Step-dogging

This is our dog Ossie, who died a few months ago. He was our tenth child. When I married into this ready-made family of six children (with my own three children Velcro-ed to my side), it didn’t take me long to realise that Ossie was another on the list to love and look after. The fact that he was a dog didn’t make much difference; he was low maintenance and instantly loved me. Dogs are like that. Stepchildren take longer.

Ossie wasn’t just an ordinary dog; we highly suspect he was a human stuck in dog form. I know you’ve heard that before from other dog-owners, but they’re speaking metaphorically – I’m speaking from actual evidence. You see, Ossie could talk. It’s true! Whenever we arrived home he’d open his German Shepherd-Crossed happy mouth and say ‘hello’… or in Ossie-talk, ‘harro’. Once, he even said he loved me. Well, close enough. It sounded like this: ‘Ar rar roo’, to which I replied, ‘And I love you too, Os.’

Just over a year ago, my 13 year old cat, Phoenix died. My three children and I loved Phoenix; my step children and husband did not. Nobody ever talks or writes about step-animals. It’s a complex union, that of blending families – animals included. When my stepson brought a pet rat home from school one day it was hastily sent to live at his mother’s place; and even there it didn’t last long.

Phoenix the cat entered this blended family with two strikes against him: one, he was a cat, and two, he was a furry cat, and the only thing worse than a cat was a furry cat. It was upsetting to hear disparaging comments about Phoenix, and even more upsetting that he was so easily dismissed and forgotten. He was also relegated to the cool and barren end of the house; in winter it was icy cold down there and in the summer, stinking hot. I could only love him from long distance.

And then one day – for some unknown reason – there was a change of heart. It was now okay to let Phoenix join the rest of the family at the happy and warm end of the house. He loved curling up near the heater ducts at night, or sneaking into a bedroom and kneading the doona to spongy perfection. He also left more fur for me to clean up. But I didn’t care. The children always left their stuff lying around, so I didn’t see it as much different.

Phoenix was only to enjoy the fruits of acceptance and warmth for a short time, as he began to become listless and scraggy-looking with the onset of illness. Before long, he wouldn’t eat, couldn’t eat, resulting in his furry-coated cat skin hanging like a wet paper bag from his body. Phoenix was dying. Every morning I’d wake in hope that he’d died in his sleep, but it didn’t happen. So I took his life in my own hands. At the vet’s advice, he was to be euthanised. It was, by far, the hardest decision I’ve ever made and the most difficult thing I’ve had to do.

So Phoenix died, and not everybody was sad.

Then, a year later, it was Ossie the dog’s turn to leave us. He too, was thirteen. Despite the unlucky number, Ossie was fortunate enough to be loved by everyone. All eleven of us.

To me, Ossie was the epitome of love and acceptance into this large, blended family. He always had enough doggy love to go around. He would sit next to me on the outside step when I’d cry with despair in the early days over the too big a bite I thought I’d taken on in becoming a stepmother to six children; and he didn’t discriminate: although he was part-human, he didn’t take on any of the false beliefs that others had of me, in coming into their world.
Ossie would keep me company in the garden whenever I weeded and planted, lying down on a patch of soil with a ‘humph’ and contented sigh. And he was always pleased to see me, even if I’d spoken to him harshly not long before.

He appreciated his morning Schmako, his water bowl being filled, the tummy rubs, his new bed, the warm, roast lamb bone, the kind words, the walks – as much I appreciated him and all his doggy goodness.

The clearest and most memorable dream I’ve ever had featured Ossie the Talking Dog. In the dream, he spoke to me rather eloquently and clearly, telling me he wasn’t really a dog, but a human in dog-form, just as I suspected. He said he’d come into my life to teach me to ‘stay’. (Ironic, coming from a dog.)

So I stayed.

We can learn a lot from our step-pets.

Phoenix the Cat