May 15, 2007
Who is Foo Face?
Foo Face has appeared in my blog before. He is our rescue dog, a Shih Tzu with a wonderfully calm, placid personality. (Family members have compared him to a mop).
Well, I'd love to know about the pet in your life, the family member who loves you without reservation, who leaves you surprises of vomit and worse, whose vet bills sometimes equal your house payment. Who is worth every dime, every paper towel, every stain. Unconditional love...money can't buy it.
We protect the privacy of the people close to us: in our blogs they appear under pseudonyms or initials or generics, such as hubby, or K1. But our pets don't need that kind of protection. Let's share! On your blog, would you post a picture, with a story if you're inspired? Can't wait!
So, Foo Face. He followed my daughter home at the beginning of one Labor Day weekend. He was covered with fleas from head to toe. He was a puppy, and no one had loosened his collar...so the buckle was embedded into a bloody wound in his neck. His silky fur was in dread locks. But his limpid brown eyes were very expressive, and he was so trusting. We immersed him in our tub and washed away the fleas, we took him to the vet for shots and a check up, and, despite ourselves, we fell in love. We were certain that he had been abandoned.
We were very surprised when a neighborhood girl, age 8 or so, came by looking for "my little white dog." I had the presence of mind to say, "have your mother call me, and I'll talk to her about whether we might have found your lost dog." When the mother called (she lived just 4 houses away!), I followed the advice of my shrewd neighbor across the street. I described how the dog was when we found him and said "I'm sure this can't be your dog, because you wouldn't treat a dog that way." There was nothing she could say.
So, we adopted him--we certainly weren't about to return him to his owners. We shared "custody" with my Mom, who lived a few miles away, and when he was with us we always walked him after dark, in a direction away from the neighbor's house. I felt bad about the little girl, because it wasn't her fault that her parents hadn't taught her how to care for a pet. But I suspected she wouldn't learn that lesson until she was older; she would learn it from someone other than her parents.
So Foo found his way into our home. He is very agreeable. It is as if his expectations are so low that he is always content. He didn't bark for the first year or so. Either his vocal cords were damaged, or it took him awhile to learn that it no longer hurt to bark. Slowly he learned to vocalize. It was really exciting to hear his first efforts, and to hear him when he finally accomplished a real bark! My mother died a few years ago, but Foo still enjoys joint custody: he goes back and forth from my home to my son's. And he is perfectly happy wherever he is. He has lots of siblings, too: 4 cats, and 3 chickens.
The picture of Foo above is a special family memory. Peter was carrying his plate of spaghetti from the stove to the dinner table, and he tripped. The spaghetti slipped clean off his plate, right onto Foo's head.