. Still, as much as we loved both dogs, I felt guilty. Hudson was there first. Did he really deserve this interloper?
"I'm afraid my idea backfired," I finally admitted. "Kelly hasn't been much fun for Hudson at all."
One day Hudson was more lethargic than usual. I could tell he didn't feel well. He just sniffed at his food and plunked down in the corner. When we took him to the vet, they wanted to keep him overnight for observation and a few tests. That evening, Kelly wasn't herself. She curled up on the floor with her head between her paws. She didn't eat her dinner, but just looked at her bowl, then Hudson's, and walked away.
"Maybe she's sick too," I worried.
Early the next morning, the veterinarian called. All the tests were negative. Hudson was going to be fine and we could bring him home. When we got home and let Hudson in the door, Kelly pushed her way between us and made little circles around our legs. Typical. But then she bounded over to Hudson and rubbed her face against his neck. She wagged so hard her whole body wiggled and she even licked his face. Our mouths hung open as we watched.
"What do you make of that?" Mike asked. I laughed. But then it all made sense.
"It's like when I was a kid, and my brother went off to camp. I thought I couldn't wait for him to go. But when he was gone, I discovered I missed him after all," I said.
It seemed that Kelly had room in her heart for Hudson after all. Over the next few weeks I occasionally noticed Kelly following Hudson or lying down beside him. One night I even saw her licking his face. Hudson responded with gentle acceptance. The more I watched them, the more I noticed moments of interaction. Sometimes Kelly was jealous and bossy and other times she was affectionate and loving, but they were bonded together as part of a family. In that way, just as I'd hoped, Hudson did get a true little sister.
http://www.chickensoup.com
This story has the wrong title. It should be A Little Sister for Hudson. Apparently, when you cut and pasted, you duplicated the other article from author down. I noted the correct text and author (Sherry Poff) when I saw this article without a title. That page is: http://gyg-coolteacher2.blogspot.com/2012/09/by-sherry-poff-i-cannot-forget-my-mother.html Note: You used the first line of text in the title.
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