Poodle Tales

 

 

 

Tony helped me resuscitate a memory from long past.  I was reading his post about his new puppy and a flood of poodle memories came into my forebrain.  Tonight I will drink a large beer and watch the Doberman pincher zombie dog scene from Resident Evil with a cat in my lap.  Maybe this will fully purge the poodle memories from my brain.

 

I admit it. 

When I was a kid my family had two poodles. 

But they weren’t real poodles; they were poodle mutts, mixed with cocker spaniels or some other such little yapping pooch.  Their names were Blossom and Rasputin.  I have no idea of the history of Blossom, where we got her or why.  But Rasputin I remember well.  My family was going to the beach; if I remember right it was Bodega bay near Santa Rosa California.  On the way to the beach we stopped at a flea market in Petaluma.  While at the flea market we ran across a little black fur-ball of a dog, it had a big belly and a curly tail like a pig.  My brother and I decided that we just had to take it home.  It was in a box with $5.00 written on the top in crayon.  I don’t remember how we did it, but somehow my brother and I talked my dad into buying the little creature. The rest of the day was a sample of how the rest of the dog’s life would play out.

 

On the way to the beach it took a little puppy dump under my mom’s seat.  So we let it out to explore the sandy beach while we played in the surf.  It got fleas and ate little crab like things on the beach.  On the way home we kept the little puppy (As yet un-named) in a miracle whip container in hopes of containing any bodily emissions.  It learned to throw-up over the side.  Little crab pieces and some kind of grass mixed with sand.

 

On the way home my dad chose to name him Rasputin.  He said it seemed appropriate but we didn’t get it. We ended up calling him Raspy because little boys always put a ‘y’ or ‘ie’ at the end of names.  Also when you call “Here Rasputin” It sounds kind of strange.  It also is hard to say real loud when your mouth is full.  Don’t ask.

 

I remember that Blossom was kind of a shy and quite dog that liked to sleep on people’s laps.  Rasputin on the other hand was a sick and twisted little scoundrel.  On the occasion that the front door wasn’t carefully closed he would chase after any dog that invaded our front yard.  It’s quite comical to see a little black poodle with a curly tail like a pig take off after a German Sheppard.  He would of course get his little ass kicked and come crying home, usually with teeth marks in his skull that we had to explain to the vet.  He would also try to hump all kinds of improbably sized dogs.  My Dad once saw him on top of a Doberman, humping the air.  When I say on top, I mean standing on the Dobermans back.

 

Both poodles, like most dogs, are really stupid.  Not dumb or ignorant, but stupid to the point of self destruction.  That’s why I like cats, curiosity may kill them but they won’t eat themselves to death.  You will never see a cat with a plastic cone on its head to keep it from licking its own fur and flesh off.  Cats won’t eat their own crap, and a cat won’t hump your leg.  Enough said.

 

My brother and I were told over and over again to make sure that the chairs were pushed in under the table.  This was a preventive measure to keep the dogs from climbing onto the table and eating everything.  And they would.  They would attempt to eat salt until it was gone if given half a chance. One busy morning someone forgot to push his chair all the way under the table.  I swear I do not know who.  Honest, Dad I don’t remember.  We had pancakes for breakfast so there was a cube of butter and an open bottle of syrup on the table.  A nearly full bottle and a nearly unused cube of butter were consumed while I was at school, by two poodles that couldn’t have weighed more that a dozen pounds between them.  Apparently the breakfast did not agree with the little doggie digestive tracks and they somehow couldn’t make it to the little doggies’ room.  The mess was epic in proportion.  The smell is how I would I imagine a maple dragon’s fart to smell.

 

My parents were not pleased.

 

I don’t know what ever happened to Blossom or Rasputin.  I am sure that once I made it into my teenage years and became distracted by everything outside of home I didn’t even notice them missing.  I hope they met with a peaceful end.  Blossom maybe, Rasputin doubtful. For a poodle he was a hell raiser.

 

Poodle memory <DNR>

 

 

-pf

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4 thoughts on “Poodle Tales

  1. caveblogem says:

    A maple dragon? WTF? Why does that make me laugh? I must be losing my mind.

  2. planetross says:

    I agree with caveblogem, a “Maple Dragon’s fart” is a very vivid expression. It brings back the odor of the leftover egg from making french toast that was made into scrambled eggs and used to mop up the syrup on the plate.

    except probably not the dog crap smell you experienced :)

  3. Tony says:

    Maple Dragon Fart, very descritive I can almost smell it now…. Gag Gag Gag!!!
    How Ironic, getting a dog from a FLEA market.
    Throwing up little crab pieces and some kind of grass mixed with sand. Just brings to mind a mental picture that just doesn’t sit well with me while having my coffee at 6am :)

  4. I have always been a cat person as well. Though I never had a dog, I had plenty of friends who did. I used to be in awe at the numerous, bizarre things that these pooches would do to them selves.

    Eat a light bulb and bleed all over the house? You bet.
    Eat a tin can and bleed all over the house? Naturally.
    Eat some strange, dead thing and puke it all over the house? But of course.

    My cats might not fetch, play ball or go running with me, but you know what? I’ll take litter box duty over walking with a baggie of hot, steamy poop any day.

    Great memory!

    -Turkish Prawn

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