In January of 2002 we adopted a dog from the Napa Valley Animal Shelter. He has been a beloved member of our family ever since. Earlier this month, after almost 10 years with us, he passed away. He was about 11 years old. We wish there was some way to tell the people who surrendered him that he had a good life, and that they did a good thing for our family.
In 2002 we were living in Napa with our our two young children. Our then 3rd grader, who had wanted a dog since she was an infant, found out about schnoodles in a book called
Mutts, America’s Dog, and decided that this was the dog for her. My 1st grader was inexplicably afraid of dogs (as well as inexplicably un-afraid of anything else, including: snakes, lizards, scorpions, spiders, fire, sword fights, tall ladders, fast bikes, steep hills, tall trees, deep water, …). Our daughter wanted a dog; our son needed one. Our kids had both developed asthma, so we put our name on various rescue lists for low-shedding, low-dander, low-saliva producing dog mixtures. Meanwhile, my daughter prayed every night for a schnoodle. I tried to prepare her for the unlikelihood of getting any exact breed mixture from the pound; but she didn’t seem to hear. We got a call from the shelter in January of 2002. The woman who called said they had a male schnauzer mix who was about a year old. I asked if they could tell what he was mixed with. She said, “Looks like it could be poodle”. I nearly dropped the phone, “a schnoodle!?”
When we went to meet him he had a funny pig-shave haircut and was still a little dopey from getting neutered the day before. My son begrudgingly surrendered his black sock so I could put it on my hand to check for shedding or dander; nothing; just a nice shaped drool-free muzzle, floppy ears, slim build, barrel chest, salt-and-pepper coloring, and a curly tail. He was funny looking, in his free haircut (his first?) and hand-me-down sweater; but seemed very friendly as he walked back and forth between us, getting pats from everyone and politely wagging his tail. The people at the shelter told us that a family with two kids had surrendered him because they were expecting another baby. They said his name was Taffy. They let us think about it for a couple of days while he recovered from his surgery.
Two days later we went by after school to pick him up. Where was the calm mild-mannered dog we had met? This one was jumping up, wildly barking and wagging his tail ecstatically, as he dragged the leash hither and thither, and spun me in circles. Never mind; we took him home with irrepressible grins on our faces thinking, “We have a dog!” except, of course, for our son who piped up from the back seat, “He’s not my dog. I’m getting a snake”. We renamed him Riley, and endeavored to ensure that his life would live up to the name.
The next few weeks were exhausting. Riley barked loudly and incessantly at everyone and everything: cyclists, joggers, cars, birds, airplanes, hugging, kissing, singing, laughing, dancing… He chewed the kids toys, relieved himself in the house, jumped up on people, furniture, counters, tables, etc. and humped my daughter’s leg repeatedly, “Look Mum, it’s so cute he’s hugging me”. Not cute! But he was smart, and he learned. We picked the brains of our dog owner friends for advice. He was very food motivated. We taught him to sit, or lay down for meals and treats by holding a treat in our fist against our chest or the floor. We taught our daughter to say “off!” and spin away from him every time he jumped up on her. Actually, we found that “off” worked for most things we wanted him to stop doing. I walked him several times a day and rewarded him with treats every time he relieved himself on the grass or dirt instead of the sidewalk. He was a terrible leash puller, and dragged my little son through the dirt chasing after birds and sqirrels. We made his crate cozy with a mattress and blankets. He slept in it, never had accidents in it, and if he woke up in the night I took him out to the back yard. I didn’t leave him alone much, but, if I did, I left him in his crate with a treat (peanut butter in a kong). Usually, though, I just put the crate in the back of the van and took him with me. When we were at home during the day I left the crate door open, and he often went in there to curl up for naps. We called it his cave. I put a sturdy basket on the floor, by the hearth, with his toys and rawhides in it. Every time he chewed something he shouldn’t, we made him “drop it!” and then showed him his own toys. We also learned to put our things away and not to leave food out. We bought him a leather leash (3/4”x5’) and left it on him in the house so that we could catch him easier if he took things and ran from us with them. We stood on the leash when people came to the door, so he couldn’t jump up. After a while he just didn’t do it anymore and the leash came off.
By spring he was able to sleep out of the crate and we taught him to “jump up” again as we patted the kids beds. He still barked like blazes; but only when someone had the audacity to go by. If he ever got caught on the wrong side of a door he just made this quiet little, “mm. mm.mm” whine. We used to call it his polite voice and learned to listen for him wanting in or out. He was always very clingy. He wanted to be right next to us, and nipped at my husband’s heels if he saw the suitcase come out before a business trip. One time he followed me into my closet and I didn’t notice that he got left behind. Hours later I was back in my room and heard a little “mm mm mm” sound coming from my room. The poor little guy was so happy to see me; it was difficult to be mad at him for chewing through the bra that had been hanging on the doorknob in a desperate escape attempt. Anyway, suffice it to say that he grew older and wiser and wrapped his little paws so tightly around our hearts that we began to wonder how we would ever live without him.
Our daughter happily walked, and fed and cared for him. Even our little snake-loving son was overheard talking to Riley in bed one night, saying “Riley, you’re my best friend”. Then he wrapped his arms tighter around that warm little fur ball and closed his eyes. Almost 2 years later we followed a company transfer to Ohio where Riley would have snow, leaves, dirt, grass and a wooded acre to romp in, as well as chipmunks, squirrels, rabbits, wild turkeys and deer to chase. There would also be moles to dig up, and new friends to make.
"What? But I just marked everything!"
Spring!
a sassy squirrel saying "nanner nanner" from the tree top
meeting friends
room to run
party at Jack's place
food first
come here often?
hair cut please
Taking care of his folks when they're sick, or fall off their snow boards
fam photo in the back yard
do I still look manly in this sweater?
but I wanted a scary costume...
hanging out in the yard...
...and in the woods
keeping an eye on things from the top of the stairs
staying close to Gran
sharing a sunbeam with Grandpa
"Happy Father's Day! I made you something too. It's in the yard."
"Whatcha doin'? Let me see that.Whatcha got there? Can I see?"...
Then last June Riley was diagnosed with cancer. We knew that his time was limited so we gave him the best care possible and tried to fill the time he had remaining with as many good days as we could. He passed away peacefully earlier this month and, for such a little dog, he left a very large hole in our lives. He was a good dog; the best, and will be dearly missed. We feel lucky to have had him in our family. He truly was an answer to prayer. So this Thanksgiving when we count our blessings, we will be especially grateful for the life of Riley.
~Riley's Family
P.S.
We've always wondered...
Was this what Riley looked like as a baby?
