This week I hadda fun time yappin’ with Henry an Buddy Haatvedt (they say Hot-Vet). Henry’s a black Standard Poodle, kinda quiet an elegant, with long legs and excellent posture. You’d never guess he’s 14 anna half. Henry’s brother an BFF is Buddy, a sturdy liddle terrier mixture, with wirey hair, ever-alert expression, anna low Center of Graviddy. His Mom an Dad call him a Pot Roast. Yep. I could see that.
Henry Haatvedt
They were both at the door with their Mom to greet us. “Hi, Bonzo!” Buddy said. “Come’on in. I’m Buddy, Head of the House. This is my Big Brother Henry, an our Mommy, Leslie. Our Daddy Larry’s workin.’”
After the Wag-an-Sniffs, we got settled in the living room. Buddy hopped onto the ottoman.
Henry sat on the floor near his Mom. “When I was a young dog, I was really SOME-thing. They called me The Jumper. Nobody could buh-leeve how high I could jump. But now …”
“Henry doesn’t hear so good, so you gotta speak UP,” Buddy innerjected.
“I don’t hear so good, so you gotta speak UP, young fella!” Henry said.
“WILL DO, HENRY,” I nodded. “I’m intrested in how you two found your Forever Famly.”
“Henry was first,” Buddy began. “Mommy an Daddy had a coupla other Standard Poodles. When one of ’em went to Dog Heaven, the other one, Chumley, was all alone. So Mommy an Daddy got Henry so Chumley would have a fren.”
“I was just a sprout back then, only 6 months old,” said Henry. “When they came to look at my litter, they couldn’t resist my adorableness. I think I also stood out because of the white spot on my chest. Me an Chumley were like two peas in a pod and, when he got sick an went to Dog Heaven, I was depressed. I just kept looking at a por-trut of us together. We looked just like each other except for my white spot.”
He showed me the por-trut an they did look totally the same. ’Cept for Henry’s spot.
“THAT’S A WUNNERFUL PICKSHUR,” I told him sincerely.
He sighed. “That’s when Mommy and Daddy started searching for another pooch brother for me.”
“I’LL TAKE IT FROM HERE, HENRY,” said Buddy. “Mommy an Daddy were gonna get another Poo but, obviously, they didn’t. Mommy’s sister in Miami, Aunt Laura, was sick an Mommy was down there a lot. Aunt Laura’s son worked at a big place called a craneyard. (I never saw any birds, though). He told Mommy she should check out this stray dog (me) hangin’ out there, who was in bad shape an Probly Wouldn’t Make It, an she agreed.”
“How’d you end up there?”
“I’d been barely survivin’ on the streets of Miami. I was covered with ticks an all dirty and ukky, didn’t have food or a place to sleep. So I ducked into the craneyard: there were a few other strays in there, an I was hopin’ I could at least get some rest. I figured I didn’t have many wags left in me.
“I knew in my heart I could be a wunnerful famly dog if only I had the chance but, when I saw Mommy lookin’ at me, I thought to myself, ‘No way is she gonna want a tick-infested scruff-muffin like me. I’m DOOMED.’ But somehow Mommy saw something else, an she KNEW I was The Dog. The nice craneyard guys an Mommy’s nephew got me all tick-free, gave me a lovely bath, an found me a leash an collar. They’d been callin’ me Scruffy, but Mommy immediately re-named me Henry, Thank Lassie.
“As we were leavin,’ those craneyard guys waved goodbye and hollered, ‘Buddy, you just won the dog lottery!’ Alluva sudden I had a HOME anna loving FAM-ly. I couldn’t buh-LEEVE it. First time I met Henry, I was in-TIM-uh-dated cuz he’s so BIG, so I did this liddle growly thing. But he just said, ‘It’s OK, Kiddo. You’ll love it here.’ An I DID!”
Henry smiled. “After all these years, this silly liddle Pot Roast still wakes up every morning like it was his first day here. He does his happy dance and woofs a few woofs, like, ‘Oh,Boy, O’ Boy, O’ Boy! It’s really TRUE.’ He’s a wunnerful, goofy liddle brother.”
“How’d you adjust to not bein’ a street dog anymore?” I asked Buddy.
“I had LOTS to learn. Once, down in Miami, I smelled something innersting and took off runnin.’ Mommy hollered an hollered but I just kept bookin.’ I didn’t know it, but I was headin’ straight for a big street with lotsa cars, called Bis-cane BULLY-vard. Mommy was freakin’ out, pick-shurin’ me getting smushed flat. Then, alluva sudden, I just totally stopped. I didn’t know why. It was weird. I turned around, ran back to Mommy, an never ran away again. Later Henry told me Mommy was so scared for me she said something humans call a prair. He’s not sure what it is, but he says it’s very, very helpful to humans. All I know is, it sure helped me to not get smushed. Henry says my Guardian Dog Angel probably had to sleep for a week.
“We have lotsa pooch frens,” Buddy continued. “There’s Bucky, Abby, Daisy an Missy. One time there was this hurry-cane when we were in North Carolina an we hadda ee-VAC-you-wait, so we stayed with some really kind human frens, Barbara an Carol, who Mommy says are Dog Whisperers. They’re real nice for sure, and they had five pooches. So there were seven of us plus the humans. The lec-tri-ciddy went out, too. Us pooches thought it was fun, sorta like campin,’ but I don’t think the humans did.”
“Before you go, Mr. Bonzo, we wish to share some treats to take home with you,” said Henry. “We have a Treat Bar.” He pointed to the counter, with a row of pretty crystal jars filled with treats. Pawsome!
The bag of treats they gave me was empty by the time we got home.
Till next time,
The Bonz
