CICHELLO DOG SAGA PART 3 

RUSS, THE TERMINAL DOG

The omens were there when we went to the Auburn SPCA, after a suitable period of mourning for Doc, our dog who'd been killed by a car. Before going, we'd decided that (1) we would get a small dog and (2) we would train him to stay in the yard.

At the SPCA we fell in love with Russ, a small cuddly black lab. "Look at the size of his paws," the SPCA lady warned us.

"He's going to be a big dog...a very big dog."

It was too late. Russ had us hooked. He was the dog we wanted.

Back home, we got down to housebreaking a dog who just couldn't or wouldn't catch on to how this toileting business was all supposed to work. Russ never got the run of the house, like our previous dogs had had. By the time he was finally housebroken, he and we had gotten used to his territory being restricted to kitchen, addition and back porch. No carpeted areas. He did on occasion find his way to my husband Sam's office, to leave a gift on Sam's green shag rug.

We reluctantly arrived at the conclusion that this was one loveable but dumb dog. Make that loveable, dumb and determined. The fantasy of training him to stay in the yard soon evaporated and Russ roamed the village. There were either no leash laws or they weren't strictly enforced in his early years. We did take heroic measures to keep him in on garbage collection days. Russ LOVED garbage.

Russ became a familiar figure to Weedsport residents, generally winning people over, since this was one friendly dog. Friendly, big dog. He fulfilled his paws. His I.Q. remained minuscule.

Over the years, Russ was involved in many adventures. I remember looking out the window to see Russ avidly gnawing on a huge box. (You ALWAYS investigated Russ' activities!) The villain tried to drag the box away as I approached but it was heavy and he couldn't move it fast enough. The box was filled with frozen hamburgers from Tastee Freez, a fast food place across the street from our house.

Another time, I followed up a look out the window to find Russ gnawing on a whole hind deer leg. I waited in dread for a game warden or irate hunter to show up but neither did.

Russ chased cars with great gusto. We decided to break him of this habit. Have you ever tried throwing a pail of water through an open car window at a dog chasing your car? This was a method recommended by dog experts. Maybe they left out a key piece of information. We got wet. Russ stayed dry.

My husband Sam devised another strategy. He took an old chair leg and attached it to a short chain on Russ' collar. Theory: when Russ ran fast, as in chasing cars, the chair leg would bang him in the legs and hurt him, teaching him to stop chasing cars. Reality: Russ would leave the house with the chair leg on, return without it. Village kids felt sorry for him and removed the leg. We eventually ran out of spare chair legs.

Despite his size, Russ was a gentle dog. With one exception: cats. Cats brought out the devil in Russ and led to some nasty situations.

Things heated up when the leash law began to be enforced. A vendetta ensued between Russ and the dog catcher, who, try as she would, never could catch him. Finally, I got a summons in February 1984, which accused "one Eileen Cichello of permitting her dog to roam at large. Dog was roaming in back of DeVeau Ford Tractor. At 7:29 a.m., I picked up one dog and a large black lab with a yellow nylon collar was with it. This black lab is impossible to catch even when called by name. This dog is Cichello's."

I knew that.

Our kids, eager for excitement, were really miffed at me for not contesting the summons.

"There's a million black labs in Weedsport."

"You know you walked up to a black lab at the Big M parking lot and told it to get in the car and then realized it wasn't Russ," etc., etc.

I had better things to do with my time than mount a legal defense for one guilty dog. So to my family's great displeasure, I went to court to pay up. I thought the summons was hysterically funny. Turns out Justice McMullen did not. I did not after paying a hefty fine and being told the next one would be higher.

So we tried harder to curb Russ' travels, keeping him in the house as much as possible. This led to a massive weight gain. Russ wasn't helping. He took to eating from his dish while lying down. When he sat, he formed a triangle. "That's the biggest black lab I've ever seen " was heard more often. The biggest black lab ever seen would scrutinize floor space, heave a sigh, then plonk himself down where he could most disrupt traffic flow. Eventually, everyone just stepped over him.

Russ had a dog buddy, who took to coming around at night. Apparently, Russ couldn't endure not being with his friend, and one night he went out through the window on the back porch. Sam repaired the window and put a heavy storm window on as well. A few weeks later, Russ sailed out through both. I got to fix it that time. Cardboard. Eventually, a sheet of plywood. Russ must have had glass immune fur; we never found a cut on him from these fly-throughs.

I gave in and bought a dog trolley. We attached one end to the barn, ran the wire diagonally across the yard and attached the other end to a tree way out in the back. We'd give the poor dog lots of room to run, right? Wrong! Night after night, Russ would drag his long chain to the tree, go round and round until there was no slack left in the chain. Then he'd sit there and howl like a coyote. I'd have to go down and walk him around the tree in reverse.

There was a distinct possibility of dog murder one night when I plopped across the yard in boots and bathrobe in two feet of snow.......

Sam built Russ a huge dog house, painted it to match the house, put carpet on the floor and hooked up a light bulb to provide warmth. Russ hated it. We'd shove him in; he'd promptly back out.

As Russ grew older, we again kept him the house at night. I woke up one winter night to hear Russ barking frantically. I came downstairs to an icy room. The sliding glass doors wide open, the potted plant frozen and drooping and Russ at the side door barking to get in. I closed the sliding glass doors, opened the side door, yelled "GO TO HELL!" and slammed the door shut.

Petty, maybe, but it sure felt good!

Eventually Russ became quite infirm with arthritis. Dr. Schnabel, the vet, prescribed aspirin every day. Russ was already getting flea pills. Would this dog take pills? Not knowingly. So we began the hot dog regime, pills concealed in pieces of hot dogs. Russ became adept at wolfing down the hot dog pieces and spitting out the pills. I enlarged my vocabulary. All Cichellos stopped eating hot dogs.

It finally got to the point where Russ could hardly move. Nasty things were happening to his body and it hurt to watch him try to get up. After several trips to the vet, we decided to have him put to sleep. Russ could no longer get in the car, so our sons Michael and Paul lifted him into the back of the wagon and we drove to Dr. Schnabel's.

Russ must have had an inkling of what was going to happen, because when the boys lifted him down, he got up and walked around. "He's looking pretty good today," Dr. Schnabel said.

"Do it," I said, feeling like Judas. I knelt on the ground with Russ' head in my lap and Dr. Schnabel gave him the injection. It was over in seconds.

To my surprise, I was filled with a sense of loss and began to cry. Despite all the uproar, Russ had been a loveable, friendly dog, responsive to any kind word or gesture.

POSTSCRIPT: Dr. Schnabel to Michael and Paul: "Can you guys put him in the freezer? My back is out." Michael and Paul have dined out on THAT story many times!

Hmmmm....