Sir Royal Phantom Menace

My real husband, Michael, is one of nine children. He is the quintessential middle child; four before and four after. His mom had no time or interest in having an animal to care for on top of the brood she already was overwhelmed by, so none of the Birney Bunch ever became pet lovers - pet likers, yes, but not lovers. When Michael married into my tiny family, he was confronted with a fanatical clan of animal "worshipers." He tried to adapt, but hating dirt or fur as he did, it was an ordeal for him and for us too. He put up with our "animal shelter" of a home for years and didn't exactly suffer in silence. Our dogs had to be outdoor dogs or nothing. By the new millennium, I began to wonder why we had dogs at all, if we could never pet them or see them without making a pilgrimage to the garage or dog lot. I started to pray for an in-door dog that Michael would love too.

On Christmas Day 2001, Michael and I were invited to a holiday dinner with our daughter's family at a family friends' home. The family were poodle people. There were three of the toy yappers. One in particular was particularly yappy and feisty. He was a pedigree Phantom Toy Poodle, with markings that made him look like he had just been to a stylist to have his fur highlighted. His AKC name was Sir Royal Phantom Menace, but they called him Phantom. I could tell they didn't appreciate his high spirits and brain piercing barks, and I knew this was God at work right in front of my eyes. I mentioned to the wife how much I had been praying for an inside dog that wouldn't shed and how much I would love to have one just like her little puppy. Her eyes lit up like I had just answered the "24 Million Dollar Question." "Would you like to have him," she asked. She was offering me a $400 neutered dog with his papers, crate, leash and even his chewy. I said yes, wondering what the heck could be the matter with this dog. Was he the incarnation of Kudjo? "Oh no," she said. They just had too many male dogs in the house.

I began my plan to convince Michael that it was his idea to bring this bundle of fluff home. God is great! Somehow I did it, and Phantom (oh, how I hated that name) came home with us that day. He was one year old and full of fire. Michael maneuvered around him, but it was my job to walk him, feed him, manage his hyper activities and control his mind numbing barking, while still soothing the savage beast in my husband, who kept telling me he now knew why the family was so eager to be generous.

Finally, as months went by, Michael grew to adore this dog, now called Phannie. Phannie had turned out to be a heart-taker and a man-maker. I have never seen a person's attitude transition from hostile to apathetic to pure abject love in my life. Our poodle became our constant companion. If Phannie couldn't go somewhere; we couldn't go there. There was no distance he did not accompany us: Maine, New York, Pennsylvania, Connecticut, South Carolina, the North Carolina coast and beyond.

As Michael's love for Phannie increased, so did his love for every animal. We became genuine dog rescuers, and over the past nine years have rescued, found homes for or kept twenty dogs. Some of our furry family have passed on until today we have five dogs that are our forever friends: Phannie, now ten-years old; Remington Steel aka Remi, a silver toy poodle, six or seven-years old; McSweeney aka Mickie, a black lab, four-years old; Brody, a basset hound mix, seven or eight-years old; and the most recent addition to the pack, Rex,a ten-year old or older pedigree German Shepherd we found dieing on the side of our road from heart worms, invertebra hip disease, heat exhaustion and abuse. Rex has been with us over a year now. He doesn't hear very well, as ear mite ate threw his ear drums and his walking is minimal, but for as long as he lives, he will be loved and well treated. Only Phannie and Remi are actually allowed in our living area, and both are traveling dogs. The other three have our basement garage with a doggy door that allows them access to a fenced in yard and our deck. There are beds and dog houses every where in case one of them would prefer an evening al fresco. I love them all, but since I developed asthma thirteen years ago, I don't get to be around the three very often. Michael is their main man. He spends time with them brushing them, playing fetch with them and feeding them only the best food money can buy.

I love this new man, but sometimes I wonder if I should have prayed quite so hard. We have had opportunities to go places and do things that he will not consider, because he will not leave the other three with people who would not understand their needs or be comfortable around them. That includes everyone but him. Oh well, he's my dog-whisperer, but this has really taught me to "be careful what you pray for."

Recipe:
Fresh Strawberry Bellini

Ingredients

1 bottle sparkling cider
2 cups pureed and strained fresh strawberries
Special equipment: Blender, strainer, iced glasses, pitcher

Directions

Place glasses in the freezer for 20 minutes. Open the prosecco and let it stand in an ice bucket for 5 minutes.

Into a pitcher, pour the 2 cups pureed strawberries, 1/4 cup sugar, 1 Tbs orange rind. Gently pour in the bottle of prosecco, and stir gently to combine.

Thought:
Living with a a man like Michael and a dog like Phannie will encourage one to make this recipe.