Therapy Dog McDuff and The Pill War

I once heard a Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show announcer say as the Scottish terriers majestically entered the show ring, “The Scottish terrier is the only breed of dog that knows it is smarter than its master.” I didn’t understand what he meant then, but that was before The Pill War with my Scottish terrier, McDuff, began.

Why would giving McDuff medication be any different than giving my previous dogs pills from the veterinarian? Just hide the pill in a piece of cheese, wiener, or lunch meat and give it to him. Right? Wrong.

He’d gently take whatever I had hidden the pill in from my hand, chew once, drop it, and repeat the process until the pill fell out. Then he’d eat the cheese, wiener or whatever and walk away savoring every bite.

I told a friend at work about my problem. She suggested I put the pill far back in McDuff’s throat, hold his mouth shut, and rub his throat until he was forced to swallow. It always worked with her dog. What she didn’t factor into the equation was a Scottie with a severe case of lockjaw. He’d seen the pill and knew what I was up to. No matter how hard I pried and threatened, I couldn’t get him to open his mouth. Foiled again!

Someone told me about peanut butter. I gave him a huge glob with the buried pill. He smacked and licked until the peanut butter melted and spat out the pill. To rub it in, he continued to smack his mouth long after he walked away.

Frustrated beyond belief, I called his vet and recounted my many attempts to medicate McDuff. He said, “Put the pill in his dog food.” Why hadn’t I thought of that. It worked! For a week the dog bowl was licked clean every day and the pill gone. Fooled him at last. No way is a dog smarter than I am.

Noticing that the dog bowl next to his water container was cruddy, I decided to wash it. What did I find when I lifted it up? Seven pills neatly lined in a row. He had hidden them between the dog bowl and water container all week!

Calling the vet in tears, I blurted out my finding. He laughed out loud and said, “That McDuff is one smart dog. Come to my office and get capsules to break apart and mix in his dog food.” I did and although I was skeptical, it worked. So tell me something. Why did I feel I had won the battle, but lost the war?

Life with McDuff Take a Bite Out of the Big Apple

Dog Writers Association of America (DWAA) nominated Life with McDuff: Lessons Learned from a Therapy Dog for a Special Award and invited me to attend the Awards Banquet at the Affinia Manhattan Hotel in New York City where the winner would be announced. The letter I received from Sue Jeffries, Contest Chair, informing me of the nomination stated, “We had over 200 entries for these Special Awards, so to be in the running is, indeed, a ‘special’ honor!” After attending the banquet and seeing the nominees, I agree wholeheartedly and feel privileged to have been included among them.

Even though Life with McDuff was not the winner, I had a marvelous and unforgettable experience, mainly because of the wonderful DWAA people I met at the committee meeting and folks at the banquet. Sue Jeffries, Chris Walkowicz, Pat Santi, Marion Lane, and Ida Estep were super and some of the nicest people that I have ever met.

Maybe I’m prejudiced, but I believe “dog people” are special, full of love and kindness that spills over from their pets to fellow humans. I met so many of them at the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show on the two days that I attended. The sight of so many different breeds of champion dogs will always be with me. Hopefully, I will be fortunate enough to attend it again in the future.

Being in New York City was the icing on the cake. I LOVE NEW YORK!!! Everything about it is exciting and enjoyable to me. Riding the subway, eating pizza, pastrami and cheese cake, attending plays on Broadway, and going to museums. The hustle and bustle of the fast-walking residents. Even jumping out of the way of taxicabs to keep from getting mowed down. There’s no place like The Big Apple, and I’ve traveled a lot.

Trudy & McDuff

I write about my friend, Trudy, in Life with McDuff: Lessons Learned from a Therapy Dog. She had two Lhasa Apsos that she was crazy about, but one day she said to me, “I love Jasmine and Bandit, Judy, but they’re not like McDuff. McDuff is special.” Other friends of mine felt the same way. I’m a dog lover, and I’ve liked other people’s dogs. But I never loved someone else’s dog the way they loved McDuff. I write of those special relationships in my book.

Sophisticated Lhasa Apsos and rambunctious Scottish terriers don’t mix. A half hour into a holiday visit to Trudy and David’s home with McDuff, Jasmine and Bandit begged to be put in the basement. They wanted no parts of that crazy, high-energy Scottie.

Trudy and I became close friends when we worked as legal secretaries at the Columbus, Ohio, prestigious law firm of Vorys, Sater, Seymour and Pease. Some of my dearest friends still work there. Even though I moved on to other jobs, and moved out of state, we have never lost touch. They have supported and encouraged me down through the years. A person is blessed to have only one true friend in life. I have been blessed with many.

My dear friend died of leukemia at the age of fifty-three. Even though I had moved from Ohio to Nevada, we talked on the phone and e-mailed nearly every day during her long and courageous battle. We discussed life. We discussed death. I miss her to this day.

Trudy’s husband, David, is an editor on Life with McDuff. He is the first person who read the completed manuscript. I know she is aware of the success of the book and looking down with a smile on her lips saying, “Only Judy.”

Spirit Dog McDuff

McDuff was a spirit dog. Native Americans and other cultures believe in spirit animals, or totems, possessing special powers. An animal that comes to an individual and acts as a spiritual guide in the physical and spiritual worlds. It offers power and wisdom to that individual throughout a lifetime and beyond. McDuff certainly fit that description.

I felt a strange connection when I went to the kennel to bring the eight-week old Scottish terrier puppy home. Something eerie happened when I picked him up and looked into his eyes. Throughout our nine years together, I witnessed unusual occurrences among McDuff, people, and animals time after time.

A fifth grader struggling with reading went from a D average to the honor roll after reading to McDuff for twelve weeks. Five individuals with horrendous mental and physical disabilities responded to him in amazing ways.

A repeated pit bull attack that should have killed him left him totally unharmed. At the touch of his nose, I saw him calm a terrified out-of-its mind wild duckling. And, a small child’s hysterical fear of dogs evaporated after a brief exposure to him.

McDuff returned to me in the wee hours of the morning to snap me out of the debilitating grief I experienced after putting him down in 2003. Two years after his death I received a Christmas card from a close friend who loved him dearly. She was dying of terminal lung cancer and wrote, “I keep McDuff’s picture in front of me, and just know he is in my arms comforting me and tears fall. Maybe I will see him soon.”

I write about Spirit Dog McDuff and how he miraculously touched my life and the lives of many others in the book, Life with McDuff: Lessons Learned from a Therapy Dog.

Life with McDuff and the Henderson Writers' Group

I sat in a chair placed against the wall to accommodate the overflow crowd in the too small conference room at the Las Vegas-Clark County Library. As I listened to the members of the Henderson Writers’ Group (HWG) seated around the center table, thoughts flashed through my mind. You’re in way over your head. These people are writers and published authors. You’ll never belong with this group. But I didn’t stop attending the weekly meetings held in Henderson and Las Vegas.

Each week I listened to the gentle and informative critiques of writers who read from their works and soaked it up like a sponge. Most of it was over my head, but I didn’t get discouraged. Even though the thought of reading something I wrote in front of a group of writers terrified me. When I asked for comments from a friend about the chapter I intended to read at my first critique, he said, “It sounds like an essay.” I still tease him about that.

I encourage every fledgling writer like me to find and join a writers group. Without the guidance and encouragement of the HWG, my first book, Life with McDuff: Lessons Learned from a Therapy Dog, would probably still be in the incubator. The expertise and experience of fellow writers will benefit you in many ways. My eternal gratitude to the HWG members who took me under their wings and hatched out a published author.

LIFE WITH MCDUFF: A SCOTTIE WITH ATTITUDE

LIFE WITH MCDUFF: A SCOTTIE WITH ATTITUDE

I’ve owned many dogs in my lifetime, but none like McDuff. Scotties are a breed apart. Their appearance, intelligence and stubbornness set them apart from the other breeds. They have attitude — and plenty of it.

Just the way they walk with that peculiar gait, those protruding eyebrows, flowing beard, and extra-long, erect ears commands attention. And Scottie owners know that they get a lot of that.

Scottish terriers are often described as “dignified.” A neighbor saw me walking him one morning and struck up a conversation. From then on, he referred to McDuff as “the professor.” I didn’t have to ask him why.

I once heard a Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show announcer say, “The Scottish terrier is the only breed of dog that knows it’s smarter than its master.” McDuff’s off-the-chart intelligence combined with supreme stubbornness and frustrated me to tears. I write about the ways he outsmarted me in my book, Life with McDuff: Lessons Learned from a Therapy Dog.

It took me a while to realize what was going on because I thought, he couldn’t be that smart; he’s just a dog. But I soon found out, often to my amusement or dismay, that I had been outsmarted by a canine.

My friends at work clamored for “McDuff Stories” and he provided plenty of them. They howled at his exploits and my frustration. I write about many of them in Life with McDuff.

McDuff was special enough for me to write a book about him. And it is doing quite well. One of the blurbs on the book cover is, “Think Marley and Me, but with an intelligent dog.” That sums it up nicely.

PENNSYLVANIA COAL MINER'S DAUGHTER

Looking back, I see that growing up a coal miner’s daughter in Beeson Works, a coal company patch town near Uniontown, Pennsylvania, had its perks.

Fragrant fresh air drifted down from the majestic Summit Mountains giving the clothes swinging in the breeze on the clothesline the most pleasant smell. Cold as ice mountain spring water gushed from a pipe jutting out the rocky side of the mountain beside a winding two-lane road. Families took bottles to fill with the best-tasting, cleanest water on earth during the summer. Tall green trees, so thick in places that you couldn’t see the sky, made you feel air conditioning on even the hottest, humid days.

The Summit Mountains abounds with historical sites from the Revolutionary War. Fort Necessity National Battlefield, Braddock’s Grave, and a lot of “George Washington slept here” places just to name a few. Kids in the surrounding area returned from school outings with their minds teeming with the exciting, historic battles of George Washington, the French, and Indians. Old taverns with museums containing Conestoga wagons and other artifacts on the National Road built in 1806 (later U.S. Route 40) proved fascinating.

Neighborhood gardens in Beeson were communal property. A tempting red, ripe tomato from anyone’s garden enticed me to pick and devour it while warm juice dripped off of my elbow. Too bad if I had a cut or scratch on my arm. Ouch!

When my playmates and I ran out of mundane things to do and craved danger and excitement, we explored the abandoned coal mine. Peering into the darkness, taking hesitant steps while holding onto each other, and then running away screaming in terror from the imagined danger and perceived close call.

Kids from Beeson Works back then were labeled as poor. Too bad those who affixed that tag on us didn’t realize how rich we were.