Phoebe did not like fireworks. She, also, did not like green peas. I suppose her dislike, even fear, of the explosions in the sky was the result of her coming to us as a very young puppy on the Fourth of July in 1971. She also did not like thunder. The kids, especially Deb, tried to calm her with each rumble, but she would continue to shake long after the sound had gone away. Fortunately, in New England, unlike in Texas, the New Year’s celebration was devoid of firecrackers; there she needed to endure only one day a year for celebratory explosions.
As for the peas, I was never sure why she refused to eat them when they were part of her daily meal of Alpo. Although Phoebe grew into a large dog carrying the genes of both a black Labrador and a German Shepherd, her tongue was able to push aside each pea so that they remained in the bottom of her bowl after she had licked everything else clean. In later years, she was also able to separate pills from real food when dog-medicine had to be administered. Many times, she would even unwrap the cheese in which we had embedded the pill and leave the offending particle behind, to be forced down, later, by throat stroking.
Phoebe was a bright canine, or at least one who was willing to be trained easily. She learned that her inside-the-house domain consisted of the kitchen and adjoining family room. When she was merely a small, cuddly pup, we placed boards across the doorways into the living room, hallway, and dining room. In her mind, they remained present as a barrier long after they were physically removed. Of course, scooching didn’t count. If we were in the living room, usually when friends came to visit, Phoebe would stretch out in the hallway with her front legs extending forward while half of her body reclined on the carpet. She might wriggle a little in order to gain a few additional inches of carpet-softness, but she knew there were limitations and would be reprimanded if she overlapped too much into the living room.
Being a German Labrador, she preferred existence as an outdoor dog, most of the time. She roamed the fields around our house and probably went, on occasion, to visit Tilson Farm, the Umass agricultural area bordering our backyard. She often accompanied Deb on her own visits to the horses stabled there.
Phoebe also enjoyed frolicking in the snow during half the time we lived in Amherst. On the other hand, Houston is where she immediately became an indoor dog. Although she had the short, brown-black hair of her ancestors, she did not like either the humidity or the temperature when she was forced, several times a day, to attend to outdoor matters. However, in Amherst she spent most of her spring, summer and fall days in our large, enclosed backyard.
At the same time, she did like to know about those who passed by. She was able to mount the woodpile by the front fence and peer over the seven-foot-high boards. To a passing observer her head either floated in the air or was attached to a giraffe-legged dog!
During her aging days in Houston, Phoebe developed several problems being an indoor creature. There were the fleas which followed her everywhere and loved to alternate between her body and the shag carpet of her newly confined family room (the board trick worked as well in Texas as it did in Massachusetts.) No treatment we tried seemed to separate her from the very small critters that accompanied her.
Phoebe, toward the end of her fourteen years with us, began to develop the usual problems of large dogs. Her hip joints no longer held up as well as they had when she was younger. She was more content to spend the days sleeping than roaming. She remained a friend with family members but was uncertain around strangers whom she might nip.
Finally, one day Karen coaxed her into the car, an event that Phoebe had once enjoyed except when she seemed to know that the office for our veterinarian was the destination. On that particular day, only Karen returned home. Since then, we have never had another canine friend living with us.