RYE RESCUES
Now We Have Two
By Carolina Jaramillo-Johnson
On an impulse, I finally caved in to my daughters’ relentless requests for a second dog. After last year’s Pet Rescue benefit luncheon and fashion show I had my eye on a little gray mutt that had just been rescued from West Virginia and looked like Toto from “The Wizard of Oz”. It probably helped that my husband was out of town; I texted him a picture, telling him our daughters decided his name would be Marvin.
The first week wasn’t easy for Wescott, also known as Paco, the puppy we rescued in 2013. He was curious about the new little guy and would pull his leash while showing him around the backyard, but when he realized Marvin was here to stay he got a little jealous.
The dynamic between the dogs is really interesting. Marvin knows who’s the boss and will wait for cues especially around the food bowls. But come “treat time” it’s a whole different story. Each one is curious about what the other one has. I guess it is nature! (I thought that only happened with kids.) So, when we give them exactly the same chewing treat we have to stick around to monitor and inevitably they end up exchanging treats, I guess because each one thinks the other one’s is better.
Now Wescott has an ally in Marvin, especially when they gang up on me to take them out for their daily walk. First, I have to have my coffee, check my phone, read the headlines, and then they start howling demanding I get going. Every day this winter we’ve gone to Playland Beach to run around in the sand and meet the usual suspects. I used to be known as Gabby’s mom and then Cristina’s mom, now I’m Marvin’s owner. At all of 13 pounds, Marvin has a following, hounds and owners like his spunkiness — he’s often the smallest dog at the beach, but he loves being chased by the big guys.
Rainy days are a challenge for every dog owner, I first try to open the slider to the backyard to see if the doggies will go out, but most of the time they sniff and look up at me as if saying “no way José,” after I get my rain gear on and take them for a walk around the neighborhood we come home for a pat-down routine. Wescott lets me swaddle him with the towel, while I speak softly in his ear, wipe each paw and rub his belly he half closes his Garfield-like eyes in total contentment, at that point my endorphins hit a high. Marvin wants none of it. I have to wrestle him to dry him up a bit before he’s allowed in the family room.
Marvin loves to look out the window, chase squirrels, and torment the chipmunks. He’s a rascal. Wescott, on the other hand, he knows he was meant to be a spoiled lapdog. Advertised as a “Peekapoo,” it turns out he’s got a lot of peek, but no poo in him. It doesn’t really matter; he’s beautiful and he knows it.
The author with Wescott and Marvin
Photo courtesy of Geoff Tischman Photography
