PEZ for Pooches

I never had a dog that ate my homework, because I never had a dog till I was 40. When my boys were eight, I went to a shelter and fell in love with what appeared to be a miniature sheep dog with curly gray and black hair hanging to the floor. In this "no-kill" shelter with over 200 dogs, he was the only calm and quiet one. The others were barking at me as if I were the UPS guy. (What do they expect when they have trucks and uniforms the color of steak?) But "Barney," as his name card said, was silent. He slipped his tongue through the cage and licked my face. Sold! I plopped down my $100. The volunteers, who were the real shaggy dogs of the place, said he would be bathed and beautiful by the next day.

When I returned, Barney the Sheep Dog was gone. He had morphed into a mottled, bald, alien creature. The hair had been too matted, they told me, and thus the clean shave. Don't worry, they said. It will grow back. Poodle hair always does. Poodle? I picked a poodle? I wanted a little "Benji" mix, and I got a poodle? Too late now. Eventually, the hair did grow back, and Barney proved the perfect blend of poodle and something else. Turned out the something else was a Schnauzer, which officially made him a "Schnoodle." Barney Schnoodle was a great dog. He loved the kids and would play basketball with them, bouncing the ball off his nose.

The only trouble was his appetite. He never ate homework, but he ate anything else. I tried to brush his teeth and left the toothpaste tube too close to the edge of the counter. Later that night Barney consumed the entire 10-ounce tube of Petrodex, which at the time came in a metal tube. The vet said the metal should have killed him, but it didn't. Another day we came home, and it looked as if there had been a blizzard inside the house. We walked through a six-inch high layer of "fluff" until we located the source of the storm: Barney had eaten the sofa.

Nevertheless, we loved him unconditionally and cried inconsolably when he died at age 12. By then the boys were off to college. Like a widow who immediately wants to close up the hole in her heart, I sat up calling the shelters and trolling the Internet, looking for another "Schnoodle." To my dismay, Schnoodles had become a highly desirable "designer" mixed breed and were selling for two to four thousand schnoodleroonies! Eventually, we did adopt another dog. This was a blind Scottie mix that we literally scooped off the trolley at the pound on her way to the "goodbye room." We called her DD (DeDe) for Dead Dog Walking.

Obviously, if I can't resist a blind dog, I can't resist dog product catalogs. Again, I almost never buy. (Okay, I do have a doggie "stroller" in my garage. I bought it but was too embarrassed to use it. If you're interested, let me know. Pay the shipping and it's yours.) When you peruse pet product catalogs, you quickly realize that 99% of the items are for people. Why buy a heated velour monogrammed deluxe bed for a pooch that prefers napping on a pile of dirty underwear? Yes, you should be a responsible pet owner and keep your pet healthy, clean and safe, but let's face it: your dog doesn't care if his treats look like peppermint candy brittle, Wolfgang Puck pizzas or Hannukah gelt.

Speaking of pet treats, this catalog is always a treat for me: DOCTORS FOSTER and SMITH QUALITY PRODUCTS FOR DOGS & CATS. It's as much fun as a barrel of Schnoodles. There are many practical things: electric fences, crates, collars, pet doors, and so on. But here's the one that caught my fancy, on Page 6: PEZ for your Pooch. That's right. It holds 6 bone-shaped treats and is touted as a "fun, nostalgic way to reward your dog." Since Dog Whisperer and guru Cesar Milan insists that dogs live only in the present moment, I am not sure they get the nostalgia angle. But you do. And if PEZ pet treats keep your dog from devouring your sofa, that's a good thing.