"Now We Are Six-Times-Two" For Geordie on His 12th Birthday

I had the privilege of first meeting Geordie, a little cashew-shaped creature among his Cairnish litter mates-- two brothers and a sister, on their actual birthday, August 7, 1995. I didn't zero in on him because it was yet to be determined which of the three boys would be ours.However, as time passed, I recall that he was the reserved one--though hardly passive. I suspect that he may have grown up to be the exhibitionist of the trio but do not know for sure. Never as flashy in the show ring as his two brothers, Haggis and Ollie, he would much later discover unconventional, captivating, and even creative ways to express himself.

Before long, the litter developed and became ambulatory. You could watch Geordie's two brothers and sister cavort while Geordie, the smallest of the boys and the gray brindle one-- the others were red brindle and wheaten--quietly masticated a stray piece of rawhide, way off to the side at the periphery of any camera shot. I have the video to prove it, too! I made a passing mental note that this puppy had something almost feral about him. He was easy on the eyes, a perfect (to me) balanced little critter with a devil/sweet expression. I did not allow myself to get attached.

We brought him home for our family and for Maggie-- so we thought. But he would become a bratty little brother. They truly love each other but in a somewhat perverse way. He was certainly a little demon then. . .

Geord's First Halloween

. . . and remains so now.

At first I wondered if Geordie offered as much cerebral wattage as some other Cairns. For one thing, whenever he followed me into the bathroom-- which was all the time-- he appeared to need me or Maggie to open the door in order for him exit. When a potential "intruder" such as Carole, our mail carrier or Mike, the UPS guy, or a pair of Jehovah's Witnesses rapped on the door, he'd want to investigate: you could never be sure. So at his demand, Maggie would return to the bathroom and dutifully drag the door open by the spring at its base, let him out first, and she would follow.

This went on for about three years until the time his barks went unheeded for several minutes. When Maggie did not come to his succor, his impatience caused a little mental lapse and his drive got the better of him, so he dragged open the door as though he'd been doing it all along. As well he may have.! In any case, I had the distinct impression that he had not really wanted to blow his cover. He has given up this charade but tried several other ploys. Once after unzipping my purse and stealing a bag of treats that lay to his right, his face protested, "Wait! How the hell did these treats get here?" Now I believe that it was he who considered me the mental midget all that time.

From there he graduated to extricating himself from his collapsible crate (zipper again) and then by flipping the latch on his crate, the little Houdini!

Geordie's deadbeat father to about forty children. By now he's probably got great great great great great grandkids. He's invariably gentle and solicitous with puppies-- that is-- until the males start manufacturing noticeable quantities of testosterone. However, if they're neutered, all can be well and he can remain a nurturing role model. He once "modeled adult manhood" to his son Tarry by taking on The Subject of Cats, even though Tarry had always coexisted in peace with them since puppyhood. Geordie felt compelled to convey his Newtonian view of the feline species. A cat at rest is not a cat. Might as well be a fire hydrant. A cat in motion is to be pursued! (It's the law!)

Once Geordie risked the reprimand of Tarry's very bold cat, who swiped his right eye as he leaped on to (Tarry's person) Bette's computer desk for a mano-a-mano con el gatto. The brave cat drew blood. Another friend grabbed one of two medicines Tarry had been prescribed for a recently scratched cornea. She assumed these were simply to soothe. My squeamishness prompted her to shoo me from the room so that she could minister to him.

Into Geordie's-- superficially so, it turns out-- bleeding eye, she administered atropine, a derivative of "belladonna"-- stuff Nineteenth Century women used to dilate their eyes in order to achieve a seductive look.

Well, Geordie looked no more "seductive" than usual that evening; but the next morning, he looked downright weird. In the case of canines-- unlike in humans-- you don't get the dark mysterious look, but dilated pupils revealing the deep blue color of Crater Lake on a cloudless day. I had the drops and an appointment to visit the vet.

Our veterinarian Dr. Ferro's detective work bore out that one should never use medicine prescribed for another dog. I showed him the drops I brought with me and he remarked, "Well, these shouldn't have caused this reaction unless someone laced them with atropine. . ." A quick phone call to the friend confirmed that it was not drops but ointment that went into Geordie's eye. Mystery solved, but he looked pretty weird for the week it took to process out. When I called the canine ophthalmologist's office, the technician just laughed her head off and I kept him out of the sun.

I could go on for ages with Geordie stories, and he has been my muse. It's always something. Someone left the gate open-- a freaky fluke. It takes me two hours and a gloating Maggie to clue me in. I panic. I call Larry, who was the guilty party. I drive around. I ask everyone. Finally we find him in a fenced yard a few blocks away. My heart slips down through my throat back ti its rightful place when someone-- I've been knocking on doors for hours-- tells me where he is. Meanwhile, he had been happily trolling the 'hood and making instant friends while I freaked out. Strangers invited him in to share a bit of TV on the couch to watch TV. ("Strangers are just friends waiting to be made." ), slake his thirst from a pet's water dish, or select dainty mouthfuls of "bonbons" from the cat's food bowl. . . "Anything for attention" is Geordie modus operandi.

Birthday Bone,
courtesy of Cindi Marshall
"Buffalo bone, wontcha come out tonight?"








So now Geordie is twelve years old today. . .

Jewish Cairn Terrier?
No Scottish Jews? See Cairn Terrier of the Hebraic persuasion! Converts are often the most enthusiastic of all. Huge assortment here. (He still doesn't know about the BRIS!)
Next year-- a Bark Mitzvah? Who knows?

Geordie the entertainer.
Geordie the Earthdog.
Geordie the Workingman's Cairn.
Geordie the pious. . .
Geordie the observer.
Geordie the plotter.
Geordie the trickster.
Geordie the assertive.
Geordie the "stage dad."
Geordie the outrageous.
Geordie the grateful member of the Nielson family.
Geordie who fancies himself the sun in his solar system.
Geordie, the Lothario. . .

He's the outrageous foil to the serenity of Maggie, who's the more practical of the two. Maggie plays the angel because she is a good sport. Geordie thinks the devil's role is more fun, even if it is typecasting.

CH. Joywood's Geordie for MagaDog, CD, ME, CGC
Today at Age 12.

Happy Birthday, Mr. Geord-an. . .

Jill and Mag

"Gorge"ous Cairn Terrier
It's the Bridge of the Gods that crosses the Columbia River from Oregon to Washington. Or is it the Bridge of the Dogs? Prone Cairn terrier insists so.

(to be continued. . .)