I have dedicated a post to my Chesapeake, Chester — this one goes out to Olive, my darling 11 year old Boston Terrier.
Olive came into my life with a history. She spent her first four years in a puppy mill. She was only put out for adoption after the vet who delivered her last batch of puppies, by cesarean, decided to spay her in the process. This was Olive’s fourth litter in as many years. The vet felt she had done enough.
Where this was perhaps a gift to Olive, I’m fairly certain the kennel she whelped for didn’t share that sentiment. We were told the moment those puppies were weaned Olive was given a lift to the Boston Terrier Rescue. This is where her journey toward me began.
The story has a complicated beginning: My eldest daughter had a four year old Boston named Stella at the time. Like anyone who loves a Boston, she felt if one was fun two would be even funner. She started to search rescue sites for a friend for Stella. She located Olive in Oregon.
I would be remiss not to dedicate a paragraph or two to Stella at this point. Stella was adorable – tiny even by Boston standards and spoilt as only a tiny, adorable, only dog can be. She was perfectly trained to do anything she wanted and everyone thought she was brilliant.
I don’t think Stella was in the market for a sister – her life was just about as perfect as it could be. It was her mother who wanted the second child. You may have an inkling of where this story is headed – you are probably guessing that Stella and Olive’s bonding experience didn’t go as planned – and you’d be right. It’s a fairly long and bloody story (I may write about that another time) – the Coles notes are; Olive ended up coming to live with Gramma.
And here she has stayed. Olive and I are bonded in the fashion of old lady friends – we are both a little crotchety, both a little opinionated and neither of us suffer fools very gladly. Olive has little use for other dogs (just ask Chester), but she is awfully sweet with all the little girls in her charge. She and I LOVE those grand daughters.
Like all dogs, Olive ‘feels’ the emotions of those around her. She has a deep sense of empathy for those she loves. If I’m ever upset she shows up, out of the blue, and tries to comfort me (for about a minute and a half — if her kisses haven’t fixed me by then Olive disappears — she can take only so much stress before she starts seeing spots), Olive and I are ‘connected’.
Sometimes I feel badly that I don’t know anything about her first four years – I lose sight of the fact she has had seven years of bliss since then. I’m sure she doesn’t give the first four much of a thought anymore. I am thankful every day that her path lead straight to my heart.
As I mentioned above, Olive and I are ‘connected’. She always knows exactly how I feel, and I always know exactly what she’s thinking.
Like just yesterday Olive and I we were out for a walk and spotted some clutter on the edge of someone’s front lawn. She checked out the debris and instantly thought to me, “Awww, their hamster died”
And then, not far from the clutter, she noticed something more ominous at the end of their driveway.
She investigated further. Sniffing the flattened collar, she looked up at me and thought loud and clear; “I’m not even going to tell you what happened to their dog!”
yup — we’re very connected.
Comments (1)
As always, love your stories.