If this column were a 12-step program, I’d be up here making an embarrassing confession:
“Hello. My name is Jan, and I am a dogaholic.”
It’s true. If you happen to be a four-footed, tail-wagging flea circus, I’m ready to spend the rest of my natural life paying for your heartworm medication. Tens of thousands of people are really dogaholics in denial. Our core belief is simple: One can never love too many dogs. And my buddy Chuck is a card-carrying example.
I first met Chuck and Fudgy, wearing matching hats, at the dog park. Dozens of canines were romping in the grass, sniffing nether regions and marking turf, while Fudgy—a small brown dachshund with unusually large eyes—sat silently in his stroller wearing a crisp, white boat captain’s outfit.
Fudgy was easily the best-behaved dog in the entire park, so I raced up to Chuck and asked for the name of his trainer. Instead, he handed me a card with the name of his taxidermist.
On closer inspection, Fudgy had clearly stumbled across Rainbow Bridge some time ago. That’s why Chuck had him stuffed.
“Yeah, it was a Christmas present for my son. He never had a chance to say goodbye to his dog,” Chuck explained. “I have a friend in the stuffing biz, so it only cost $500.”
Fortunately, Chuck’s son was a fullgrown adult living in Colorado who could unwrap a dead dachshund from Dad without needing extensive psychotherapy. But it’s not the kind of present you can re-gift or exchange at Pet Smart for store credit. So Fudgy was returned (Fed Ex overnight) to “live” with Chuck, more than 2,000 miles away.
“Turns out my son’s wife is allergic to dead dogs,” Chuck muttered as he pushed Fudgy’s stroller toward the agility area.
Not coming from a woodsy background, I always assumed animals without antlers didn’t rate stuffing, and only an elite few were destined for some lucky guy’s oak-paneled den. But that’s not true. Stuffing Snoopy is big business. So is freeze-drying, which is supposed to be more natural.
For a mere $750, an 8-pound companion can be preserved for eternity in the lifelike pose of your choice. But freeze-drying a 100-pound pup could set you back about $6,000, which would likely add to your pain.
If we ever opted for freeze-drying, we’d pose our mutts on their hind legs, like they were still barking squirrels out of a tree. But our terrier, a particularly cunning canine, would be posed hotwiring a car to get to Home Depot for a chainsaw. (He’s got his own way of dealing with squirrels.)
Before investing in professional services, I’m going to test Brylcreem. You remember how “a little dab’ll do” things to your hair (or fur) that would otherwise require 16 coats of polyurethane? My uncle, who moves around less than Fudgy, used to slather tons of it on his head. To the best of our knowledge, for 37 years, he never moved off the sofa. As kids, we always suspected he was stuffed. Possibly by our aunt.
I’ll let you know if she does dogs.
Jan A. Igoe, a writer, illustrator and dogaholic from Horry County, hopes all your pets will be happy, healthy and obedient companions for a very long time. Happy and healthy will have to suffice for the terrier group. Fellow animal nuts can reach Jan here.