Kids Need a Pet

As I got older, we had an occasional dog, but I really wasn't too involved with pets. I was soon going away to school and busy with sailing in the summer. After Robbie and I were married and had moved back to Kansas City, I decided it was time to get a dog for the kids. At least that was my story!

For some reason, I decided that the dog to get was a Newfoundland and started researching the breed. My good friend, Joanne Lyon, had shown dogs and was an expert on the subject. She advised me to get a purebred, for, as Joanne put it, "They don't eat any more than the mongrels." I took her advice and found Little Bear Kennels in Connecticut. On a business trip back East, I went to the Little Bear Kennels and bought a Newfoundland puppy we named Little Bear's Priscilla. Priscilla was a purebred, but she wasn't sold as a show dog, just a good pet puppy.

In those days you could bring a small dog in the cabin of the plane with you and carry it in your lap. There's nothing cuter than a Newfoundland puppy. Everyone on TWA had to stop by to pet Priscilla and “ooh” and “aah” over her. I remember we made it without a bathroom incident.

Watching a Newfoundland grow is like watching one of those time delay movies—you can almost see it happen. It wasn't long before Priscilla was over one hundred pounds and a loving, loyal, and resourceful dog. Because of her size, most people were afraid of her, but the only damage Priscilla ever would have done to anyone would be to lick them to death. She was the world's friendliest dog.

I took Priscilla to a local Newfoundland breeder to have her groomed, and he asked if he could take her to the dog show in St. Louis the following week. I didn't see any harm in it, so off she went. Lo and behold, she came back top Newfoundland in the show. This was remarkable, as young dogs seldom win best of breed.

In order to become a champion, a dog must accumulate fifteen AKC points in at least three different shows before three different judges. Priscilla already had a big step up the ladder with this win, so we let the breeder show her in shows over the next six months and finish her championship. She could now be called Champion Little Bear's Priscilla. Regrettably, we never saw her shown.

Priscilla moved to Aspen with us. She relished the cold weather there. I built a pen for her across the street from the office, but as the snow would come down, she would pack it until she could step over the fence and head for the Red Onion, a local restaurant, where they always had a handout for her. In fact, Priscilla became a great favorite of the animal control people and the fines became serious, doubling each time.

We were living in a Chateau Roaring Fork apartment and we fed Priscilla on the balcony just outside our front door. Sometimes we'd come home at night and find that the tourists staying in the building had left as many as 5 doggie bags next to her bowl. She became a very fat Newfoundland.

From doggie bag gifts, she progressed to carrying her bowl in her mouth and visiting the adjoining apartments, scratching on the doors. Imagine opening your door and seeing a big happy Newfoundland outside, holding an empty bowl in her mouth—how could you resist giving her a treat?

Priscilla was coal black and blended in with the asphalt pavement of the Chateau Eau Clair where we had moved, and one tragic day a tourist ran over her. It was a sad, sad day, and I think of her still.

I had never been much of a cat lover, but when we were living in Kansas City the kids brought home a stray cat and named her Carmel. Someone once told me that thousands of years ago, cats were worshipped as gods, and they've never forgotten it. Carmel, if not worshipped, was certainly loved. She was an affectionate cat and would even come when called. She got along with Priscilla just fine.

Carmel hated riding in the car. On our move to Aspen, we had a long drive ahead of us, so we sedated Carmel to make it possible for her to tolerate the trip. We stopped for the night at a motel in Denver and let Carmel out to do her duty. Unfortunately, she wandered off and we couldn't find her. We spent half the night roaming the streets looking for her, posted notices, and asked the people at the motel to please let us know when she turned up. Disconsolately, we had to leave the next morning as the kids had to start school in Aspen.

That evening we got a phone call that Carmel had been hit by a car and killed. Undoubtedly, she was so drugged up she didn't know where she was or what she was doing. I never thought I would mourn the loss of a cat, but I did mourn the loss of Carmel.