When he was four years old, Prince had an arranged "affair" with a friend's female poodle. And 4 months later we brought home his son, Peppy. When Peppy arrived in his little cardboard box, Prince seemed more excited than we'd ever seen him. We presented him with his son, and he was the best "father." I swear, if he could have, he would have even "nursed" the new pup. As it was, he watched him, keeping Peppy out of any danger when playing, sat by his little crate when he was sleeping, and potty trained him when he was able to go outside. It was so cute, Peppy got the message, but not the method. Prince would stop to lift a leg and "go" and Peppy would lift his leg on his daddy's and "go!"

Both dogs were members of our family for many years. Ill health was never a problem, except for a short time, when Prince suffered a few grand mal siezures and frightened us all. The advise of his vet was to have Prince euthanized, our answer was an emphatic "no." With medication, he recovered and led a normal life. I weaned him off this steroid after 90 days, and no more siezures occured. So, whatever had happened must have been a temporary health problem? At the end of his days, Prince suffered from congestive heart failure. He died as gracefully as he lived. The last weeks we shared were normal during the days, but at night Prince would awake several times throughout the night with spells of coughing. I would sleep beside him, on the floor, comforting him and trying to soothe him back into slumber.

On Prince's last night with me, he began to cough so hard that there was blood in the frothy phlem he expectorated. And I called his vet. Due to the late hour, perhaps, and Prince's age his lifelong veteranarian refused to see him. It broke my heart when he told me, "he is an old sick dog, let him die now." A few months shy of 17 years old, Prince had remained able to do all his normal activities, which were at his own slow pace. His only problem was the nocturnal coughing. I was not yet ready to give up on him!

I began calling every vet in the phonebook. And at 2:00 am in the morning, I found a vet willing to come to his office and examine Prince. When we arrived, Prince walked in by himself, during the initial examination X-rays were taken, and oxygen was administered. As we waited for the results of the X-rays, Prince was able to go outside and go potty, under his own steam. An hour or so later, the vet came to speak with us. He asked more questions about Prince's health history. And was amazed that he had had shown no significant health problems.

He showed us the X-rays, and explained that there was a congenital birth defect that had collapsed 50% of Prince's heart. The vet was amazed that this dog had led a long and normal life. But the present problems were caused because his heart was in failure, and kidney function was diminishing also. We were asked to leave Prince there, and treatment would be attempted to stablize the problems. Had I expected it would be the last time I would see Prince alive, I might have asked to stay. But we had been there most of the night, and I felt we had asked enough of this kind man.

Leaving with a heavy heart, I kissed and embraced Prince, telling him I loved him, and that I would be back later. We left for home, and I collapsed into slumber on the livingroom sofa soon after we arrived. I must have slept very deeply for several hours. But I was awakened by a huge impact, and blackness before my eyes, as I bolted up into a sitting position. "He's gone!" was all I could say. I grabbed the telephone and called the vet immediately. "I was just going to call you" he said. "Prince passed away minutes ago....he never laid down all the while he was here, until he died."

I wept as if I'd lost a child. And in the days to follow, I was haunted by my promise to be back to get Prince. Even when I went to collect his remains after he was creamated, I could feel no real closure. I kept feeling that Prince was lost, and wanting me. I kept repeating for him to come home to me. I needed to know he was with me again. And several weeks later, as I lay sleeping I had a dream. Or was it real?

At the foot of my bed was an alcove in the wall. It was there that I had placed Prince's ashes, and his picture. That night I had fallen alseep with the nightlight on, looking at the little shrine to my lost friend. Thinking of him, and missing him, asking again for him to "come home." In my dreams I saw him, as in the picture at the foot of the bed...and he began to come toward me slowly. Floating closer and closer until he was just above my chest. And then he descended slowly unto me, and in the instant we touched he vanished! But I awoke with a jerk, feeling a warmth upon me and knew beyond a doubt. Prince had found me, and would be with me, in my heart, forever. From then on, I was at peace.

When it was time to select a name for Prince's son, we had put several names on pieces of paper and then pulled one from the group. That's how Peppy got his name. But the name was an apt one, for he was a lively pup. He traveled through his first year learning quickly from his papa dog. And seemed to be growing like a weed. He surpassed his father in size, despite the fact that his mother had been a small minature. We often wondered how he grew so tall? But Peppy was missing something very important to every dog. When his tail was cropped as a newborn, the inexperienced breeder didn't allow for the fact that tails don't grow like the rest of the body. He cut the tail so short that Peppy went through his life with only a one inch stub! But he managed to wag it enthusiastically. He played well with Prince, and was fairly polite. He was much higher spirited, and was more of a "traveling pooch." My sister took him with her as she went to visit friends or shop. Peppy was her pet, in the beginning. He slept in her room, and he grew attached to her. But a time came when she left home to live with my brother in another town. She took Peppy with her for a short time, but soon brought him back home for what was to be a temporary stay.

Peppy missed her very much, and began to act out by wetting on the corner of her abandoned bed,where they used to sleep. It was the first sign of misbehavior. And he eventually moved into my parents bedroom at night to sleep, but whenever the bedroom door to my sister's room was left open, he would repeat his wetting problem. We decided that he was trying to tell us how angry he was about her absence. With extra attention, he improved to just an occassional "accident."

The two dogs continued to get along well, and Peppy grew more attached to his dad, and us. When my sister decided, a year later, that she would take him with her again, I objected strongly. I felt that the changes where confusing Peppy. After an emotional battle I won the decision to keep Peppy at home, but seeing his owner come and go from his life was making him an unhappy dog. He would sit by my chair and just start barking, for no reason. Barking and barking, until I'd repremand him.

Time passed and he started to improve, but I think there was always a sense of turmoil hidden in his personality. After years passed, Peppy began to realize his place was with us. And he was more comfortable, but he had an spiteful streak in him. My sister had married and had a family of her own, and a new pup. Prince and Peppy would spend the days playing and resting together, but at night they parted company as Prince followed me to my room, and Peppy slept beside my parents bed. But he went through another loss when my parents decided to move away to a new home. I was planning to get married and would be staying in the family home. Of course, the dogs would remain with me.

This was another transition for him, and he showed his dismay by barking and wetting once again. The bedroom where he once slept with my parents was now empty. How he must have wondered why those he loved went away, I did sympathise with him, yet knew I had to continue to discourage the bad behaviors. So he moved upstairs with me and my new husband and Prince. I considered Peppy a good dog, even though he had his "problems." He was growing "closed off" and needed to be coaxed, sometimes, into joining with me and Prince in play and affection. I think the whole problem was that he knew he would always be 2nd banana in thr ranks, even though he was treated equally.Someone else, less patient, might have said that he was growing "bad." But I could understand the root causes behing the misbehaviors.

At times I would get very impatient and scold him harshly, then Peppy would withdraw even futher. But eventually I learned that he really needed a lot more love and kind touches. In his older years, Peppy began to settle down, and ease up a bit. He was amazingly kind to the other pets in the house, as was Prince. My parakeet was allowed to fly free, and neither dog objected to him as he explored their food, or hitched a ride on their back. We also had ginea pigs, which I raised to sell to the pet store. Peppy would watch them in their cages with a look of friendship, especially when the new babies arrived and filled the large cages with squeeks of joy. I wondered if he may have thought they were doggy babies, at first glance?

We had a room set aside where the other pets stayed. And it was fun to see the parakeet perched on the fishtank watching guppies, or hopping along the floor beside the ginea pigs glass cages, pecking at the glass to play with the piglets. Gypsy was a parakeet with personality. He'd rejoice in taking a small dog bisquit in his beek and flipping it about the floor. Peppy would watch in wonder, following along to keep an eye on his treat, yet not making a move to harm the bird.

One of Peppy's exceptional achivements was his ability to say the word "out." After years of hearing me say "let's go out" he actually scolded me one day for making him wait to long by whining "oooowwww." It was a sort of yawn and sound, that preceeded his trotting to the door. When my husband decided to see if he could teach him more words, he actually was able to teach him a new phrase. "ahhhwavoooo" which we just knew meant "I love you."

One summer day we had a visit from a wounded pigeon. The dogs and I were outside, when I noticed a white pigeon on our garage roof. I saw that the bird was not afraid of us, so I brought a handful of birdseed from the house to offer our visitor. And to my surprise the bird joined us on the driveway where I had spread a handful of the seeds. We sat down together, so as not to frighten him, and made a new friend. I noticed that the pigeon had what looked like tar on his feet and some of its feathers, and wondered if this was why he could not fly?

Pidgy became our guest, he stayed in our yard the remainder of the summer. So tame he was, that he would spend his days following us around the yard, or moved to the back porch rail to watch us when we were in the house. When we were upstairs he would perch on the antena tower outside the bedroom window. And as he regained his "wings" he began to follow my husband off to work each morning. Pidgy became a celebrity amoung our friends, because of his loyalty and tame nature. His daily routine was to follow my husband to work in the morning, then return for breakfast at home. At luchtime he left to escort my husband back home from work for lunch. Then they were both off again until it was time for an afternoon snack. And then a return trip to escort my husband home from work.

A supper of seeds, and then we all comuned in the yard. But our schedule was definitely established, and Pidgy followed it like clockwork. One day in late Autumn, Pidgy disappeared. When he failed to show up for two days we grew concerned. By this time our famous pigeon was known to many friends, who were asked to watch for him around town. It was from one of those friends that we had a call on the third day. Pidgy had been spotted a block away, injured. My husband went to rescue him and the patient arrived with a broken wing and all his tail feathers missing from his now bare "butt!"

I had to do some fast research on how to help him. After cleaning him up and binding his wing in a body sling I placed him in an extra parakeet cage. This I am sure was hard for our "free-flying pal" to adjust to, but he was forced to become a winter tenant in our garage until he recovered. We visited him several times daily, as he peered longingly out the garage window. By the time Spring arrived, Pidgy was allowed to be free of his bandages, and his cage. He greeted the outdoors with the resumption of his old routine.

Early that Summer, Pidgy met with another accident. We hadn't seen him for a day and a half when we were called by some friends who said they'd seen him a mile away, wounded again. By the time we found him, he was dead. His friendly ways had no doubt been his demise. But we will never forget our friend, Pidgy.

After Prince passed away, we recieved a new poodle pup. Prince's Little Bo Jangles was his name, B.J. is what we called him. He was a black minature poodle. Peppy showed some slight interest in him for the first few months, but as he grew more lively, Peppy started to withdraw preferring to spend his days sleeping. So when B.J. was one year old, we returned to the same breeder and bought him a companion, Dusty, another black male poodle.

Peppy seemed content to let the young pups play, as he layed on the sidelines watching. He led the parade when it was time to go outside, but retreated to a quiet corner while inside the house. The training went well, and we all managed to get along. But all through Peppy's life I always felt as if he never felt he truelly "belonged" to any one person. It was as if he lacked the important "attachment" to one master. I know this caused him some sadness, that "look" was always in his eyes. So it was with a feeling of sorrow that I always attempted to reassure him that I loved him.

At age thirteen, Peppy collapsed one hot summer night. That morning, he had a hard time waking up. I knew something was wrong. A visit to the vet revealed kidney failure. I brought him home, and stayed by his side as he seemed to get more and more ill. I kept the vet imformed as he grew worse during the day, but once again I was told, "he's and old dog, we can't help him." That evening, after many hours of distress which included repeated vommiting of fluid and a fever that escalated, Peppy collapsed. I searched for a vert that might help, once again.

It was two in the morning when a vet with an emergency service agreed to see us. But as we drove I held Peppy in the car, and I felt him go limp in my arms. His heart was still beating when the vet saw him, but he was no longer responsive or conscious. The vet asked if we were ready to "let him go." I knew that I must agree. "Yes, doctor" I said, as my husband shuddered and left the room. I held Peppy's head in my hands, as the tournequet was placed on his leg. I had never done this before, and expected some big exhalation of breath to occur. But as I leaned close to soothe him, I kissed Peppy and told him "I love You. It's time to go with Prince. You are a good boy....." I rubbed his body lovingly. The vet had been listening with his stethoscope, he backed away and said "he's gone now."

The room felt so still, but I felt a warmth inside of me. There was "relief" for my friend, who was now gone. It was so etherial. I walked from the exam room, and my husband was waiting for me. He hugged me, and we cried. The vet joined us in a few moments, and asked how I wanted to dispose of the remains. I told him that I preferred creamation, then asked what the bill came to. "I can not ask you to pay for the loss of a loved pet" he said. I thanked him for his kindness.

Millet, a green colored parkeet,who amazed one and all, deserves a spot on this page. He was a pal to my pups, and myself. Now, you may ask, why does a parakeet belong on a tribute page to my poodles? Because he was their playmate, and mine. The neatest bird in town. Walkin, talkin, unbelievably talented bird. Only those who met him would know I am speaking the truth. No curtain-rod sitter was he!

I had owned parakeets before him, and several have followed,but non have compared. This young bird was hand tamed and talking in a few weeks after he joined our family. Yet, his outstanding qualities began to show after he was granted the freedom of his "area" in the "pet room" and the adjoining room which was our bedroom/office. Initially, he stayed on the top of his cage during the daylight hours, re-entering to eat and drink and then sleep after nightfall. He interacted with the other animals, which were the fish and ginea pigs. He sat on the rim of the fishbowl watching the brightly colored guppies swim. Or hopped along the floor in front of the breeding cages, watching the furry pigglets play.

He visited me in the adjoining room, eventaully. Perching on my shoulder as I went about my activities. If sitting at my desk, typing, he would immitate the sound of the keys clicking away. He would travel down my arm to sit on the top of my hand and bop his head up and down, dancing to the sounds. And when I would return at lunchtime with a sandwich, he'd join me by stealing bits of breadcrust, as I ate in and flinging them into the air. He also pilferred the small dog bisquits left by the dogs, hoping along the floor, flipping them into the air, trying to manuever "lift off" but never getting very far.

I have a CB radio in this room also. The voices coming from this "box" amused him. And soon he was imitating me as I spoke with my friends. Have you ever heard a parakeet saying "breaker breaker!" and "10-4!" It was a real hoot. Friends who heard about him would have to visit to see it for themselves. You may not be impressed yet, so let me tell you about the summer morning this little bird amazed me yet again. My husband and I were sleeping later than usual that Saturday. We heard Millet moving around on his cage, whistling his "dog whistle" that we used to call to each other. He'd let me know he wanted me with the same "wee-o-weet" I'd used to summon the pups. When I'd respond, "wee-o-weet" he knew he could find me awake. This morning we decided to play possum.

After waiting, chatting to himself and the other pets, he decided it was time for mom to get up. He flew into our room, where we slept under our bedsheet. He landed on my feet, and hopped slowly up my body, tweeting and pecking at the sheet, trying to say "good morning." Trying not to laugh I watched through the slightest crack of eyelid, as this bird hoped across to my husband and perched on his forehead. chirping softly he pulled at his eyebrows, and then sat on the pillow beside his face plucking lightly at his mustache. Still no response, I was about to breakout into laughter when this little guy decided to completely amaze me. sitiing on my chest he began to pluck at the border of the bedsheet. Pulling it back slightly, each time he repeated this action. That bird didn't stop working at this task until he had pulled the sheet off of us halfway! Laughing, I said "good morning!" And to his joy, we all woke up.

What determination this little parakeet had. He shared his lifetime with us, adding cheerful little minutes to each day with his chatter and playful companionship. After Prince died, and B.J. joined our family, his lifestyle changed drastically. Upon their first meeting, B.J. greeted this "bird" by pouncing on him, and attempting to have him for a meal! Rescuing Millet from the "teeth of death" I knew that his tame nature might spell fatal disaster. Not able to trust the new pup, I chose to keep Millet caged. He spent his days whistling "wee-o-weet!" It broke my heart to see him struggling with all his might to open his cage door. I visited him often, but he was broken hearted. A month later I found him laying on the floor of his cage. He had "flown away," forever. I sadly wished him endless sky's to fly, and countless places in which to sing and play.

Prince had died three days before Christmas. His loss was felt by our whole family. And I was so grieved, I felt as a child had been lost. Knowing this, my sister paid me a visit on Christmas Eve to offer solace. She and her husband arrived, with a special present for me. After hugging and crying, she brought my attention to the gift-wrapped "blender-sized" box on the kitchen table. "Open it, now" she urged. Smiling, she watched as I removed the bow, and paper, then opened the flaps of the boxtop. The tall box was shaded from light, and appeared to be empty as far as I could see. Was this a joke, meant to amuse me, I wondered? I stood back and looked at her, "it's empty?"

She laughed "look inside!" At that moment a slight scratching sound occured from within, as if on que. "Oh!" I was greatly startled. It was enough to make me start to tremble as I looked down inside the box. "Ohhhhh!" I gasped, starting to cry. "Oh, my!" Croutched in the corner of that dark box-bottom, was an little black puppy! "I lifted him out gently" he only filled the palm of one hand! This little four week old pup must have wondered what all the crying was about as I carressed him to my face "he's beautiful!!!" And this was how B.J. came into my household and into my heart.

I will write B.J. and Dusty's story combined, for they were a team, their lives intertwined through the years. Half-brothers, they were born a year apart. From the same mother, but with different fathers. B.J.'s dad was a little black toy poodle named Bo Jangles, so he was a small pup. Dusty's dad was a minature white poodle. Their mom was named Chocolate Pie, she was a large minature of mostly brown color, but was actually a mottled coffee au'late tone with tan and white too. Both pups were black as babies, but Dusty soon lived up to his name and began to show white markings in a style called "phantom." What it means is, he looked like a black dog who had crawled under a dusy bed and emerged with white on the backs of his legs, bottom of his ears, and on his butt! This coloring was quite striking for awhile but later blended back into his black coat.

Both pups were lively and full of life....but I felt from the start that they were "special." Maybe it is because I started to notice early on, how they would seem to sometimes do things that were strikingly "familiar." So much so, that I wondered if Prince and Peppy were still with us, teaching them? It was a comforting thought. But B.J. and Dusty had their own talents, too. Such as B.J. and the way he learned to "snarf." Snarfing was a bark without sound, when asked to snarf he would mouth a bark, but only make a quiet "huff" and a cute little expression.

Dusty had Prince's old "intuition" talent. He had a favorite ball, that I could hide anywhere, and he would find it. I went so far as to have others hide it, in case he was reading my mind, but he could still locate it.