Pets I Have Known and Loved II
Dog: WhiskeyBreed: Golden Retriever (courtesy the Golden Retriever Club of America)
Length of time with Guglielminos: Several months
When we got Whiskey—who my father insists was male but I think was female—Mom was working as a social worker at a local hospital. Whiskey was young, and she didn't like being alone. We tried everything to placate her, from confining her in my parents' bedroom to leaving her outdoors. These were the old days, before our generation of plush dog crates and pink purses for toy poodles. Anyway, our brilliant solution was to leave her in our tiny pool cabana during the work day. Whiskey cried and barked, ultimately chewing her way through the cabana door. This dog met a particularly bad end, as my mother decided to drop her off near some farmland. Important lesson: Research the breed before getting the dog.
Dog: Coco Breed: Dauchsand
Length of time with Guglielminos: Several Years
This is an actual picture of Coco on the sofa in our den. At his previous home, he had spent most of his time confined to the basement with a cat. As a result he liked balancing his tiny feet on the backs of couches and rubbing up against our legs. When strangers came to the door, the hair on Coco's back stood on end. Like any self-respecting dauchsand, however, Coco burrowed under the covers at night and ate any food he could get his paws on. The best source of food was our garbage can. So we'd arrive home after an evening out to discover a path of discarded food with a hopping can at the end. Coco once jumped onto the dining room table and ate an entire stick of butter. He loved slipping out the front door and playing "hide and seek"; my mother and I would run after him, but as soon as he slowed up enough for us to catch him, he'd take off again. He was an entertaining little dog, but life changed drastically for him upon the arrival of his archenemy...
Dog: Kippy
Length of time with Guglielminos: Several Years
This is an actual picture of Coco on the sofa in our den. At his previous home, he had spent most of his time confined to the basement with a cat. As a result he liked balancing his tiny feet on the backs of couches and rubbing up against our legs. When strangers came to the door, the hair on Coco's back stood on end. Like any self-respecting dauchsand, however, Coco burrowed under the covers at night and ate any food he could get his paws on. The best source of food was our garbage can. So we'd arrive home after an evening out to discover a path of discarded food with a hopping can at the end. Coco once jumped onto the dining room table and ate an entire stick of butter. He loved slipping out the front door and playing "hide and seek"; my mother and I would run after him, but as soon as he slowed up enough for us to catch him, he'd take off again. He was an entertaining little dog, but life changed drastically for him upon the arrival of his archenemy...
Dog: Kippy Breed: West Highland White Terrier
Length of time with Guglielminos: Many years
Mom and Dad read about Kippy in the newspaper. He lived with elderly people who wanted to give him up. My parents had always wanted to adopt another Westie. When they were first married, they had a Westie named Dilly. He died young after he was diagnosed with epilespy just a few months after my birth. Kippy was jumpy; it was clear he had been abused. He had a number of strange habits, including obsessively licking his nose and chasing his tail. And he hated Coco. The two despised one another, and much barking and growling ensued. Coco fancied himself the alpha dog, and having Kippy in the house allowed him more flexibility in his manipulations. A few months after Kippy's arrival, someone started making mistakes on the carpet in my bedroom. I always suspected Coco, but Kippy always looked guilty.
In another mystery from my childhood, my mother found a young woman who had just divorced and wanted a little dog for her son. She and I took Coco to visit the boy and, as the story goes, the boy fell in love with Coco immediately. I wouldn't want to deny this poor boy a dog, would I? My mother asked. Thus ended Coco's tenure in our home.
I got over it, and Kippy and I became fast friends. I loved feeding him his awful-smelling pink dog food, which was supposed to look like chunks of raw meat. We went for walks, and I forgave him on the few occassions when he caught birds in the back yard and tried to bring them in the house. When I was 15, we moved from New Jersey to Massachusetts. In the confusion of moving, Kippy got lost in our new neighborhood. Mom and I drove all over the place, not knowing where we were going, but eventually we found the poor thing. He was as scared as I was, and after that he was always by my side. Kippy was a huge comfort at a time when I resented my parents and hated my new life.
Kippy was a mainstay of my high school years. He lived through the stresses of the New York Mets 1986 World Series Season, my on-and-off relationship with a crappy boyfriend, college applications and giggling teenagers, and more. When I went off to college at Haverford, I missed him terribly. During my first year, I couldn't wait for the holiday break so I could see him. I gave him lots of hugs and kisses. And then, a few weeks after I returned to school, Kippy died.
My parents were devastated. They had gone on a well-deserved vacation, and Kippy died at the kennel while they were away. I learned about it when I called home from a pay phone in the basement of Haverford's library. Mom couldn't stop crying, and she swore she'd never get another dog again.
Length of time with Guglielminos: Many years
Mom and Dad read about Kippy in the newspaper. He lived with elderly people who wanted to give him up. My parents had always wanted to adopt another Westie. When they were first married, they had a Westie named Dilly. He died young after he was diagnosed with epilespy just a few months after my birth. Kippy was jumpy; it was clear he had been abused. He had a number of strange habits, including obsessively licking his nose and chasing his tail. And he hated Coco. The two despised one another, and much barking and growling ensued. Coco fancied himself the alpha dog, and having Kippy in the house allowed him more flexibility in his manipulations. A few months after Kippy's arrival, someone started making mistakes on the carpet in my bedroom. I always suspected Coco, but Kippy always looked guilty.
In another mystery from my childhood, my mother found a young woman who had just divorced and wanted a little dog for her son. She and I took Coco to visit the boy and, as the story goes, the boy fell in love with Coco immediately. I wouldn't want to deny this poor boy a dog, would I? My mother asked. Thus ended Coco's tenure in our home.
I got over it, and Kippy and I became fast friends. I loved feeding him his awful-smelling pink dog food, which was supposed to look like chunks of raw meat. We went for walks, and I forgave him on the few occassions when he caught birds in the back yard and tried to bring them in the house. When I was 15, we moved from New Jersey to Massachusetts. In the confusion of moving, Kippy got lost in our new neighborhood. Mom and I drove all over the place, not knowing where we were going, but eventually we found the poor thing. He was as scared as I was, and after that he was always by my side. Kippy was a huge comfort at a time when I resented my parents and hated my new life.
Kippy was a mainstay of my high school years. He lived through the stresses of the New York Mets 1986 World Series Season, my on-and-off relationship with a crappy boyfriend, college applications and giggling teenagers, and more. When I went off to college at Haverford, I missed him terribly. During my first year, I couldn't wait for the holiday break so I could see him. I gave him lots of hugs and kisses. And then, a few weeks after I returned to school, Kippy died.
My parents were devastated. They had gone on a well-deserved vacation, and Kippy died at the kennel while they were away. I learned about it when I called home from a pay phone in the basement of Haverford's library. Mom couldn't stop crying, and she swore she'd never get another dog again.