All Things Pip

Not Even a Bomb Cyclone Can Keep Us Away From a Scrawny Runt in New Jersey

When I was about nine or ten, not too much older than my daughter, my father brought home a traumatized beagle named Patches. 

The dog was a couple years old when he came home and the story goes that my father got him from a co-worker who was a hunter. During an outing, Patches was accidentally shot and now had deep anxiety when it came to loud noises. The latter turned out to be true – every Fourth of July, the dog would panic and pee and need all manner of care. I believe some form of pharmaceutical was used by my mother to keep him calm.

At any rate, I mention this because we begin the new year with a brand-new addition to our family, Pip, a not yet three-pound, white cotton ball of energy, watery eyes and poop. And I bet you thought this post was going to be about resolutions!

Left, Pip cleaned up. At right, the girl meets the runt for the first time in New Jersey.

Technically, this all started in Kentucky about 8 weeks ago. In a tiny rural town tucked between Cincinnati to the north and Lexington to the south, a momma Bichon Frisé gave birth to a litter of pups. The last one out was a skinny little runt, a pipsqueak. The breeder named him Pip.

Through a complex series of machinations known only to my wife, it came to be that this runt would become our newest pet.

How do I put this diplomatically… I am not, traditionally, what one would call a dog person. Even back in the day with Patches, we had our moments, but mainly that dog was my dad’s. I am, however, a wife and daughter person, so my role in all this was to help with logistics, figure out how to keep our cat from going insane and making sure our trip to New Jersey over Christmas was safe and successful.

Oh, did I mention that we had to drive to New Jersey on Christmas Eve in the middle of a bomb cyclone to pick the dog up at the Jon Bon Jovi rest area off the Garden State Expressway? No? Well, that’s a thing that happened. And yes, Bon Jovi had a rest stop named after him in 2021. His guitar is in there and everything, right next to the Burger King and washrooms, but I digress.

This is all something I’d not normally, well, do.

But the girls in the house have been aching for a puppy, and Pip was hypo-allergenic, doesn’t shed, friendly around cats and likes kids. He checked all the boxes. So off we went.

The trade off went well enough. We were able to find a cheap hotel in Neptune City (yes, that’s also a real place) that liked dogs, run by a kind Indian man who just nodded knowingly at the scrawny fur ball in the ill-fitting sweater.

And we made it home on Christmas Eve in time for me to get the ladies, the dog and the freaked out cat into bed in time for Santa to spend another hour in the middle of the night wrapping presents and stocking the tree without waking any creature in the house. It was, I dare say, some of my finest moments.

As expected, having a tiny baby dog in the house is a lot like having a real human baby in the house, at least in terms of training, neediness and how basically your whole life is turned upside down for a while. Though to be fair, there’s no end game to owning a dog. My eldest daughter, Janelle, for example, made me homemade candy for Christmas. It seems unlikely that Pip, no matter how often I take him for a walk, will make me candy at any point.

Still, we endure. Rather, I endure. My wife and Little Bean are deliriously happy with tiny Pip and mainly walk around everywhere with him tucked into the crook of their elbows. If given the chance, he falls asleep on my lap as well, but I can see in his eyes that he prefers their laps and who can blame him?

Back when I had Patches, I also had a cat names Groucho, named such because of his black cat mustache on his white fur face. Groucho was mine. Similarly, we have a gray cat named Lavendar.

Both cats were less than enthused about their canine housemates. But like myself, they endured. There are far more important things to feel a martyr for than putting up with a dog loved by people who you love, so there’s no need to be dramatic about all of this.

The other night, after the ladies and Pip had gone to sleep, I found myself in the basement sipping tea and reading when Lavendar, out of nowhere, jumped up onto my lap, stretched out and let out a big sigh. She is not and never has been a lap cat, but I got it, I understood.

I put down my book and gave her a good scratching behind the ears. 

“I know, girl, I know,” I said. “But don’t worry, you’re still the queen in this house.”

Satisfied, she gave my finger a quick bite and strutted off. Better me than the dog, I suppose. We have a fish as well, by the way, Shadow Fin. I wonder what he thinks of all this?