On Easter Sunday, April 4th, 2010, my beloved Bichon-Poo of nearly 18 years, died at 6 pm.

Around 5 pm, she'd had a terrible seizure that lasted for 10 minutes.  We'd witnessed a couple of shorter episodes in previous months, but she'd always seemed to recover. 

This time, we just knew, as she whimpered, that Sophie had lived a long, full life and it was time to ease her pain.

Since it was a holiday, our vet office was closed, so we took her to an emergency veterinarian in Waltham.  The staff was very kind and understanding as we raced through the doors. Sophie was wrapped in a white towel, as I'd tried to swaddle and calm her on the ride over.

They took her in back where they attached the IV port and met us in a closed lounge room with a couple of grey couches, lamps and wooden side tables with boxes of kleenex.

They offered us as much time as we needed. I made a call to someone who I knew would want to say "goodbye" to Sophie. 

Sophie's breathing was labored, punctuated with the heartbreaking whining.

The doctor peeked her head into the room to ask if we were ready. I wanted Sophie to be at ease, relaxed, at peace. 

I nodded my head. While the vet got the medications, I said a last goodbye to my little "Sophia".

"You were always nearby," I began, "Through every move to a new home or city. You listened when I needed to talk and looked in my eyes as though you knew. 

You were the best, little dog I ever had. I love you, Soph, I'll always miss you. Go in peace, sweet friend."

The thing that's incredible is how fast it happens. First, there's the sedative, which goes into the IV. Sophie laid her head down on my lap and for the first time in so long, she relaxed, really relaxed. Then, it was followed by the liquid that would euthanize her instantly. The doctor put her stethoscope up to Sophie's chest and announced somberly, "She's gone."

I almost couldn't believe it. Her soft, white fur was still warm on my lap- the small, bulk of her laying relaxed.

Here's to you, Soph, the one with the personality- the dog who sang and twirled around with joy for a little piece of chicken or a cocktail weenie dog biscuit. You, who always greeted me first and smiled with sparkling, black eyes. You, who loved me no matter what or when or where.

I will miss you always.

Car Sick by Rebecca Sher

He is a thruppy-puppy,

My little Brady boy.

I put him in the car, and then,

the motion makes him green.

I check the rearview mirror out,

it is a nasty scene...

My poor, sweet thruppy puppy

is blowing chunks of kibble

I'm wishing that he didn't have

that last, brown, chewy nibble.

I'm working on ways to make the car ride a little less "bumpy" for Brady, who has a delicate stomach.  I learned that he must have a drink of water after a long walk and a few minutes to get settled before he climbs into the car. Then, I open a back window about half-way and drive verrrry slowly.  I pray that there won't be a classic Boston driver behind, tailing me so closely that I can see their tense expression and Red Sox rearview mirror ornament.

I've learned to go DIRECTLY home after a long walk or outing.  Making an extra stop to say, a cafe, or grocery store means trouble. When I see Brady drooling onto the back seat, it's a matter of 5-7 minutes before the puppy fountain spews. 

I hope his digestive system matures soon. We're planning a road trip to New York soon and I'm praying we all get there in one piece.

Meanwhile, Brady is a star student in puppy kindergarten!  He sits, he lays down, he comes when called!  (He slices and dices and cleans kitchen floors!)

He was a bit reticent with socializing, at first. There's a German Shephard who gallops about and a Collie who ignores her owner's every command (Down, Jade! Down, Jade! Jade, Down! Down!) As he hollered the useless command for the umpteenth time, Jade was springing up and planting her front paws firmly on my thighs. I had to get up and turn my back to her (suggested by the instructor, Martha), which slowly caused Jade to lose interest in me.

Meanwhile, Brady sat between my legs before tentatively, venturing out to snap up a plush Christmas ornament toy. He brought it back over and perched in his safe spot until finally, his courage grew, and by the end of class, he was playing with the other big dogs.  There are two bichon-poodles, as well. One of them invented a game, and called out with a high-pitched bark to let the others know when to pick up a toy and run with it. 

I'm hoping Brady will become more comfortable socializing with other dogs as a result of this class. Learning a cadre of new tricks would be nice, as well. 

Unfortunately, puppy kindergarten won't do a thing for the motion sickness...

All I Need To Know, I Will Learn in Puppy Kindergarten

Brady has grown by leaps and bounds. When we first picked him up in mid-January, he weighed 11 lbs. and I could easily pick him up and hold him.  I loved putting on Prince's song "Raspberry Beret". Then, I'd twirl him around and dance across the kitchen with him. I knew he enjoyed it because he'd wrap his tail 'round my back and lick my chin.

January 24 - About 1 month old

Now that Brady weighs 30 lbs., I can no longer pick him up and dance with him. In fact, the picture below was taken the last time I picked him up. Since his legs extend below my knees, I won't be surprised if he's picking me up in about 4 months!

March 12- About 4 months old

Though our dancing days may be over, he's a wonderful companion.  I love taking him in the studio, even if his attention span is short. After he plays with the kong and Aloysius, he looks like he's ready for something more interesting. Guess watching me work on the laptop just doesn't do it for him.  Luckily, he has some schoolin' to look forward to....

Next week, he starts puppy kindergarten along with a German-Shepherd, 2 Bichon-Poos and a Collie. The instructor, Martha, is a good "pack-leader" and an efficient, clear instructor. We took her classes with Chester, so I learned a great deal about giving alpha-messages to puppies a few years ago. This helped me to know how to get started with Brady immediately.  I reinforced  how to sit (Emily had started practicing this with the pups by the time they were about 6 weeks).  He's also learning how to take a tidbit of food from my hand without biting me. I hold the bit of chicken or cookie between my fingers and give the command, "Gentle Mouth" without releasing the food until he uses only his tongue and lips to get it.

The first assignment for next week is to teach him how to give me eye contact. I hold a treat up to my eyes and give the command, "Brady, LOOK."  The minute we lock eyes, he gets a cookie.  Martha advised us to keep training sessions short so that the puppy doesn't get tired out, losing interest. So far, we've practiced this one a few times a day for about 3-5 minutes each session.

This command will be key in getting him to pay close attention to my eyes as he learns more commands.

Run, Brady, Run!

Here is a photo taken of Brady on Tuesday, March 3rd, 2010. As you can see, he's smiling and the reason he's so gleeful is that he no longer has the runs!  

Sadly, dear Readers, our heroic puppy friend was suffering from a touch of "irritable bowel syndrome".  It started Saturday night 'round midnight, which is a rotten time to find oneself in a crate with a rumbling little tummy 'bout to go unhinged. 

Brady did what any self-respecting doodle would do. He yipped, or, sort of bark-yelped.  

Since he's always silent as a bleached sheepskin the whole night, it was rawther unusual to hear him make any sound a t'all, so imagine my surprise! 

 I entered the kitchen where Brady was beside himself looking as though he were ready to bust a gasket. As soon as I unlatched his crate, he went bolting, nearly airborne toward the door to go ow-ow-owooot. 

Now, normally I would go out the door first to remind Brady who the leadah 'o' da pack was, but, Readers, there was no time, due to the nature of his rush, you see.  

Out he flew onto the deck, down the stairs, to the grass, fast, fast, fast!  

 Then, poor Brady hightailed it back up the steps to the door, shivering a bit from the freezing rain that was coming down.

It was then that I sensed twas time to boil the white rice.

Like clockwork, he was up every 2 hours calling out for a "bathroom break".  By morning, I was wracking my brain trying to figure out what he'd eaten the night before. Was it the Iam's puppy biscuit I gave to him when I tucked him in? Did something drop on the floor during dinner? Was it the dried leaf he munched from the plant in our friends' home which we visited the evening before?

The next day, I bought a box of instant rice packets and a pound of lean hamburger. I boiled them and made a lovely melange which Brady gobbled up appreciatively in about 30 seconds flat. So, I made him another, and another....until it was time to take him out and examine his "product" again. Sadly, it was a shapeless mound, not at all the happy, compact log I was praying for. Oh, dear.

A friend warned it would take 2 days, so I must continue to boil the rice and burger. 

That night, Brady woke up, again at midnight and then at 2 am, same drill. At 4 am, I heard a whine and charged to the kitchen. Only this time, it was Sophie.

Alas, the old gal has osteoarthritis in her hips. Though she'd had her prescription meds after dinner (for the joints, you know), it seemed it was not enough. 

Isn't it the sandwich generation that cares for the young and the elderly at the same time? So, that would make me a sandwich- a very tired, soggy sandwich by 4:30 am when Sophie was walking in circles. I gave her a second pill lovingly wrapped in a bit of meat. 

Within a half-hour, she was asleep in her crate. I trotted off to bed, aching with fatigue.

Next day, I took Brady to the vet for his last set of shots.  Since he had the runs, Dr. Shephard said she couldn't give him his boosters. 

Despair. Now, he'd have to wait another week to go hiking in the woods and socialize with strange dogs-

She did give him a pill that would nuke any parasites that might've taken up residence in his little system. 

We trotted over to the front desk where I stood in line to pay the bill and Brady promptly mosied over to the black rubber Welcome mat and squatted. 

He laid down an impressive pile of logs that were only slightly runny while a lithe woman in tight, designer jeans stood next to me, agog.  She was buying pricey bags of cat food and announcing curtly that while my puppy was adorable, his brown "bomb" certainly wasn't. 

"He better get house trained soon," she sniffed.

But I was celebrating the fact that the rice concoction finally worked.  

All Are Punish-Shed

This morning, I was at the kitchen sink getting ready for a meeting with a friend when the bottom of my wool sock suddenly felt damp. I looked down and saw a puddle that wasn't there 5 minutes before.

When you have an elderly dog and a young puppy, it's hard to know whodunnit.

I grabbed the paper towel and the spray bottle with half water half white vinegar and went at it, muttering loudly. Brady came over to sniff it, and bolted back at the scent of the vinegar which he can't stand. He could tell I wasn't happy and he proceeded to roll in the vinegar-water sprayed rug near where I was cleaning. Then, he flew over to his dog bed and rolled around in there.

I took both Sophie and Brady outside and announced (faux) cheerfully that THIS was the place to pee! Sophie proceeded to squat, precariously balancing on her little hind legs. "Good girl!" I said as I was pelted with rain (did I mention it hasn't stopped raining since last night?)
"Here's a yummy cheese biscuit for GOOD dogs," I told her as I placed the tidbit in her mouth. Meanwhile, Brady stood next to me looking all expectant for his yummy tidbit. None was forthcoming, as I grew suspicious that he might be the culprit since he did not seem at all interested in pissing (so uncharacteristic!) on the muddy, brown grassy lawn.
When we went back inside, I found another little puddle and that was when I announced, "All are Punish-shed," (Remember? The prince's famous line from Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet?)
I put Sophie in her crate and scowled at Brady on his dog bed as I wiped and sprayed and wiped again. Sophie, of course, whined and knocked against the little door. Brady (with his little floating halo perched above his head) looked over at her and then, at me, as if to say, "That's an old lady in there whining- don't you see?"
So, I let her out, still unsure of who the guilty pissing party was.
I guess when Brady weighs about 50 or 60 lbs, it will be really clear whose puddle it belongs to because, in his case, it'll be more like a lake.

Does he look guilty to you?

A Little Family Album

Emily with Sophie (Brady's mother) as a puppy with her parents, Snow White and Bow Doodle. (Breeder: Kathryn Lee of Make Way For Doodles www.makewayfordoodles.com)


Sophie at 6 months old.


Hiawatha ("Hia"), Brady's father.



Hia and Sophie in September of 2009. Both are golden-doodles, a combination of golden retriever and poodle breeds. Brady's paternal grandmother, Star, is a purebred golden retriever. Kathryn, the breeder, has told me wonderful stories about Star, highlighting how smart and heroic a dog she is.
I like to think that some of that has passed down through the genes to Brady.

Newborn pups!

Puppies at 7 weeks, getting ready to go to their homes. Brady is the one with the kelly green ribbon, center bottom step. (photos by Emily Rubinfeld)


The pictures above were taken during a playdate at Emily's on February 18, 2010 when the pups were 13 weeks old. It took forever to get them to sit on this chair together. It was kind've like herding cats. I'd get Brady to sit and Joey would go bounding off, then, the opposite would happen. Emily had about one second to get this shot while I was making high-pitched noises to get them to look at me like I was some sort of alien. It's easier to get the candid shots like the picture on the right of Joey and Brady "sharing" a bully stick.

You may notice that Joey looks like a mini version of Sophie.

Above photo taken by Emily Rubinfeld (www.emilyrubinfeld.com)

I realize that Brady doesn't look very much like his parents. Guess you could say he's the odd duck of his litter... A very handsome odd duck, indeed.
Marissa's cartoon character rendition of Brady.

Weekend Update

Mup came in from DC for the long President's Day weekend. She noticed Brady had grown quite a bit since her last visit.

Here is Brady lounging as though Mup, was a recliner chair. He already weighs 20 lbs now that he's 3 months old, so we know it's a matter of weeks before lifting him this way becomes near impossible.

Brady had a play date with Buddy, the golden-retriever who lives down the street . His "boy", Joe, brought him along with some stories about how he and his family trained Buddy to be calm and obedient. What a fine example of accepting a treat with a "gentle-mouth". Goldens were originally bred to have soft mouths so that when they catch a bird during a hunt, they can bring it back in their mouths without crushing it.



Brady is the first dog I've ever had that actually seems to like having a bath. Maybe it's the ducks. Retrievers are bird dogs, after all.

Here he is all bundled up in a lovely, lemon colored terry towel. Doesn't he look like a kangaroo?

After his bath and a nap, it was time for a walk with Dad.
Brady is learning to walk on the leash which we practice every day. Usually, he goes for about a 15-20 minute walk around the neighborhood or a paved town path. Once he gets his 3rd set of shots, we can take him for a walk in the woods.


Brady's cousin, Winnie came to visit from New York. Winnie is an 11 year old Chesapeake Bay Retriever. She tolerated Brady, who at one point, checked to see if she had any milk to offer him. She must've reminded him of his Doodle mom.

After a busy weekend, Brady snuggles up to Mup and falls asleep. What a perfect way to end a wonderful weekend. Happiness is a warm puppy.