Dogdini and DJ (no, not that DJ, another DJ!)
Kasia June 24th, 2008
About a week ago, I stumbled onto a blog that I’ve been enjoying. Maybe some of you have been clicking the link from the sidebar for Snarkolepsy? Those of you who haven’t, by all means check it out, though I will warn you that some of the language there is not safe for children’s consumption or for sensitive adults. Be ye thus advised. 
Anyway, I got sucked in by pictures of cute bunnies, and the next thing you know, I was reading a post about the neighbor’s dog, a.k.a. Dogdini, who has an uncanny knack for getting into the Snarkoleptics’ yard.
I’m reading, and I’m laughing, and I’m scrolling down. And then I saw the picture. And the pieces clicked together, and the heavens opened up, and there was a sort of a light and “LAAAA!” song by the angels…because I suddenly understood exactly what the Snarkoleptics are going through.
Their neighbor has a Brittany spaniel.
This may get confusing, because I have often referred to a friend of mine who frequents this blog as DJ, and his wife as Mrs. DJ. Forget that, for the moment. The DJ I am about to tell you about is NOT my dear friend with the awesome wife and the four great kids, three of whom are special-needs. No. Not that DJ.
The DJ I’m about to tell you about is a dog. A Brittany spaniel, to be precise; and as long as I’m working on precision, I may as well use the past tense. DJ was a Brittany spaniel. After a long, full life of raising Cain, he died and is presumably flailing against the gates of Heaven while St. Peter stares in shock at this dog who is actually going to scale the gates.
DJ stood for Dakota Jewel, which was his AKC name. My mother had fallen in love with a Brittany at a pet shop a scant week or two before getting a call from a friend, asking if she could take a rescue Brittany.
My mother knew nothing about Brittanies except that the one in the shop was beautiful, and so sweet and playful! She took the dog. And much as I loved that dog, many was the time each of us rued the day she took him.
Shortly after she adopted him, she took him to the vet to get him checked out and vaccinated. Her vet, a charming man with a fabulously dry wit, said “You do know that saying a Brittany is hyperactive is like saying Attila the Hun was assertive, right?”
On top of “normal” Brittany energy, DJ had been crated for most of his puppyhood. Crated during the day while his owners were at work, let out for three or four hours in the evening, then crated again overnight. That’s a recipe for trouble with just about any puppy, much less a high-energy, good-sized one. And they wondered why he was so frantic when he did get out of the crate. Gee, I wonder.
And Brittanies are seriously high-energy dogs. For a Brittany to be happy, you really need a high-energy person or set of people who will engage with it and keep it active. I mean taking it out for runs a couple of times a day, a lot of play and attention, etc. They’re unbelievably sweet dogs, but I have yet to see anyone really give a Brittany the attention and activity they need. And when a dog is bored, that excess energy is going to translate into inappropriate behavior.
With Dogdini, that inappropriate behavior seems to primarily manifest in getting into the Snarkoleptics’ yard (over a six-foot fence). With DJ…well, let me count a few of his more notable escapades…
1. He had a habit of getting into the kitchen trash. My mother started putting a luggage strap around it, which did confound him for a few years. Then one fine day he figured out how to get the luggage strap off the trash can, and all bets were off.
2. He ate cockroach traps. Seriously – those Combat things? Yeah. Chewed up a box. No ill effects that we noticed.
3. He ate the lion’s share of a wooden spoon, and chewed up a metal frying pan.
4. Like many dogs, he thought the street was part of his territory. So every time the mailman (or anyone else) would come, he would wail out the most unbelievable series of barks you ever heard, and hurl himself against the foyer door. The <i>leaded glass</i> foyer door. One day – you guessed it – the glass gave out and he crashed right through it. Not a scratch on him. When my mom replaced the door, she had to have the glass covered with Plexiglass.
5. I am given to understand that someone I know (neither TBS nor I, and no, not my mother either) left some quantity of a herbaceous controlled substance within dog’s reach. Nobody saw it happen, but the ganja disappeared, Baggie and all, never to be seen again. We can only presume that DJ was a very happy puppy that day…
6. Although his behavior improved for several years with shock-collar training (yes, shock collar – it was the only way my mother found to get him to behave, and she was on the verge of getting rid of him before she found what we dubbed “The Hand of God”), after about age 10 he started to regress. I think it was senility. One day he actually ate vegetables that were roasting in the broiler RIGHT OUT OF THE PAN IN THE BROILER. One might have thought that would shock his system, but apparently not…
7. What finally did him in, after fourteen years of insanity, was – believe it or not – cat food. He broke into the room where the animal food was stored, broke into the metal trash can that held the cat food, and ate about seven pounds of it. You know how dogs will eat until they pop? Well, he didn’t pop, but he did throw his stomach, pancreas, and various other organs waaaayyy out of whack. He was on chicken and rice for a month, was slowly recovering, and then had a stroke in the backyard one day.
I have to admit that I miss him. He really was one of the most loving dogs I’ve ever known, and to this day I can’t see a Brittany without asking the owner if I can pet it and telling them about DJ.
The few of you who knew DJ, please feel free to add in any other stories about him that I’ve left out in the combox. Those of you who didn’t know him, how about some other dog stories? I’m feeling doggy and nostalgic…
And say a prayer for both the Snarkoleptics and their neighbor, eh? I think they’ll both need it. :-p
