From Jip, I learned loyalty. From Flick and Poika, I learned the importance of looking good. I learned family values from Igor; and from Jessie, I learned about unconditional love.
Jip was my Aunt Sena's dog. My aunt was the center of his universe. When she had the Cubs game on the radio, Jip listened, too. He would curl up next to her on the couch or drape himself across her feet. When the Cubs got a home run, Jip would bark. My aunt pointed out, "I clap for the same reason, so maybe he's just imitating me."
Jip felt safe that Aunt Sena wouldn't leave him as long as the game was on. Jip was a mixed-breed terrier who suffered from separation anxiety. Whenever my aunt was away, he wouldn't eat a thing. When my aunt returned, he would jump up and down for several minutes before making a beeline to his previously untouched food.
Flick and Poika belonged to Aunt Edith. An animal lover since her childhood on a farm in Sweden, she never was without her "furry kids." She had many dogs, cats and birds, but she favored poodles. Flick and Poika were adorable white miniatures whom only Aunt Edith could tell apart.
They were ordinary-looking dogs until they returned from the groomer. Then those scrubby canines would be transformed into adorable creatures with bows on their heads. I swear they looked more confident as they strutted around the room.
Igor, a brown and white springer spaniel, was never so well-groomed, but he did get as many stares as those poodles. He was born in Boston, where daughter No. 3 bought him as a present for her husband. Igor traveled with his owners to Italy and France, where he was a big hit.
Although Igor was never trained as a hunting dog, he liked to travel in large groups. Once after a weekend with friends on the island of Elba, off the coast of Italy, we went to the railroad station in Pisa to say goodbye to one of my daughter's friends. Igor was highly agitated. He paced back and forth, then stood on his hind legs when he saw the girl's face in the window as she was waving goodbye.
He obviously didn't want the pack to break up. To him, we had all become family and belonged together.
Jessie, a golden retriever, came to daughter No. 2 and her family in 1987. She had the sweetest disposition. She seldom barked and when she did it was because she saw another dog. It was probably her way of saying "hi." Her greatest joy, however, was being around people.
A watchdog, she was not. Jessie was busy trying to please everyone.
Oddly, all of these dogs who played such an important role in my life belonged to other people, proving that you don't have to be a dog owner to be touched by dogs.
The only dog in my own family wasn't around long enough to teach us much of anything, but maybe we taught her something. A little copper-colored bit of fluff, my brother and I named her Penny. I suspect that her short stay with us had something to do with her penchant for chewing on things - she was particularly fond of my father's shoes and socks - but my parents told us she had to go because my father had allergies.
My father found a man at work whose family of six children wanted a dog. They were mourning the loss of their collie and thought our little puppy could fill the void. I was happy that Penny would have the attention of six kids. She must have thought, "This is better than shoes!"
- LaVerne Hammond, who divides her time between Wisconsin and Florida, is an octogenarian at work on her memoirs. Write her in care of Seniority, St. Petersburg Times, P.O. Box 1121, St. Petersburg, FL 33731.
