Second Grade, Snoopy, Summer School

Snoopy, Summer School, Becoming a Writer…

When I was in second grade, a girl in an older grade had a dog that had puppies. Her dog had 10 puppies, in fact. Her family wasn’t about to keep that many dogs and so the school had a raffle so that students could win the puppies. The raffles were ten cents a piece. When I found out about the raffle, I went home and asked my mother for some money. I guess she didn’t think I would win – because she handed over a dollar! A dollar, in those days, was a lot of money for a seven year old kid!

When the tickets were drawn, I was one of the winners. My name was announced over the loud speaker the morning of the raffle. I was so excited.

Shortly after the winners were called, the students were invited to the girl’s parents’ Greek restaurant in town. My sister drove me there on her moped to pick out my puppy! When we got there, I chose a puppy from the litter – for obvious reasons: to me – she was the absolute greatest looking puppy in the world. She looked a lot like the dog on the Breakstone Cottage Cheese commercial. The commercial had this little dog that chased down the cottage cheese man and would bite at the ankles of his pant leg. My puppy was white with black eyes – just like the dog on the commercial. In a way, she also reminded me of the dog on The Little Rascals. Once at home, I put the puppy down on the floor in the living room. She started to sniff all over the place – probably picking up the smell of our Westie – MacGregor. I took her sniffing as snooping and I announced, “Her name is Snoopy.”

At the end of second grade, my teacher sent me to summer school. My school, a small Catholic school in Long Beach, didn’t have summer school that year. And since I was the only kid who had to go – I was sent to a nearby public school.

I had difficulty comprehending what I was reading and that was enough for me to need to attend school in the summer! My teacher thought I would benefit from some extra help. I went, however reluctantly, to West School – a public school – four blocks from my home.

I learned a lot that summer, but what I learned the most was that I loved writing. I decided that summer, the summer of 1976, that I would become a writer.

I wrote my first book that summer – a book about dogs.

The writing and photographs on this blog are property of M. Samantha Kinsley

Stanley

I got a call one day from our dog walker and friend, Kerri. She was in tears. “Sam,” she said, “There’s a Jack Russell Terrier at the pet store at Roosevelt Field. He’s 10 months old.” There was a silence. “I think if you call the manager and tell him you’re with a rescue group, he’ll let you have him for free.” There was more silence.

I agreed to make a phone call the next day to speak with the manager, but I insisted that I could make no promises. The next morning, I called the manager, and he confirmed that the Jack Russell was still there. When I asked if he would be willing to let me take him – free of charge, he said he couldn’t do that.

Later that day, I drove up to the mall, to see the dog. I hate pet stores that sell dogs. There’s no reason to put a price tag on a life. Not only that -- most, if not all, pet store dogs come from puppy mills. If you want to read about puppy mills, prepare yourself with a box of Kleenex. You won’t believe your eyes when you read about the atrocities (and see the photos) of puppy mills.

The pet store at Roosevelt Field smells so badly. It’s worse than smells – it stinks! It stinks so bad. All of the dogs are extremely expensive. They live in their own excrement. The mall has no yard – obviously – so the dogs never go out for walks, never see the light of day, never feel the sunshine on their coats, or the wind blow through their hair. Instead, they’re confined to tiny cages where hoards of people come in and out tapping on the Plexiglas window that is there only connection to the outside world.

The pet store, like most others, also has expensive leashes, collars, clothing, toys, and treats.

When I arrived, I saw him – the Jack Russell --immediately. To my surprise, he wasn’t in a cage, but in a tiny gated area with a woman playing with him. “Thank God,” I must have said outloud. He’s finally getting out of this hell hole. I stuck my head over the edge and smiled at the lady who was petting the JR.

She looked up at me and smiled back.
“Are you buying him?” I asked.
“I don’t think so,” she said.
“But I know he’s been here for so long, I just had to see if he was still here today.”
“Are you interested in buying him?” she asked.
“Well,” I said, “I volunteer with a rescue group, and it would go against their principles for me to BUY a dog. I came here today with the hopes of the manager giving him to me so I could find him a good home.”

The woman, whose name I do not know, stood up and said, “What if I bought him and gave him to you? Would that be acceptable?”

I thought for a moment. I thought that this woman, a woman with whom I had never met, was willing to shell out money for this dog that had been trapped in this pet store for months -- must be a true animal lover.

“I guess that would be all right. Technically, I wouldn’t be buying him,” I told her.

The Jack Russell had been marked down to $99.00. I hate to say, “marked down,” as though he was a materialistic item, a pair of shoes or jeans. But the truth is, that’s exactly what he was: an item of merchandise that had been MARKED DOWN to $99.00.

The lady bought the dog, handed me the paperwork, and the man who was working there looked back and forth between us as though he didn’t understand the transaction that had just taken place.

I bought a leash and a harness for the little man I had decided to name Stanley. I began to put the harness on Stanley when the man behind the counter started to laugh at me.

“That dog won’t be needing a harness,” he said laughing. “He’s been in that cage so long, you’ll never get him to walk.”

It took all the strength in the world that I had not to lash out and smash this guy in the face with one of my fists.

I took in a deep breath, finished putting the harness on Stanley, attached the leash to the hook, put him on the ground, and turned to the salesperson and said, “You may not have the heart to understand the care and love animals need. And you may think it’s funny that he’s been trapped in that cage all these months, but I do. This place is nothing more than a shit hole, and you’re a piece of shit for working here.”

With that said, I said, “Come on, Stanley.” And to the entire amazement of the store, he walked out of United Pet Supply with his head held high and never looked back.

This blog is the intellectual property of M. Samantha Kinsley, 2006.

Tee Sea

As I mentioned yesterday, this blog isn't going to go in any kind of specific order. I'm putting the stories on here out of my notebook and eventually on to the written page for publication. Today I'm thinking about my senior citizen foster dog - Tee Sea. Yes, foster dog. Just like children go into foster care - so do dogs. Tee Sea has a really interesting history. Apparently, he was purchased in Florida (bad, bad, bad idea to purchase a dog, but that's for another time). He was named Tee Sea because he lived in the Hudson River town of Croton-on-the-Hudson. He became Tee-Sea-on-the-Hudson. But after three years, his owner became allergic to him and he wound up with an older couple who lived on Long Island. Tee Sea or "TC" as they came to call him, lived with his second owners for 10 years. They surrendered Tee Sea to the Maltese Rescue when they had decided to move into a senior citizen housing complex, that, like many of its kind, doesn't allow pets. If this were the case with me and Des, we'd find a place that allowed dogs, but like purchasing a puppy, that's for another time, another blog. I picked Tee Sea up on Thursday, October 5th in the parking lot of St. Francis Hospital in Port Washington. It was a mutual meeting place for Tee Sea's owners and me. They were going to an appointment at the hospital that morning. The original Email from the rescue group said that Tee Sea was !4. I read this as being FOUR, not 14. In any case, when I first saw the little guy, I said to myself, "There's no way he's four." His owners filled out the required paperwork in their car -- to surrender the old man -- while he and I played with the early fall leaves that were falling to the ground in the hospital's parking lot. I saw in him, what I see in most of the dogs I take in: unconditional love. It doens't matter what the circumstances were, these dogs know how to love, unconditionally. It is this trait that has drawn me to these creatures. His owners said their final farewells to the pet they called "TC" for the past ten years, and he, my daughter (strapped in her car seat, fast asleep), and I drove off and out of their lives. I told them to feel free to call me to check on him -- if they so desired. It's an offer I make each time I foster a dog -- and for the most part, I do not get any phone calls. I could barely contain the tears as I pulled out of the parking space. Tee Sea settled on a blanket on the front seat. And all I could think about was "why is it that I am the one crying when other people give their dogs up for adoption?" Tee Sea, baby Alex, and I headed straight to the vet where I had him checked out. A closer examination of his paperwork showed me he wasn't four, but 13. His age was confirmed by the group member who had assigned him to me. At the vet, Tee Sea was a complete gentleman. He was examined, administered his shots, and given a genle pat on the head by the vet. "He's a very sweet dog," he told me. Indeed he is. After the vet, I immediately drove Tee Sea to the groomer. I was hesitant at first, but he smelled so bad. Plus, his nails were so long, they seemed never to have been cut. The vet cut them back as much as he could, but when dog's nails grow too long, it's not like you can hack them away all at once. The groomer agreed to squeeze the old man in for a bath and haircut that afternoon. I dropped him off with the promise of returning later that afternoon. The groomer commented on what a sweet dog Tee Sea was as well. He looked better, but the staining on his face and paws will take time to go away. When we FINALLY arrived home, I was afraid -- as I always am -- that the other dogs would not accept him, the outsider, the foster. But, as usual, they do. They accept these homeless dogs with open paws. That night, Tee Sea feasted on his wet dog food that his owners had given me and a handful of Cheerios -- the only treats my guys are having right now. He slept soundly next to me in bed the entire night -- as though he had always been my dog. The content on this page is copywritten by M. Samantha Kinsley, 2006.

Gloria and Chloe turn 14

At times, it may seem that this blog does not flow in a sequential time line but that's because it (the story/stories) are still in the drafting phase. The photo you're looking at right now is of Gloria and Chloe on their 14th birthday.

Even though the camera stamp says, "1999," the actual date was March 9, 2002. The girls were groomed that day and then had a Happy Birthday party with the other dogs.

The first picture is of Gloria and Chloe. The second picture is of Roxy, Ducati, Albert Einstein, Gloria, Chloe, and Sigmund Freud.

I don't know how many birthday parties the old ladies had before the one in '02, but I do know they had a great time that day!