Black Lab Fever

Faithful and affectionate, Labrador Retrievers have consistently ranked number one as the most popular dog breed for families. In the last twenty years, I have had the honor and pleasure of owning five Labs. Before I tell you about my boys, let me first explain that I’ve had pets all my life - dogs, cats, rabbits, fish, parakeets, reptiles. Each type taught me different lessons about pet ownership (for example, I’m a fish killer – I shouldn’t be allowed to have fish.) However, if I had to pick my favorite kind of pet, I’d have to choose dogs.

Cole was my first black Lab. He was approximately five years old when I adopted him from a co-worker that could no longer keep him. He was hands down the most well-mannered, laid back dog I’ve ever encountered. He’d come from a kid-free household so I was a little nervous how he’d react to my three children who were all under the age of eight at the time. I told my co-worker that I’d take Cole home for a “trial run” for a week. He never went back. Cole fit in with our family of five like we’d always had him. He just wanted love and affection, and my kids were ecstatic to give it to him as he was their first big pet. We’d had several cats over the years and some (short-lived) goldfish but we’d never had a dog until Cole.

One of Cole’s favorite pastimes was to travel with us to my mother-in-law’s house and romp in the ivy in her backyard. He loved it when we’d throw his Kong - a large, red rubber toy - into the thick ivy, making him search for it. When he got tired, he’d sink into the deep bed of evergreen until we could barely see him. Sometimes we’d all go back into the house and forget he was still relaxing in the ivy.

As he got older, Cole’s physical decline was slow and then one day it wasn’t. Maybe I was in denial. I didn’t want him to go; none of us did. But when he stopped eating and drinking and could no longer move without being in obvious pain, we knew it was time to let him go. My husband, two of our kids, and I took Cole to the vet’s office. My youngest refused to go; he couldn’t bear to watch his beloved boy be put to sleep. I remember the vet said the process could take up to twenty minutes before Cole passed but literally seconds after medication was administered, Cole’s heart gave out. The best boy in the world was gone.

As much as we missed having a dog, we waited a year before searching for another one. My heart still ached for Cole, and I told everyone that I refused to get another black Lab. Then we met Brodie.

Brodie was one of two hundred dogs rescued from a pet-hoarder situation in Southern California. I didn’t want a dog from a breeder or a pet store; I wanted a dog from a rescue. During my research into local rescue organizations, I heard about the dogs that had been saved in So Cal. Most had been brought up to Northern California and divided among different organizations, one of which was in Lodi, a ninety minute drive from our house. On Father’s Day 2012, my family and I drove to Lodi to see what kinds of dogs had been rescued. As we toured the rescuer’s property and looked at all the dogs in the pens, one stood out – a big, quiet boy in a pen with several barking German Shepherds. The look on his face seemed to say, Please get me out of here. He was, of course, a black Lab.

Brodie was actually a Lab mix of undetermined origin. He was in fair health but had some bad teeth, likely due to chewing on rocks when the food ran out at the hoarder’s home, according to the rescuers. My family knew at once that we had to save him.

Unlike Cole, Brodie took some time to warm up to our family. He didn’t seem to understand how to react to meals twice a day, a soft bed, and tender pets from my kids. Slowly he came around and when he realized he was in a safe, loving environment, he turned into a big goofball. He had these dorky Yoda-like ears and goofy smile. He was easygoing, enjoying leisurely walks around the neighborhood and hanging out with the cats and rabbit at home. He was a simple guy that just wanted a quiet, simple life.

The quiet days came to an end right before Christmas 2016. I’d heard that a family friend had a Lab (a black one, of course!) that had recently had puppies, and they weren’t allowed to keep any of them. Next thing I knew, Diesel bounded into our lives at six weeks old. I’d never had a puppy before. Since childhood, all my dogs had been at least one year old or older when I got them. Diesel was actually a Lab/German Shepherd mix, and he was beyond adorable. So adorable that I forgave the countless socks and shoes he chewed up and his frequent raids of the bathroom garbage cans. He desperately wanted to be Brodie’s buddy and often bugged him to play or snuggle. Brodie would just give me a resigned look as if to say, You just had to get him, didn’t you?

Fast forward a year and suddenly we had a huge ninety pound dog who didn’t realize how big he was, continuing to climb onto people’s laps like he was still a puppy. Diesel also became very possessive of me, barking at anyone who came close to me, particularly my husband. We took him to obedience school and though he learned a few basics, such as sit and down and roll over (well, he only rolls onto his side and only if you point your fingers at him like a gun and say “bang”), he never learned to control his extremely loud bark. He also likes to grab people’s hands with his mouth when they come through the front door (he doesn’t clamp down but he could be a little more gentle). Add that behavior to his booming bark and large size, and it may appear to strangers that I have a mean dog but it’s just the opposite – Diesel is quite a sensitive soul. Sometimes it just takes a little convincing!

Diesel and Brodie were never best buddies but they got along alright. Then, seven years after we adopted him, Brodie dropped dead one morning as I was getting ready for work. Not really knowing how old he was, I’d watched him age over the years, keeping an eye out for the same behavior Cole exhibited before he died. But I never saw it in Brodie. One morning he started panting heavily and seemed a little frantic, following me to my bedroom as I was about to shower and get ready for the day – unusual behavior for him. I was concerned but knew the vet’s office didn’t open for another hour so I told my oldest son, who was also home, that I’d call the vet as soon as they opened and see if I could get Brodie in right away. Poor Brodie never made it. When I got out of the shower, my son was standing in my doorway, saying Brodie had died on the living room floor, blood trickling out of his mouth.

Enormous guilt overwhelmed me. I should have known something was wrong, I should have acted sooner, I had missed a sign or something that would’ve told me that Brodie was sick. I didn’t order an autopsy, just had him cremated as I did Cole. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d failed as a pet parent. Brodie’s death still haunts me.

2020 brought many changes – my youngest son came home from out-of-state college and decided not to return, my daughter moved out of the house, my oldest son and his wife bought a condo, and, of course, there was the start of the pandemic and all the worries and fears that accompanied it. In late summer of that year, my daughter-in-law was working at a vet’s office, and one day she sent me pictures of eight black rescue puppies that had been brought in for their first exams. She then told me the magic words – “They’re available for adoption.”

My husband thought I was crazy. We had six cats, a bearded dragon, and two dogs (we kept my oldest son’s Beagle, Ollie, when he and his wife moved out because Ollie and Diesel had bonded.) According to my husband, we didn’t need any more pets. Well . . . I found out where the puppies were located and one Saturday, while my husband was out of town, I went to look at them. Just look. Yeah, right. I couple of my kids accompanied me, and we all fell in love immediately – there was no turning back. The puppies were Labrador/Rottweiler mixes, all black with little brown patches on their legs, bellies, and faces. As soon as I held the chubbiest one in my arms, I knew our pet brood was about to grow and not by one but by two, as my youngest son fell in love with the runt of the litter. Several weeks later we brought home two boys and named them Boba and Jango.

Since Diesel had been a fairly easy puppy to train, with minimal issues regarding crate and potty training, I expected the same with Boba and Jango. Wrong! The boys absolutely hated their crate and cried so much at night that I was barely sleeping. (Never mind the fact that there are four other adults in the house – I am the de facto doggo caretaker/trainer.) So my solution was to take the pups to bed with me. Can’t say I complained too much about warm little fur babies snuggling with me. Just had to be prepared to jump out of bed and haul them out back for frequent potty breaks, especially since poor Jango had bowel issues.

The boys were quickly dubbed “Double Trouble.” They chewed everything – shoes, toys, furniture, carpet, cats. Well, okay, one cat, and that particular cat seemed to like being accosted by them, strangely enough. They’ve since grown out of that and mostly chew on each other now during play sessions that look like the dog version of “Wrestlemania.” Though they look and act nearly alike, each has their own quirks. Jango is the chief instigator of naughty behavior and has mastered the art of begging forgiveness when caught. Boba does these giant leaps when he runs and always has a “baby” (stuffed toy) in his mouth . . . except when he’s running. Diesel and Ollie weren’t too sure about the brothers when we first got them but now all four exist cohesively in the state of semi-chaos that reigns in our house.

I know the prompt for this challenge was to pick a fond memory of a pet but I’ve made so many memories over the years with my Labs – good, bad, happy, sad, funny – that I couldn’t pick just one. Instead, I decided to share a glimpse of my life as a dog lover, a life that just so happened to have had five black Labs in it. For the record, my family currently has twelve pets – the four dogs, the bearded dragon (still going strong – thank God she’s not a fish), and now seven cats (daughter moved home a year after she moved out and brought a cat with her). They’re a lively bunch and when my family isn’t yelling at dogs to stop barking, breaking up cat squabbles, and searching for the dragon when she decides to use her free time to run and hide, we’re laughing at how our pet brood keeps us entertained, and we give them plenty of kisses and snuggles. It’s a crazy life with them, and I wouldn’t change a thing.

Except maybe get another dog . . .