Hannah, the Airedale Who Loved Me

One of the things I love about family history is that its scope is broad enough to include stories and photos about all aspects of a person's life, including their pets.  If I had a photo of an ancestor with a pet, and especially if I had a story to go with the photo, I would consider it part of my family history.  With that in mind, I'm sharing a personal experience.

The two-year-old Airedale who came to our home as a foster girl in spring, 2008, was rough around the edges, to say the least.  She'd been tied to a tree with her brother for the first two years of her life, neglected, and most likely abused.  Thankfully, her rescuer had groomed and clipped her so she was clean and fresh.  But she did not know her name or recognize any words or commands.  She was not housebroken.  And she was afraid of everything -- steps, doors, walls, kitchen utensils, the computer mouse, lights, the TV, a sheet of paper, a change in flooring, men, hands, noises both loud and quiet, anything that moved, and anything new....  And everything was new to her!  We recognized fear when she tried to move away or hide, and worse, we could see the fear in her eyes.  It didn't take two hours for me to begin thinking about how soon we could find her a forever home (that wasn't ours).

I spent her first night sleeping on the floor with her because I wanted her to feel as comfortable and safe as possible in this new situation.  I was surprised that she nestled right next to me.  When the sun rose the next morning Hannah yawned, stretched, stood, almost smiled, and did a little playbow.  Her eyes were alight with joy and, dare I say it, love.  I sensed that she recognized me as pack leader and felt that she belonged to this new place in her world.  That was when I began to fall in love with Hannah.

So Hannah stayed and blossomed.  Her timidness with new people continued but she overcame so many of her other fears.  She gained confidence little by little -- safe throughout the house, safe in her fenced-in yard, safe for a walk, safe with me.  She learned her name and the basic commands:  come, sit, down, wait, and stay.  She also learned to "say please" with a sweet head bob.  (At mealtimes I asked her to sit and wait, say please, then I kissed her on the forehead and gave her the okay to eat.)  She loved squeaky and stretchy toys and often invited us to play.  Sometimes she was just as pleased to play by herself, grabbing a tissue box or one of her stuffed toys and tossing it around.  We used to laugh when she did this, which only encouraged her to continue or repeat the behavior.  Never laugh at an Airedale's antics:  it only encourages them.  Airedales have a great sense of humor and never seem to mind playing the clown if someone's laughing.

I consider it no small compliment that Hannah chose to love me above everyone else in our home.  She liked to be wherever I was, watching or interacting with me, and came to find me if I moved from a room while she was napping.  She gave wonderful hugs.  There's nothing like a hug from an Airedale!

In December, 2018, Hannah was diagnosed with kidney disease, spindle cell cancer, and the dreaded lymphoma.  Dogs with lymphoma usually live only four to six weeks after diagnosis.  We had the blessing of nearly six good months with her.  The past few weeks her health declined until we had to make the sad and difficult choice to let her go.  

I spent most of Hannah's last night on the floor nestled next to her.  I didn't want her to feel alone and I especially wanted her to know that she was--and is--loved.  It seemed like we'd come full circle.

Being Hannah's adoptive mom has been one of the best experiences of my life -- both a blessing and a joy.  How I love and miss her!  I'm beyond grateful for Hannah, the Airedale who loved me.

--Nancy.

Copyright ©2019, Nancy Messier.  All Rights Reserved. 
Do not copy or use any content from this blog without written permission from the owner. 
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Nary a Hug, Hugs Aplenty - Sepia Saturday

The best Mom could do was touch Lady's side.  There was nary a hug for her -- at least not from my mom.

Lady was the boxer puppy who came to live with us when I was 3 years old.  She was an excellent pet -- gentle, patient, protective, and playful (or not, as the situation required).

I suspect my father wanted a dog and my mother was ambivalent, at best.  But I like to think that if Mom had vetoed a dog, my father would have acquiesced.

Dad was the one who trained Lady in the fundamentals of being a well-behaved dog and a well-mannered family pet.  Mom was the one who set the boundaries inside the house:  she insisted that Lady sit on the rug when she came into the house until her feet were dry, lie on a rug and not on the carpet, stay out of the bedrooms, off the furniture, etc. 

Mom tolerated Lady, perhaps even loved her, but she rarely touched Lady and, as far as I remember, never ever hugged or cuddled her.

On the other hand, I love giving and receiving hugs from my Airedale, Hannah.  She's a rescue girl, saved from an abusive situation when she was two.  Her world was ruled by fear of everything and her method of coping was to duck, run, and hide.  After seven years with us she's still wary of strangers and timid in new environments but she's thriving in so many other ways. 

Hannah has adored me from the first night in our home when I slept on the floor beside her.  We share hugs aplenty.

Visit Sepia Saturday to find what others are sharing about pets and animals this week.

--Nancy.

Copyright © 2015 Nancy Messier. All Rights Reserved.

The Pets I Loved - Book of Me

about 1953

My first one-on-one experience with animals was probably when I was about three and my parents took us to see newly-born Boxer puppies.  Not long after that a little female came to live with us.  My parents, or perhaps my brother or sister, gave her the name Lady. 

I don't remember much of her puppyhood but she grew to be a good friend and companion by the time she reached adulthood.  My father carefully trained her to know the perimeter of our yard, where to "do her business," to walk gently on a leash, and to obey some basic commands.

1958

Our neighborhood was relatively small and there was little traffic on the side streets.  Lady was given free rein to move about our unfenced yard as she pleased.  My parents let her out in the morning while they ate breakfast and when she was ready to come back in she barked at the door.  On rainy or snowy days my mom insisted that she sit on a rug or newspaper just inside the back door until her feet were dry.

Occasionally Lady came back inside after breakfast with breath smelling as if she'd been eating garlic.  Mom didn't cook with garlic and Lady had no access to local garbage cans, most of which had secured lids.  No one could figure out where she might have eaten garlic.  A few weeks later my father was talking to one of our relatives who lived near the opposite end of our street.  He told my dad that he sure enjoyed Lady's morning visits.  He invited her in and she was a very well-behaved visitor.  Of course my father was surprised because he hadn't realized Lady had wandered from the yard.  Further discussion revealed that Lady stopped by the homes of several other families each morning, too, and Dad discovered that last night's dinner at these different homes was incentive for her morning excursions. 

Lady was a gentle dog but she was also a good watch dog.  I remember once being in the back yard with my mom while she was hanging laundry.  There were two lines of sheets blocking the view to the driveway and front yard plus another line or two of clothes waving in the wind.  Suddenly Lady barked and charged.  I was alarmed but my mom quickly went through the rows of sheets to find that a salesman had come into the yard unannounced.  Lady warned but did not bite.

about 1954

She had an easy-going, sweet temperament and was fun to play with.  We sometimes played tug with a rope, chased each other around the yard, or walked to the post office together.  She obviously liked to investigate, though I don't know what she was hoping to find in the clothespin basket, at right.

1966

In later years we would sometimes find Lady lying in front of the back porch door with the cat curled up between her legs.  If we awoke her and called her attention to the situation, she would often act very embarrassed.


Lady lived to be about 18.  My father was particularly heartbroken at her loss but, of course, the rest of us had sorrowful hearts, too. 

There were also a series of cats in our family, some of which I dressed in doll clothes and pushed around in a baby buggy.  How my 4- or 5-year-old self managed to put clothes on a cat I'll never know.  Maybe they were just passive cats.

Put, 1967

The cat I most remember is Put.  My brother-in-law worked at a farm and offered to catch one of the farm kittens for me.  At the barn doors I watched the kittens for a few minutes.  All of them were wild and watchful, afraid of us.  When I saw the tiny, grey, wooly one I knew she (or he) was the one I wanted.  She was elusive and fast but my brother-in-law was persistent and faster.  When he finally handed her to me she announced, with a hiss and a scratch, that she wanted nothing to do with me.  I patiently taught her that she had no reason to fear me and that I would provide her with delicious food.  It didn't take long to tame her.  She became a sweet friend. 

There were other animals in my childhood -- cows on my uncle's farm; my grandmother's dogs; my cousin's bird; a friend's pony -- but none were as dear to me as Lady and Put.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

This is another post in The Book of Me series, created by Julie Goucher of Anglers Rest.  (See list at http://www.anglers-rest.net/book-of-me---geneabloggers-prompt-list.html)

--Nancy.

Copyright © 2014 Nancy Messier. All Rights Reserved.

Round Glasses and The Girl with An Itch

Two things stand out to me in this photograph. First, that two of the girls are wearing almost identical round glasses. Round must havee been the popular style in the late 1920s, at least for girls. I think I've been looking at some of these old photos too much because when I went to choose new glasses last week, the round frames kept calling to me, "Choose us!" I didn't choose the roundest. Perhaps I'll get brave and show you my new frames when they come in.

Second, that the little girl, front left, has an awful itch. You can imagine the photographer looking through the lens seeing smiling children, all nicely posed and standing still, and at that very second before the camera lens clicked open, up went the hand. Poor Betty, being memorialized as the girl with the itch. And such a squinched up face to go with it. She makes me laugh.

These are Meinzen cousins, children of W. C. Robert Meinzen and his sisters, Wilhelmina (Mina) Elizabeth Meinzen Harris and Belle Meinzen Hashman. My mom wrote the names on the border of the photograph (which I cropped to get a larger photo). Strangely, she used childhood surnames for several of the children, married surnames for others, and only initials instead of first names for some.

Front row, left to right: Betty Harris, "Baby Girl" Meinzen, Geraldine (Jeree) Meinzen, and B. H. Probert
Back row, left to right: G. Hashman, Sid Harris, and Audrey Meinzen (my mom)

Betty's and Sid's mom, Mina, raised poodles and we see them in several other photographs from this time period.

This photo was almost definitely taken in Steubenville, Ohio, where the Harrises and Hashmans lived. The distance between Mineral Ridge and Steubenville was a day's travel at the time this photo was taken. Though the cousins enjoyed spending time together, it probably didn't happen as often as they would have liked.

My mom, Audrey Meinzen (back right), was born in June, 1915, and looks to be about 14, so I'm guessing this photo was taken in about 1928 or 1929.

This is a Sepia Saturday post. Aren't you itching to see more old photographs? Click the link and go take a look.

Billy and the Lamb

At far left is Tressa, the aunt who, as an adult, related the following story to me.

At near left is Billy, the boy in the story, probably at about the age when the lamb was at the farm.










My father once told the story of a lamb who lived on the farm in Stoneboro, Pennsylvania, where he grew up.  When the lamb grew larger, it began to butt the children in the neighborhood while they waited for the bus.  (I question my memory: were there school buses to take rural Stoneboro children to school in mid-1920s?)  However it was, he talked about this half-grown sheep butting the children.

I was interested in this story and so asked Aunt Tressa, Dad's half sister who grew up with him on the farm, if she remembered the lamb.  This is the story she told me.

The White family lived in our neighborhood.  They raised sheep.  The lambs were born early in the spring.  A mother died – leaving her little lamb an orphan.  Mr. White asked if we wanted to raise it.  Of course, we did.  Baby lambs are so soft and frisky – especially if they are “boy lambs.”

We named our lamb Sambo and fed him warm milk from a bottle and nipple.  He was very playful.  Bill was quite young at this time.  He loved Sambo and would hold his little fat hand up so Sambo would back up then make a run for Bill’s hand to “bunt it.”

This was great fun until Sambo was about half grown.  His playing took on a different nature.  When he saw Bill in the yard he would attack him from the back.  He would put his head down, while running toward Bill, and would knock him down.  We all enjoyed watching Sambo attack Bill until Sambo became big enough to hurt him.  That is when we gave him back to White’s so Sambo could join his own family of sheep.

I've never had a lamb but I can imagine how much fun it would be and how frisky, soft, and cuddly it could be.  I didn't have the photograph of Bill when I first heard this story but could easily imagine Bill's "little fat hand" in front of the lamb and how much fun it was for both Bill and the rest of the family to see the lamb interact with Bill and the other children.  I can also imagine how terrifying it could have been to see a child have the wind knocked out of him by a partly-grown lamb running, head down, to butt him.

I was grateful to hear the story from another person and hear additional memories.

Do you have "animal stories" from your family?

Little Miss Hannah Turns Four

Were you expecting a photo of a child? I know this blog is about ancestors and living family members - but I couldn't resist commemorating the birthday of our Airedale, Hannah, a furry part of our family. Unlike most Airedales, she seems to be an introvert and would probably be appalled to find herself in public view on a blog. But if you don't tell her she has photos here, I won't either.

Hannah is a rescued girl who came to us 2 years ago from a situation of abuse and neglect. She'd been tied to a tree with her brother, had never been in a house or a car, and wasn't housebroken. When she first arrived she was afraid of everyone and everything - doors, steps, paper, kitchen utensils, loud noises, quiet noises, the tv - everything! - and especially men! Every noise sent her diving for cover.

She bonded to me when I spent the first night on the floor with her cuddled in my arms. (I couldn't let her go for fear she'd get up and pee on the oak floor!) I suddenly became her source of comfort, food, and all good things. The initial plan was that we would foster her, help her adjust to life in a home, and then she would move to a forever home. She didn't have to move after all!

She's overcome lots of fearful things and we find that she's very smart. Once she learns that whatever we want her to do won't harm her, she'll practice with us till she can do what we ask. I consider it a great accomplishment that she'll push our kitchen door open from the outside when given the command; and a greater accomplishment that she'll take the kerchief on our bedroom doornob and pull it open, into herself. (Of course, the doors are pulled closed but aren't latched. I don't think I want to teach her to unlatch doors!)

It's been rewarding to see her steps toward becoming a secure, confident Airedale. And it's been great fun to have her in our home. When she's with my husband and me she has loads of personality and often does things that make us laugh or to engage us in play.

Happy Birthday, little Hannah! We'll try to make it a fun day for you.











Photos above, left to right: either apprehensive or sleepy during her first weeks with us; Hannah the digger; asleep - we don't know why she sleeps this way but often she does; ignoring the camera.


Copyright © 2010 by Nancy Messier.

Gramma Meinzen's Dogs

In later years Gramma had several dogs but Dixie is the only one I remember. I think Dixie is the light colored one in 3 of the photos. Aunt Polly is on the couch with one of the dogs.