True Confessions of a Closet Golden Retriever Junkie

by Donna Shiffler-Jones

Yes, I admit it, I'm a Golden Retriever junkie. I'm not ashamed of it, I just have to own up to that fact. It started two years ago when I and my husband, Preston, became a foster home for SEVA GRREAT. We already had three dogs in residence: two Labrador Retriever mixes (Mozambique and Grizzelle) and a moderately neurotic Dalmatian (Pepper). We didn't even start out to purposely have three canines. My husband wanted a Chocolate Lab, so during our annual three week vacation we take every winter we went to Heritage Humane Society in Williamsburg and checked out what they had available in canine adoptees.

We found a gorgeous deep brown Lab mix with mystical amber colored eyes. She was friendly and outgoing and licked us everywhere she could reach all the while wagging her tail a mile a minute. Naturally, we fell instantly in love. Then we noticed, sitting quietly in the rear of the kennel, a smaller inky black Lab mix. She wagged just the tip of her tail and looked hopefully at us. I knelt down and held my hand out toward her to let her sniff. She hesitantly stretched out her neck sniffed my hand and gave it the barest, tiniest little lick. Preston checked the information card attached to the door of the kennel and we discovered that the two dogs were sisters from the same litter. Well, we couldn't split up a family (that would not do), so we adopted both of them.

Pepper was another story. She came to us out of the blue from a friend of my mother's who was a realtor and was relocating some folks from Norfolk to Newport News. These people had a Dalmatian that had been dumped on them by a friend two years ago. They weren't really 'dog' people to begin with and had kept the Dalmatian chained up in their back yard. Since the house they were moving to in Newport News didn't have a fenced back yard they decided to get rid of Ashley (as they called her) and if they couldn't find anyone to take the dog they were going to have her put to sleep. Now, you KNOW when I heard THAT, I wasn't about to let that scenario happen! We renamed her Pepper immediately (Ashley just would not do for this pooch) and spent the next two months reassuring Pepper that she was not only home to stay but that she was definitely an 'indoor' pet and part of the family. She has adjusted well to life with us although she has an attitude toward 'Dogs' (Pepper is NOT a DOG - she is a DALMATIAN, there's a difference you know!).

Now there are three - OOPS! - two dogs and a DALMATIAN residing with us when I'm perusing the Virginia Gazette one day and see a request for foster homes for the Golden Retriever Rescue. Hmmm... Preston wouldn't notice one more pup around the house and its for a good cause. Besides, aren't Golden Retrievers incredibly good natured and easy going- Preston wasn't overly thrilled - 'Golden Retrievers! Aren't they dumb?! And all that long hair, they'll shed everywhere!!' I pointed out that I do 90% of the housework anyway and that Pepper isn't exactly a Mensa genius (she's galloped full tilt into a closed door before) and that we only keep the dog until a permanent home is found. Preston agreed although he was unenthusiastic. Okay. So now we're a foster home. Our first foster dog was Shiloh. I couldn't have gotten a better introduction to Goldens. He was big and gold and polite and friendly even though he had gone in less than a month from animal shelter, to someone's home, back to animal shelter, to isolation kennel, to ANOTHER isolation kennel (from Mimi Spear's in Hampton to Nancy Sisemore's in Gloucester) and finally, to our home.

He endeared himself to me by hugging me as a greeting - he would actually jump up, put his paws on either side of my waist and squeeze gently. He also gave me heart attacks when I would take him out to the barn where I keep my horses. He would leap out of the back of the station wagon with my dogs but instead of charging out to the apple orchard where the rabbits and groundhogs live (where Mozie and Grizzelle always go first), Shiloh took off at a dead run straight down the eighth of a mile long driveway headed right to the highway! All I could think was 'My first foster dog and he gets hit by a car 2 days after I get him! They'll never let me foster another Golden!!' Shiloh galloped madly until he got within 15 feet of the end of the driveway, spun around and raced full speed back to me panting as happily as only a Golden can. He was just enjoying being able to stretch his legs after being penned up for so long! Once I understood what he was doing I relaxed a bit. He did this every time we went to the barn and faithfully stopped 15 to 20 feet shy of the end of the road before returning at top speed. Of course, Shiloh ran all around the farm with my dogs but he always put in his quarter mile sprint first.

Harley was our next foster and he was an all around sweetie-pie. Even Preston liked him so much he hated to see Harley go.

Pete followed Harley. Pete was a treat! Pete was neat! Pete had big feet! Pete couldn't be beat! Pete was pure "joie de vive" with four paws! Granted, he could wear you out with his non-stop energy but he was such a happy guy you couldn't help but smile!

Then came Merlin, a real rescue with a happy ending. How anybody would spend $350 for a pure bred Golden with a pedigree full of champions just to dump him before he's even ten months old I will never understand. Merlin was a delight to have around and it brought me such joy to watch him lope effortlessly across the pastures at the barn, his golden coat dazzled with sunlight.

Tim was next and what a peculiar looking Golden was he?! He was as tall as a Shetland pony and had loose skin around his face so that he closely resembled a Basset Hound. He had an equally solemn expression but loved to play.

After Tim, Max shared our house. Max had to be the most easy going, thoroughly likable dog I have ever spent time with. He endured being mauled by our friends' two year old daughter as well as tolerating a pair of German Shepherds we baby-sat over Christmas with good grace and deference. The older Shepherd has a tendency to stare other dogs down and would pick on Max. Max would jump the fence to get away from him (which caused us some hours walking the neighborhood tracking Max down) but proved that he was the ultimate non-aggressive Golden!

Foster. I'm sure everyone who attended Golden Days from March through September of 1998 remembers Foster. The "enfant terrible"' or "Cujo" behavior of Foster (Fozzie Bear to his friends) was pretty unforgettable! The thing is, he behaved beautifully at our home even tolerating small children. Its just at Golden Days, when Fozzie knew people were looking at him as a prospective pet, that he acted up. His attitude was, "I already HAVE a home. Now, GO AWAY." My firm belief was that Fozzie was too smart for his own good. After 6 months in residence with us, I had resigned myself that Fozzie was a permanent guest. This secretly delighted me since he fit right in with our dogs (and DALMATIAN), played nicely except for trying to monopolize all the tennis balls and truly enjoyed himself out at the barn, swimming in the pond, and terrorizing groundhogs with Mozie. At the September Golden Days, Fozzie met a family who fell in love with him at first sight. I warned the potential adopters, "Fozzie doesn't like small children!" ­ "'Our youngest is 19 and in college." ­ "Fozzie doesn't like cats or small yappy dogs!" ­ "We don't either" said the family. Fozzie gazed at the people wonderingly and looked back at me as if to say "Amazing! Folks who think exactly like I do! I LOVE these people!" Two weeks later, the family took Foster for a weekend trial period to get a better idea of his quirks and see if he would fit in with their household. He leaped right up into the back of their SUV, laid down with a couple of tennis balls between his legs and said, "'Let's go!" Needless to say, the adoption worked out perfectly! I still miss ol' Fozzie Bear and the way he carried his tail straight up at a jaunty angle while parading about with 2 tennis balls in his mouth. (Sniff.)

During Fozzie's tenure at Chez Shifler-Jones, a shy, insecure and non-socialized ten month old pup named Baron came to stay. Baron is the brother of Champ who was adopted almost as soon as he (Champ) got into GRREAT. But little Baron, soon christened Baby Bear, wasn't so lucky. Our Lab mix, Mozambique, took an especial liking to Baron and seemed to sympathize with his plight - had we adopted Grizzelle but not Mozie that fateful day, she (Mozie) would have been in much the same predicament - suddenly alone with no family around and scared to death! Baron spent his first two weeks hiding under tables, beds, and making himself very small in various out-of-way places. Lots of pats, kind words and encouragement later, he would follow our dogs (and DALMATIAN) outside and he began to take an interest in his environment. Any sudden or loud noise, however, and he would retreat hastily back under the nearest piece of furniture. Fozzie proved to be very helpful by being his usual steady and laid-back self. Baron seemed to feel more secure with another Golden present and often stayed near Fozzie, gaining confidence from the older dogs blasé attitude. To make a long story shorter, Baron found a terrific home with Anne Czompo's family after a month of visits to Anne's house to accustom Baron to Ziggy, Anne's German Shepherd, and the new neighborhood. Baron is much braver now and plays with Ziggy and rarely hides under the furniture, preferring to be petted by everyone!

Chaz was our latest foster dog. For being almost 9 years old, he routinely outran Grizelle and Pepper and kept up rather well with Mozambique on her rabbit and groundhog patrols at the barn. Chaz is a sweet fellow who is never any trouble and gets the most euphoric smile on his face when receiving a belly rub! Needless to say, he got adopted from us quickly!

Its been over a month now with no Golden at our house (save for a week baby sitting John Wayne, alias "The Dukester," for another foster home) and I am definitely going through Golden withdrawal. I miss the golden coats, the fringed tails flying, the gentle yet persistent noses nudging at your elbow for just one more pat when you're sitting, or the equally gentle and persistent paw on your knee (or, in Harley's and Pete's case, they climbed right in your lap!) and how I miss the exuberant "Golden Dance of Happiness" when you come home at the end of the day! Not that our own dogs don't greet us cheerfully with wagging tails and happy barks but it's just not on the same level somehow. Sandra Dearnley gave me a copy of the book "Just Goldens" for Christmas last year (which I love, by the way!) and in the introduction it says that the difference between Goldens and Labs is that, if both breeds were human beings, the Lab is the one you'd want to be your accountant or your insurance representative while the Golden is the one you'd want to plan your parties! He'd be the one with the lampshade on his head halfway through the evening! I couldn't agree more!

I've gotten so bad that I have stopped people on the street walking with their Goldens and asked if I could pat their dogs. Once I explain my predicament they usually smile and nod. They know that being without a Golden isn't easy.

Not that fostering these dogs hasn't been without its perils. There have been gnawed rugs, one quarter of the padding underneath our dining room rug has been gleefully shredded, felt tip pens have been chewed resulting in permanent blue stains on wood floors, Pete had an almost pathological addiction to gnoshing on candles! And there has been a definite reduction in the resale value of our station wagon due to chewing on the edges of seats and the wholesale destruction of the knobs on the window handles on the rear car doors! Not to mention the vacuum cleaner bags that fill up instantaneously with Golden hair every week! And the fact that I don't own an outfit that doesn't have at least 4 or 5 Golden Retriever hairs permanently embedded in the fabric and usually in the strangest places!

Oh, well. Preston tells me I should count my blessings. Maybe people are wising up when buying a puppy and realizing it means a 10 to 15 year commitment. Maybe they are taking their puppies to obedience classes and learning how to create a Canine Good Citizen instead of uncontrollable 80 pound pests. Maybe they're deciding that even when a family member is going through a rough stage (say chewing up everything in sight) that you don't abandon that family member but you help him work out his problems and overcome them. It would be nice, wouldn't it?

Whoops! Gotta go. The phone is ringing. I hope its Sandra calling letting me know there's another Golden that needs a place with plenty of TLC until a loving, responsible, and permanent home can be found. Hmmm... Maybe this time we'll add a fourth - OOPS! - third dog to our home (and one DALMATIAN)! Just don't tell Preston!!