I don’t know how many people out there have had to make emergency room runs because of their dogs.  I do know I’ve made enough visits to my doctor’s ER over the years that the first question the regular nurse asks me is, “Are you here because of the dogs again?” 

     If I’m sniffling and snarfing, I’m there because I’m ill.  If I’m limping, in a wheelchair, or if I am swathed in bandages, yeah, most likely there’s a dog behind the reason I’m there.  Bull Terriers are not for the faint of heart.

     My doctor’s new nurse didn’t get it.

     New nurse on her first day asked me, “What brings you in here today?”

     “My dog.  You see I was out in the yard with him.  I turned my back for a second, next thing I knew he ran full tilt into my leg, and I hit the ground like a sack of wet cement.  I think my ankle is sprained,” I said, looking at my ankle that was already the size of a football and turning a lovely shade of purple.

     Dazed looking nurse said, “Your dog?”

     “No my ankle.”  I raised my foot.  “See?”

     The nurse was shaking her head trying to process this when my doctor walked by.

     Doctor, “What are you doing here?”

     I lifted my foot and showed him my ankle.  “Well, I was out in the yard playing with Malcolm and…”

     Doctor grins.  “Did you bring Malcolm with you?”  He turns to the nurse.  “I love her dog he’s a hoot.  We had him in here a few weeks ago.”

     “Yeah, that was when he chomped down on the hose and accidentally got my husband’s thumb.  No, I didn’t bring him along today.”

     The nurse was looking concerned about our sanity at that point.  “You let her bring her dog in here?”

     “Yeah, he’s neat.”

     Funny, when I went back a few weeks later to have my sprained ankle rechecked she wasn’t there.

     Never take a Bull Terrier for a walk and buy them ice cream.  I’m not kidding they love it.  Malcolm learned where the ice cream store was on his first trip.  We stopped there often after that.  The store is only six blocks from our house.  

     On the occasional escape from our fenced yard he’d set off in that direction.  Did he ever make it there on his own?  No, there were too many exciting things along the way to distract him.  However, knowing what direction he’d go was a great help in finding him. 

     Dear Hubby has a favorite story about one time.  It seems that DH and his friend forgot to close the inside basement door, the outside basement door, and the gate to the yard.  It was only a matter of a few minutes before they were in a panic.  Malcolm had managed to wander down into the basement, up into the yard, and out of the gate.  DH and his friend knew that if they didn’t find my dog before I got home they were both dead meat. 

     They spotted a kid at the end of the block and asked him if he’d seen a white dog.  Yes, he had and he pointed them west.  Immediately DH realized Malcolm was going in the direction of the ice cream store.  They began to walk in that direction, one on each side of the street.  Four blocks along the street, DH saw a man staring down an alley to the one side.  He had one of those ‘aha’ moments and asked the man if he’d seen a white dog.  The man pointed out a back porch.  DH looked over the fence and there was Malcolm on a porch swing, having his belly tickled by an older woman.  DH called his name.  Malcolm looked over at him and wagged his tail faster.  The dog didn’t have the grace to look ashamed he was enjoying the attention too much. 

     The woman said to DH, “I knew he was too sweet to not have someone looking for him.”

     Once DH had leashed Malcolm and led him out of the nice woman’s yard, you guessed it, the dog turned towards the ice cream store…

In an earlier post, I mentioned that Joey had opened the door for Malcolm’s local stage career.  Several years after we’d lost Joey, I received a call from the director who asked me if I still had Joey.  He wanted to use him in ‘Oliver!’ again.  I replied that I didn’t have Joey, but I did have a dog I thought would do quite well in the production, and did he want to see him?  He said yes.

Unlike Joey, by this time Malcolm had three years worth of dog shows and obedience classes behind him.  He was 10 pounds heavier, more impressive, and one heck of a ham.  There was no hesitation on the director’s part in hiring us.  This was the first of five productions and four local stage companies where he’d play the role of Bill Sykes dog, Bullseye during his life.

Malcolm was truly in his element.  Since he was an all white dog, he did have to wear make up in the form of an eye patch and he’d wait patiently while I applied it.  He learned every musical cue and was pulling me to the door of the ‘green room’ as soon as he heard the song before his entrance onstage.  Most of his stage work he did off lead with me hidden behind the sets ready to reward him with a treat.

In his first play, the first scene off lead, every performance, Malcolm would lean way over the edge of the upper stage to peer at the actors below.  I stood, hidden behind a black curtain on steep steps and holding my breath praying he wouldn’t fall off the edge before Bill Sykes told him, “Bullseye, go home.”  At which point I’d whisper, “Malcolm, cookie!  Come!”  He never did fall but I always had my heart in my throat when he did that lean.  I’m certain he thought it was fun to panic me at least once during every performance.

He loved doing the bar scene and would wag his tail like crazy when the music for ‘Oom Pah Pah’ began.  He made a quick appearance in Fagin’s den and then again during Oliver’s capture.  Then after the murder of Nancy, he enjoyed his dash across the stage.  I would leave him with a stagehand, run behind the sets to the far side of the stage, wait for his cue, and then I’d blow on an English Bobby’s whistle and the stagehand would let him go.  This was our most difficult scene because of the fog, action, and so many people on the stage.  Most of the time Malcolm was flawless, however, there were those days where he’d want to take a romp.  Thank goodness, we had a back up plan just in case and one of Fagin’s boys would snag Malcolm and get him off the stage to me.

His favorite part was curtain call.  He loved the applause.  We’d send him out dressed in one of the production company’s T-shirts with Bill or The Artful Dodger and he would bow right along with the cast.  The dog was truly a complete ham.

Malcolm always knew when it was the last performance.  That was the only time he ever whined on the ride home.

Each of the four directors staged and directed in a different way.  There were often years in between the productions.  For the rest of his life, if you played a recording of ‘Oliver!’, you could tell that Malcolm never forgot a musical cue.

     Joey was with us for only a short time, he was all white except for a tiny patch of brown over one eye.  He was my introduction not only to the dog show ring but also to the stage.  

     It began with a Saint Patrick’s Day parade.  I’d walked him the four blocks from our house to where the parade would go by to see how he’d respond to the noise and excitement.  This was after he’d had a few dog shows under his belt, so to speak, and he enjoyed being in the crowd getting attention. 

     At one point, a very excited man and woman ran up to me.  Both were babbling about how perfect Joey was.  I placed myself between them and my dog wondering what these people were after.  Imagine my surprise when they told me he was the director of a local production of ‘Oliver!’ and they wanted to use my dog in the play.  What fun! 

     We went to rehearsals.  He learned his musical cues and loved the cast especially the kids.  However, we found out opening night that he didn’t like curtain calls.  All that applause scared him.  He’d try to hide behind the nearest person, part of the set, or run off stage to find me.  By the third performance he’d become more used to the sound and didn’t try to hide or run off stage. 

     Two months after his final performance, and at the age of twenty-two months, we lost him to the kidney problem I spoke of in an earlier post.  For months after that I’d run into cast members and they’d ask me about him.  I felt awful telling them he’d died.  Joey went out as a local star and he started a stage tradition for Malcolm and me to follow in the years to come.

     My first experiences with dog shows began with Malcolm’s predecessor, Joey.  We’d started with a match show as part of a dare between a neighbor and me.  She entered her Pomeranian and I entered my Bull Terrier, Joey.  She chickened out and didn’t show her dog.  I didn’t chicken out and my dog won.  That was it; hook, line and sinker, the dog show world had me. 

     Malcolm the ham loved dog shows.  His first show was an outdoor summer match show.  He was the only Bull Terrier entered, which meant we had a trot around the ring, and the judge handed us a first place ribbon.  La-di-da, no big deal, but Malcolm loved it, showed beautifully, and made us proud.  We stayed for terrier group.  At that point, Dear Hubby and I had figured the experience for Malcolm was good, but we’d never do anything in the group ring that day. 

     Group ring for Malcolm was like obedience classes at home.  Malcolm, the obedience class clown had a brand new audience.  By the time terrier group began, the temperature had hit 89 degrees and was still climbing.  Rested, watered, kept cool, Malcolm was eager to strut his stuff.  

     Malcolm sparkled when he entered the ring.  DH snapped pictures like crazy.  We lined up with all the other terrier breeds and waited for our turn.  He was an angel and stood like a stone when the judge went over him.  Malcolm didn’t need me on the end of the leash.  He showed himself, loose lead, and flawless turns, stopped in front of the judge and stacked to perfection.  The judge motioned us to the end of the line and went on to the next dog. 

     After the judge had gone over all the dogs, she sent us all around the ring one last time. 

     I wasn’t sure but I thought she pointed at us and said, “First.” 

     I turned to the woman next to me and asked, “Did she mean us?”

     She flashed me a huge smile and said, “Yes, get up to the head of the line.” 

     DH was going nuts with the camera.  Malcolm and I went to the front of the line.  The judge handed me a Group First ribbon and a small trophy.  I couldn’t tell you how many hands I shook as we left the ring.  Malcolm stopped every few feet to pose for pictures his tail a blur. 

     Outside of the ring, after loving on Malcolm, I turned to DH and said, “You know this means we have to stay for best in show, don’t you?” 

     He made a quick check of his camera, “Damn, I’m almost out of film.” 

     We went back to the van, covered Malcolm in a cold, wet T-shirt, gave him water and treats, and waited for the best in show competition.  My nerves thrummed.  Malcolm took a nap. 

     The call came over the intercom, “Best of show competition, ring 5 in twenty minutes.”

     By now, the temperature had hit 95 degrees.  We headed for the ring.  It was in full sun, not a speck of shade.  We stood in line, the judge checked each dog, and sent them down the ring and back. 

     Next thing I knew Malcolm and I were singled out and standing next to a Yorkshire terrier and its handler.  The judge had the Yorkie and its handler walk down the center of the ring and back.  He had Malcolm and I go down and back.  He stood back, stared and had us repeat it.  Down and back. 

     The fourth time Malcolm made a decision, if the judge couldn’t decide he’d do it for him.  It was hot out there.  We went down the ring, we came back, and Malcolm did not stack himself.  Instead, he looked the judge in the eye and sat down.  No treat in the world, no amount of nudging would make him stand.  He’d had enough of the judge’s indecision.  He didn’t win the Best in Show ribbon that day, but we didn’t care.

     A week after we’d lost our young male Bull Terrier, Joey to a congenital kidney defect we were visiting his breeder.  She’d offered to replace our pup and was showing us the dogs she had available.  I took pictures of them so we could take them home and think about which one we wanted.  

     One dog in particular stood out.  We kept going back to his picture.  He was ten months old.  In the three pictures I’d taken of him, he was sitting, had his paws on the kennel run fence, and had a look on his face as if he were saying to us, “Psssst, you.  Come over here.  Have I got a joke for you!” 

     The following weekend we brought Malcolm home.  As soon as our third Bull Terrier entered our lives, we realized that our new dog was going to be a real hoot.  Malcolm was a ham.  

     This dog, when being walked down the street, expected everyone to stop and pet him because normally everyone did.  One day, while Dear Hubby and Malcolm were out walking, a person walked towards them, Malcolm got excited.  Malcolm stopped.  He sat down and waited for the expected attention.  The person walked past them, he didn’t pause, he didn’t stop, and he didn’t pet.  The poor dog looked stunned. 

     DH laughed and told Malcolm that the world didn’t revolve around him.  They continued their walk.  However, Malcolm couldn’t stop thinking about that missed petting.  The poor distracted, dejected, and disillusioned dog kept looking back at the person who’d ignored him.  Malcolm became so preoccupied looking over his shoulder that he walked smack into a telephone pole.