Thunderstruck!

Yup! Thunderstruck...that was me, Bridget & Flanagan's Mommy to be. The instant I laid my eyes on them, I fell in love with them. You might think they didn't know that, of course. But, I like to think they did. I know we were destined to be a family.

They were beautiful chow chow pups. Exactly what I was hoping for. Flanagan is the one that made me notice them, right away. He's an adorable cream colored chow mix sharing a small crowded box with 2 black chow mix siblings. It's hard to see where one black pup starts and the other ends. I think if all 3 of these pups had been black, I would have kept scrolling through the pages. Not because I don't like black chows, but because they were so black that they blended into one.. just a solid black ball of fluff. As if knowing that they wouldn't be noticed, Flanagan stands somewhat above his sisters, a paw on each sister and a comical, goofy smile on his adorable face, announcing to the world that these guys are special and will be more fun than a barrel of monkeys. Who could resist that? Not me, no sireeee!



Maybe because they appeared, almost magically, on a rescue shelter website. A website that I must have visited a bazillion times a day. They weren't there when I did my last, nightly check.. something made me check again. Instead of 17 pages of beautiful, homeless dogs, there were now 18 pages. All of them waiting, wanting and hoping for the same thing. A home of their own to, forever more, wag their tail. A home with a Mommy and Daddy who would never, ever cease to be absolutely delighted at the sight of happy, tail waggin' balls of fluff. Every day I would see the same hopeful faces. And new faces, too. Big, beautiful, pleading eyes are the first thing you notice. Your eyes drift to the brief biographies. The shelter volunteers trying to give each needy dog some bit of uniqueness. Something that will touch some body's heart.

Of course, the stories are the same for all the dogs. Oh, sure, the circumstances differ, but the sad story is...somebody failed them, somebody once loved them, maybe. Well, the lucky ones. Lots have never known love until they land in this shelter.



You read the silly names that tired, overworked volunteers give them. Not an easy thing, choosing a name. Not when there are 300 dogs here and many more to come. They try and give the many litters of dumped pups theme names. Maybe they all begin with the same letter. Plenty of Sally's, Suzie's and Sam's and Dolly's, Daisy's and Darling's. Sometimes they aim for cute and end up with a litter of sweet, tiny pups named after candy bars and sweet treats. M &M and Snicker's litter seemed to be headed that way but went off in a crazy direction. No more candy names so they veered off into the same first letter theme and added Melanie and Mischief. Too many pups in this litter, so Snickers was not only a candy bar sibling, she was also a same first letter sibling when they paired her with little Sadie. That took care of all the girls. What to name the only boy? Again taking , yet, another route they must have decided that he was not only one way cool pup but probably the little leader, the top dog, of this hapless pack, because as fast as you can say WHOA, this little guy named Fonzie will simply be known as The Fonz! Aaay!

Then there are the easy pairs, plenty of Milly's & Molly's and your Frick's and Frack's.

By then you begin to see this pattern and then, slowly, it dawns on you that there are other, sadder, patterns emerging. You can see by the names that they have even sadder stories. The ones who come by their name by where they were found, or the day of the week they arrive at the shelter. Plenty of Highway's, Meadow's and Sunday's and Friday's, too. Or worst, the ones who get named after a handicap, injury or cruelness done to them. Yes, I've seen lots of BB's and Bucks, short for Buckshot.

I'm not, exactly, sure where the shelter staff was going when they named my Bridget and Flanagan. But I have a theory. They named them Tahoe, (Flanagan) Julep (Bridget) and the lone sister pup, Ash. Yeah, it did break my heart to leave one behind. More on leaving sweet Ash and the theory, later.

And you want to take all of them home, every last one of them. Every one of them deserves it and it breaks your heart knowing that you can't save all of these dogs, the cute one's, the pretty one's and, yes, even the less than pretty one's, the young and the old and everything in between.



Next you see the date of birth, which is really just an approximate, D.O.B. And that's when you notice how long some of the dogs have been here. Some for years. Yes. Years.

The wonderful volunteer's never give up on them. Never refuse to take them in, either. No matter the condition, medical or otherwise. You find this fact amazing. And you realize that there, really, are Angels amongst us. If that is not magical enough, this is when I have my very own, personal magic moment.

I see the date of birth. It is the same date of birth of my beloved, late mother, Maureen. I can hardly believe it. But there it is standing out as if to tell me "Hey, just in case my goofy grin, playful antics and all around adorableness don't rope you in, check out the birthday!" I know, OK? I know what you're thinking. This is an approximate, D.O.B., right? Uumm, no.

Not for me. I know, in my heart, that it is not approximate.

I know that my Mom had a hand in this. How do I know, you ask? She knew that I was sad and feeling heartbroken. She knew why. You see, we lost our beautiful boy, Toby, in February (there's that month again). He was old and he was sick. Just plain, tuckered out tired, too. He was 14 years and 7 months old and the awful day, that we had long dreaded, had come to let our beautiful boy go. Hard, real hard, but we owed it to Toby. Oh, how he loved us! Mommy and Daddy. In exchange for that love, we promised to take care of him, always. Even when it breaks our heart.

I held him in my arms while Daddy kissed his sweet face, now old and riddled with gray, but beautiful, just the same. I gently whispered in his ear, "Toby, run, run to the gate....yes, you can run, once again". gently stroking and trying to hide my tears. "There will be no more pain, nothing but fun filled days". "Yes, fun, Tibby's there". "Your dear, sweet, litter mate brother, Tibby". "He's waiting for you at the gate". "Give Tibby a scritch for Mommy and daddy". More gentle stroking. "Wait for us, my darlin' baby boy, Toby." "You be a good boy and wait for us". "Soon, you'll look up and Mommy and Daddy will be there, too". "And then we'll all run through the gate, together again".



Yes, there once was two. We lost dear, sweet Tibby on March 18, 2006. He was 12 years and eight months old. He still had the same playful antics of a puppy. We didn't know he was sick. He spent his last day playing with Toby and me. Lots of snuggling, too. He greeted his Daddy, just home from work that afternoon, with his usual grand enthusiasm and much tail waggin'.

He ate his favored treat, a Slim Jim (aka "Slimmy Jimmy's") with gusto after eagerly and not quite, patiently, anticipating this 3 pm, sharp, daily gift from his Daddy. Later on that night Mommy gave him another favorite treat. His "nighty night, kitchen closed" chocolate chip cookie.

At about midnight he acted strange. Not in a very obvious way, just, somehow, off. I knew something was definitely not right with my boy. We rushed him to the 24 hour animal hospital, all the while thinking this was an emergency, sure... but the type of emergency that could be fixed. OMG! Please, please let it be fixable! We were stunned to hear that he had a mass and he was bleeding internally. Our only hope, and it was a small hope, was surgery. We hugged and kissed Tibby and told him what a good boy he was and that we would be right back, we would see him, soon. It was not to be. The vet called and told us that Tibby was bleeding to death and we needed to love him enough to not only try to save him, but to let him go, as well.



Tibby and Toby came into our life when they were just 10 days old. We got a call asking us if we could rescue 2 chow chow pups. They needed round the clock bottle feeding. Mommy and Daddy took shifts, with Nana Maureen filling in when needed. They were on the large side for 10 day old pups, Puppies from another planet, I remember thinking. Blind and helpless. With just a slight bit of hesitation, we quickly agreed to the job. We misunderstood, we thought we were being asked to foster the pups. When I arrived at the home of the mother dog, I asked when do we bring them back? Only to be told that they were ours to keep. No hesitation this time. For I had already locked eyes with them, quickly scooping them into my arms. Sigh... it was love at first sight. And, as it turned out, just as well that the mother dog's owner didn't expect them back. It would be a mighty big crowbar, indeed, to pry these babies out of my arms...it would be impossible to find something, anything, no matter how large or strong , to take them from my heart. And, if by chance there were, Nana Maureen would be all the reinforcements needed. Oh, she was a fierce protector. Nobody, but nobody, would ever harm those pups, and in doing so, would gravely cause harm to my heart. Something she could never abide.



Maureen was a lady and a helluva broad and I miss her every single day. She was my mother. She was my best friend. She was also my biggest fan. She adored me and from my earliest memories I was very aware of that adoration. Not sure I always deserved it, but..OH! Man, I just it ate it up! I miss her, terribly, every single day. Even Tibby and Toby were beside themselves with grief when she was gone. In fact, it was Tibby and Toby that finally made me see that her death was real, that it wasn't some horrible nightmare that I would, soon, awake from.

She lived in the small cottage on the same lot as ours. She could look out her back bedroom window into our yard where Tibby and Toby played. She was in and out of my home all day long. Even when she was in a hurry, she came to our gate first, to greet Tibby and Toby who were jumping up and almost over the gate to say hello to her. It was a daily ritual and she was as happy to see them as they were to see Nana Maureen. They didn't stop waiting at the gate for seven months. It broke my heart all over again.



She once asked me, teasingly, who did I love the most, her or Tibby and Toby. I just smiled and didn't answer her. She smiled a knowing, wry smile, never to ask again. So you see, if it weren't for the first 2 pups, Tibby & Toby there would be no new lucky Chow Chow pups, Bridget & Flanagan.



Maureen's middle name was Bridget. She loved that name. Sorry for her that none of her kids shared any fondness for the name. I don't have kids, but I gotta admit...I also told her ixnay on the Bridget name, if I did. Tee hee. Funny how I now see it as a lovely, lovely name. Sigh.
In honor of Maureen I gave them both one of her names. Bridget was her middle name and Flanagan was her maiden name. She would be thrilled. Actually, I think she IS thrilled. After all, what makes this so magical is knowing she had a loving hand in it. I believe that. I, truly, do.



I started this blog as a fun way to watch my pups grow. Bridget DID say that they would be more fun than a barrel of monkey's. I don't know about the monkeys but they sure are devilish.

Coming up: How to make them ours.