Part II -- THE WEIMARANER YEARS --



Chapter 21 (Animals I’ve Known and Loved, cont.)

KIYOODLE

My first husband Al Z., had a female Weimaraner for a short while before we were even engaged. Being in an urban area the dog was constantly on a leash when around his apartment area in Teaneck New Jersey where Al shared an apartment with Brimley S. “Brew” for short. They took the dog out to Montauk Point on Long Island one weekend, and had her loose on the beach. She was enjoying the freedom when she spotted a dog on the other side of the road, and dashed across, getting hit by a car -- she was killed instantly. I was heartbroken, but Brew and Al felt worse. Though the dog had wrecked the seat cushion, so that they had to turn it over so as not to notice, and a few other furnishings got chewed up when the dog was left alone, they loved that dog. I didn’t think he’d ever want another Weimaraner.

My husband worked for IBM… which we used to think stood for “I’ve Been Moving.” True to form, just when we tied the knot, he was sent to school in Kingston, N.Y., to train for a job keeping the computers in good repair for Pan American Airways, in the Pan Am building in NYC. At first he stayed in Kingston, N.Y. during the week, while I was still working for Braniff, commuting from Weehawken, New Jersey. We just saw each other on the weekends, but it was becoming a strain. I was pregnant with my first, and it was lonely during the week. I went home to Woburn to visit my parents when I had some time off a few months into his schooling. Al called me while I was there, and said that his class time was being extended, and wanted me to move up to the Kingston, N.Y. area to be with him. I was so excited. I was especially glad to leave my job, as I felt constantly tired as a result of my pregnancy. We found a little cottage in Mount Marion, N.Y., commuting distance from his school for IBM, and we moved in, only to find myself being more lonely than I had ever been before. However, I met another pregnant woman at my regular check up, so I had someone I could talk to locally.


No sooner had I settled into our little cottage in the winter of 1962-1963, when Al saw an ad in the paper for Weimaraner pups. I could use the company. One of the good things was this Weimaraner dog they developed from the German Shorthair, to make for a better all round hunting dog plus a good family dog. When we went to see the litter of puppies, it turned out that the elderly widow who was selling them had never owned a dog before. Her son had been a crop duster in Texas and died in a plane crash. She was left with his pregnant Weimaraner hound. She took the dog back with her to upstate New York. I think the new responsibility helped this lovely woman to deal with the grief of her son’s death. She was to sell the puppies, but keep the mother. I had the feeling as we left with our beautiful male pup that she would have a lasting and loving companion for the years ahead.

We called our puppy Kiyoodle. I’m not sure of the spelling, but loosely translated, it was a term that Al’s mother called his “rascal friends” when he was a boy living in upper Manhattan. His mother was Austrian and his father came from the German speaking side of Switzerland. His parents spoke only German in the home, and when it came time for Al to go to school, they had to hire a tutor to come in and teach him English.

At the time I met Al, his favorite bar and grill was “Brews” …they went to the bar because Brimley‘s nickname was the same… a kind of “Cheers” before its time. Everyone knew Al, and he was reading a popular book of the time, The Rise and the Fall of the Third Reich. The guys at the bar joked about him reading only the Rise… not the …Fall. So, though when growing up, the Irish were the popular immigrant group to the point where Al changed his middle name from Frederick to Thomas when he joined the Church, now he began to take pride in his Germanic roots, and the Weimaraner was a German dog, rare and new to the United States in the 1960s. One that he could be proud of, as it was and is a beautiful breed of dog.

It was winter when we housebroke our young pup. We really didn’t know what we were doing, but without reading up, we brought up Kiyoodle the best we could in our ignorance… [kind of like our parenting skills later on]. There were plenty of mishaps on the multi-colored floral beige and brown area rug that belonged to the cottage we were renting. The rug’s color disguised a lot of Kiyoodle’s mistakes, but when we rolled it up when doing the spring cleaning months later, the other side revealed many stains from our poor puppy-training skills.

Kiyoodle finally learned that he was a “good boy” when he relieved himself outside in the snow. But when the snow began melting, he would obediently find what was left and do his duties there. When it was all melted one day, the frustrated dog had to finally use the lawn. He was relieved in more ways than one, for he expected disapproval, having been trained on a snow-covered lawn.

Although he was always sleek and muscular, Kiyoodle had an unquenchable appetite. If it was food and within reach, he’d consume it. If it was out of reach, he would knock it down… then eat it. The same day my first child was born, Kiyoodle knocked a jar of peanut butter to the floor breaking the jar and consuming some of it’s contents…glass slivers and all. I caught him soon after it happened, but was convinced he had eaten enough to die, and called the vet. She reassured me that he’d probably be okay “…just feed him fresh bread.” It must have done the trick. When Al got home from work and I told him about Kiyoodle…and having called the vet. Then, ”Oh, and by the way, I’m having contractions” he whisked me off to the hospital. I was so afraid it was false labor that I didn’t want to go. “The contractions are about two minutes apart. I think we have plenty of time.” I tried to reassure him. A half hour after arrival at the hospital, our first child was born. A boy. We named him August Frederick after his grandfather.

When we brought our son home from the hospital, I was afraid of how our “only-child-until-that-point” would react. I lowered the bassinet, letting our half-grown pup satisfy his curiosity. He accepted the new member of the family completely. Once when changing the baby’s diapers, Kiyoodle jumped up on the bed. Magically his oversized paws never touched August then…or at any other time.

We had a rule about not getting on the bed. I guess my changing the baby on this off limit place gave Ki’ the impression that if one “baby” could be on the bed, the other “baby” could also. But Ki’ knew the rules, and made up his own. He would pull most of his body up on the bed with his hind feet still on the floor. It was his way of claiming he wasn’t “really” on the bed if two of his feet are still on the floor.





By the time August was born, Kiyoodle had gotten quite used to riding in the car. But he was the only dog I knew who would get car sick. [I might now add, thus far. In the future, there would be others…] We had a Ford Thunderbird at the time and didn’t know how to remove the back seat. Luckily, Purina Dog Chow, regurgitated, wasn’t too repulsive a smell, and what seeped behind the seat disappeared and along with it - the smell… after a few days, that is. When we finally traded it in I wondered what they found if whomever ever removed the seat.

Ki’ learned that if he placed his big feet on the center rest between the driver and passenger seats, he could see through the front windshield, and when the car went around corners, or curves, he could balance by leaning on the passenger seat or the driver’s seat for support. Often he would place his nose too close to the windshield, getting the inside covered with nose prints. Back then all gas stations had full service, and often the attendant would keep sudsing the center of the windshield, trying to remove these nose smudges which were inside.

August’s car-bed fastened over the back of the passenger seat, and lay on that side of the back seat. This was fine for Kiyoodle’s position in the car.

When my husbands stint with IBM’s school in Kingston was over, he was ready for his job in N.Y.C. We found a nice home in Norwalk, Connecticut, with a school at each end of our street.

As soon as we settled in, Kiyoodle got to know each child in the neighborhood. He would be busy each morning first walking the oldest children to their school which started classes earliest; then come back for a snack, and a drink of water; then he’d be off again walking the younger children to their elementary school. When school was out in the afternoon, Kiyoodle was busy again being a companion to every child in the neighborhood.

The children soon learned what a great retriever Kiyoodle was. You could take a stick--any old stick--and throw it into the bushes where they may have been many sticks just like it, and Ki’ would fetch back the very stick you threw. He loved to retrieve from the water and made quite a game of it. But his greatest trick ever was his flimflam game:

Kiyoodle always had an assortment of balls, and loved to be chased, playing keep away. But it took a sucker to play the game. Kiyoodle would carry a ball throughout the neighborhood looking for his patsy. A neighbor may be doing yard work, and Ki would walk up to him and drop the ball. The chump may not notice at first, so the dog would pick up and drop the ball again staring at it waiting …maybe a glance at the fall guy, then back to the ball. Finally the neighbor would throw the ball for the dog. Ki would gallop after it and bring it right back, dropping it again at the person’s feet. Well, playing with the dog was more fun than yard work, anyway, and the person would throw the ball again. Now Kiyoodle brought the ball back, but didn’t drop it. He let the dupe take it from his mouth, and throw it again. Now the neighbor had to try a little harder, but not too hard--he hadn’t got his good run in yet. By about the fifth throw, Kiyoodle’s friend was into the game, and when Ki’ got close enough so the neighbor would try to get back the ball, he’d just get away, finally being chased in a zesty game of keep away.

Mr. Slattery across the street tried to train Ki’ to be the outfield catcher when he’d help his son with batting practice. Ki’ did well for awhile, but time after time he’d use the opportunity for another game of keep away. Jim Slattery didn’t think Ki’ was too bright at those times, and once he had to come over to our house to make us have Kiyoodle give him back the baseball. However Kiyoodle may have been thinking the same thing about Jim not being that smart, as Jim had fallen for the “sucker game” more than once.