A MEMBERS CHOICE Selection - The True Tail of "Knickerbocker" the Wire Hair Terrier. Funny antics ensue... Barbara Kirsch's "Hold The Dog" Episode 2 .....
"We very quickly became a California family. We could not get enough of the glorious mountains and beaches. Imagine one role of film encompassing both a visit to the snow and a romp on the beach in mid-February. I longed to complete that smiling, tan, homey picture with a loving family pet at our feet.
I knew, however, that it was not feasible.
When we would attempt to take Knicky on an outing, he would tug at the leash mercilessly and sniff out every inch of the new area. Once he had lifted his leg in numerous places, the entire place became his. It is tough to enjoy a place such as Malibu Beach when its new owner is spending his day challenging any and all intruders who dared to step on his property. He was definitely a home dog. Unfortunately, he had no desire to stay at home.
After several months longer in Burbank, Knickerbocker decided he was bored. Little Lisa committed a dangerous act. She attempted to enter her own house. Knicky left. I mean left. He did not keep five yards ahead of us. He took off. Hours turned into days, and weeks soon passed. I called all the pounds, vets, and newspapers. I was especially concerned because of his epilepsy. What would be your reaction if you came upon a bedraggled, dirty dog trembling and possibly convulsing? Rabies? Sleep came with difficulty at night, and to soften the blow to the children as the second week dragged by, I told them a tale of the lovely day we would seek out a new dog. How we would choose a pup who would turn himself inside out with joy every time he saw us. How he would frolic with us in the park. How he would play with the neighborhood dogs and run beside the children as they rode their bikes. Eyes sparkled and Stevie clapped his hands in delight. Just then, the phone rang, and a lady answered our newspaper plea. She was sure she had Knickerbocker at her house. Danny looked up with tears spilling over. What a feeling child I admired. “Can’t you ask her to keep him?” he blurted.
Of course we went to claim him. Knick turned his head away in discust, and the lady looked suspicious. I felt the need to assure her of our devoted ways and invited her to come to dinner with us. This charming woman, a T.V. makeup artist for one of Los Angeles’s designers, Mr. Blackwell, engaged us with details of her two weeks with Knicky. While I was driving through the city imagining my poor animal huddled under an abandoned car or scrambling for garbage, our dog was sleeping at the foot of Blanche’s bed, having deposed her poodle from his accustomed sleeping place with a quick show of teeth. Blanche knew she should check the papers, but Knick had that je ne sais quai. I knew just what she meant. After the poodle developed a decided neurotic tick and lost several pounds, Blanche felt a maternal obligation, and Knick’s vacation came to end.
The spring day was unusually clear and crisp. Blanche sat sipping her coffee and chatting. She was smiling but I knew by her averted eyes that she was skeptical about “Chuck?” My pride was on the line and I motioned for her to follow me into the boys’ bedroom. She stood there shaking her head slowly at several hundred vertical scratch marks on the front of the dresser. She touched my arm in silent apology. How could she have doubted me? Not when Knickerbocker was involved.
The ordeal had commenced when a rotund, jovial, elderly patient of Mike’s insisted that we should not deprive our children of the joys of having a bird for a pet. He had parakeets, and would feel personally rejected if we did not take one, complete with cage, food, and written instructions. Bring another being into this house? Present Knick with such a temptation? I was adamant. And in no time at all, I lost.
We all agreed on "Chuck," named after the children’s grandfather - who mercifully, to this day, is unaware of this honor. Our immediate concern was for the safety of this small green and blue newcomer. We placed him in the highest position available, on top of the dresser in the boys’ room. The children had to crane their necks to see him, but Knicky could not reach him.
Pleasant chirping sounds filled the house, and my opposition began to melt, until about three minutes had elapsed, time enough I suppose, for Knicky to gather up strength and take a few deep breaths. Then it began. Knick started to jump up at the dresser. There was no way he could reach Chuck, but there was no way he was going to stop trying. He jumped and jumped and barked and barked. He’ll give up. He’ll get tired. He’ll get hungry. He kept it up for nine hours. Finally, at about 7:30 PM, Chuck looked down at him from his perch, keeled over, and died of a heart attack! I called the vet immediately, and he confirmed the cause of death. We eulogized Chuck, buried him, and talked about how we would remember him, mainly falling head first off his perch. Knicky meanwhile, kept vigil at the foot of the dresser. He was interested in that cage.
We tenderly carried the cage out to the garage, removing the last of Chuck’s effects. Knicky paced back and forth behind the wall, peering at the garage door. Danny observed the dog’s behavior and commented, “You know Mommy, I think Knicky is mixed up. He saw us take Chuck out of the cage, but his smell must still be there.” I nodded.
Not too many days after, the Avon lady not only rang the bell, but, contrary to the commercials, walked right in. Knick walked out. My mouth dropped, and Danny’s words flashed through my mind. I brushed passed the Avon lady and raced to the garage. I grabbed the birdcage by the little ring on the top and flew out of the yard in hot pursuit. The stunned Avon lady must have shut her eyes in disbelief. There was this lunatic woman chasing a full-grown dog down the street while carrying an empty birdcage. Don’t laugh. It worked! It worked once. Knick skidded to a halt, and came for the bird (what a delight to outwit him once.) I grabbed his collar, and to the disappointment of the staring neighbors, did not try to stuff him through the little door! I never again laid eyes on that Avon lady.
I will have to admit that the next time I chased him, cage in hand, he didn’t even look back, but so what, so what, it worked once! It also worked once each time I used an empty goldfish bowl or turtle bowl. Knick climbed on top of whatever he had to to reach his prey. He then went gently, almost with taste and tact, killed them, and just left them on the couch, on the stairs, on the kitchen floor, proud of himself, showing off. I recall vividly the time I was on the phone, and Stevie approached, calling, “Mom, Knicky got the turtle, but I don’t think he hurt him. All his parts are okay.” Sure, all his parts were okay, each part was hanging out of the shell, destroyed, but not damaged. Would you permit yourself to run along the sidewalk in full view of the people of Burbank chasing a dog, with your extended arm carrying an empty goldfish bowl? If you owned Knickerbocker, you would.
As time passed, I noticed a little gnawing inside of me. It was kind of an aching without physical pain. My babies were getting older, achieving different degrees of independence, and my maternal instincts were threatened. I had fleeting thoughts of another baby, but, although I was aching, I still had my senses. I knew the solution for me, a second dog!
No one would take me seriously. They didn’t understand. This time I knew what to look for. No visions of a bright show biz type. I wanted a loving, not too small, dependant baby. I knew there was not too much need for debate. If I could get my husband into a house with a new litter, he would succumb. There is no denying those pleading eyes. I scanned the newspaper and found my dream--- baby Irish setters. The whole family went, just to look.
They were all so appealing (though I must grudgingly admit baby Knick was the most winning). We picked a gentle, smooth red cuddly female, and she nestled into Lisa’s lap for the ride home. Mike observed the coloring and suggested the name Bourbon. I cringed as a picture flashed through my mind of a visit to the vet where the desk girl would call into the crowded waiting room, “Next. Bourbon Kirsch.” However, I knew Mike was still not sold on the new venture, and I nodded in swift agreement.
We knew we had a large obstacle awaiting us at home! I was positive Knicky would not attack since Bourbon was a female, but I knew he would be very interested. We arrived and introduced Knick to his new sibling. As we placed Bourbon down, Knick’s immediate concern was one of incest. Thus began the most exhausting couple of months I can recall. We had to stand guard over the baby continually. At night I would provide her with a hot water bottle and ticking clock to simulate her lost mother, and during the day I would provide her protection form her new lover. What she could tell a psychiatrist! Slowly, nature provided us with a solution, Bourbon got too big! Knick could no longer reach her and he finally abandoned trying.
As Bourbon grew in size her sunny disposition grew. She would bathe us with kisses while Knick remained ultra selective. She would cringe and roll over on her stomach if even our four-year-old yelled at her, while Knick would simply bear his teeth. She would squirm and twist that long tail in delight when we appeared, while Knick would yawn and tolerate us.
Then came the moment of truth - both dogs outside and Knick started barking in distress. I went to the window, anticipating scenes too horrendous to relate, but only Knicky and Bourbon were there. Knicky was barking at her and it became evident why. Bourbon was pacing, preparing for a big event. She sniffed, whined, barked and then took off. She stood at the back of the yard, heard her internal shotgun go off, and ran up and cleared the six-foot wall that held her in the yard!! Knick hung his head in dejection and tears welled up in my eyes. No, not another.
Then I heard it, a definite scratching noise. Bourbon Kirsch wanted to COME BACK IN. I fell over my feet racing to the front gate. When my trembling fingers unlatched it, she jumped all over me in relief, licking my face, ears, and neck. Tears of joy sprang from me and with one fee hand I even managed to grab Knick’s collar as he was taking his leave!
Goodbye Burbank! We outgrew our little house (and then there was also that petition for our neighbors). When most people excitedly explore the dream house they are about to buy, they chatter about the model kitchen, the wood paneling, the scenic view. Mike and I marveled over the locked gates, the running area behind the pool, and the lack of breakable screens. Could I be purchasing my ultimate house built around Knickerbocker’s needs?
I knew what conditions had to be met for my day-to-day survival, and I could not wait to move into our new home. Burbank did not send us off with a flare, only a deeply felt sense of relief. Knick drooled and shook all over the car, anxious to make his mark on a new community.
Encino was beautiful. We were awed by the greenery surrounding us, the massive oak trees and the climbing rubber plants. We felt we would be satisfied never leaving our backyard with its hill covered with lush planting, our promising citrus trees, our sparkling pool and lounging areas. Knicky was not sure though. He needed to get his bearings and make his own judgments.
As our aunt and uncle came in to wish us good luck, Knick left, to bring life to the neighborhood. Unfortunately, Bourbon followed him. Mike and I exchanged panicky glances. Our darling redhead is a love, but her IQ scores are strictly a family secret and we knew dapper Knick would tell her, “You’re on your own.”
After and agonizingly slow one-half hour passed, we received our first phone call in our new home, a concerned Encinoite had read Bourbon’s ID tag, called, and told us she seemed to have been hit by a car. A terrier? Oh, there had been one, but he’s gone.
There is no defending Knick. You simply learn what to expect and accept him as he is. We drove over immediately to bring Bourbon home. Her leg was definitely broken. We let our mouth-watering BBQ feast turn cold and greasy while we spent our first evening in Encino combing the area for an after-hours vet who, of course, had after hours prices. As we maneuvered Bourbon into the car, my mind screamed out, “Knickerbocker, it’s your fault.”
We brought Bourbon to the house and lay her on blankets. We all showered her with attention, drinks, treats, and loved her with patting and sweet-talk. Later in the evening a delivery boy knocked on our door and returned Knicky who had been showing extreme interest in some baked goods on the truck. Knick went nowhere near Bourbon. He did not look in her direction. Why then did she pull herself up from all those adoring hands to drag herself over to welcome him home? I could only shake my head and silently laugh. If we only had the answer to that one.
- end Episode 2 -
Want more Knickerbocker? June 1st the final episode concludes this True Tail! - missed Episode One? CLICK HERE
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