Poodles - the Most Intelligent of All the Breeds

Poodles, just like people are born with their own distinct personalities. While they all have certain traits in common, one can actually know their own from others, simply by habits and reactions.

My mother, bless her soul, used to raise poodles. We had some pretty wild excursions, due to those litters and the vast differences in their personalities.

Mother's poodles were not housed in some dog run, oh no. Hers were a part of the family, until they found a home.

One litter, in particular, sits right out front in my memory. It was a litter of 8. Well, actually 7 1/2. Mother bred her miniature to the toy, who was the Grand National champion.

All but one, took on all the dimensions and traits of the miniature. That one out of the 8, never even showed up on the X-rays. She was a surprise. Evidently that 8th pup was not meant to be, because when she was born, the mother just tossed her to the side.

My mother, on the other hand, wasn't about to lose the only 'Chocolate', in the litter. She cut and tore into that sack, to release the puppy and then had to help her take her first breath. Warm coffee to stimulate and puffs of air into the nose, until the puppy stirred. Funny thing, that dog was addicted to coffee, the rest of her life.

She had a little problem. Her legs were too long, for her body size. She was about half way between the miniature and the toy size, with the long legs of the miniature but the bones were too tiny. She was fragile.

There was a bond between that pup and my mother, like I had never seen between animal and human. We called her 'Brownie' for short. There was no way, we kids were going to be calling that dog, "Sims' Charmant Cossette' all the time. So, Brownie it was.

Now the oddest thing about Poodles, is they all think they are the same size. There are 3 sizes of Poodles: the toy, the miniature (which is that middle size) and the full sized 'standard' poodle. It was that biggest size they used to use in hunting. Hunting, is where the shaved back half of the body, came from. It was to help the dog swim.

We once owned a standard but we had so much trouble convincing him that he wasn't a lap dog, we gave up and went for the miniature size. A standard poodle thinks he's no bigger than the miniature and the toy thinks he's as big as the standard. Go figure. The standard wants to cuddle on your lap and the toy wants to slay all the dragons, in the neighborhood.

Little Brownie, was never really a part of her own litter because she was half the size of the next smallest pup. Poodles, being so full of personality from birth, even the breeder can't help but nickname them.

We had Bozo, Snotty Nose, Freight Train, Bumper Car, Charger, Charmer, and Sneaky. Each morning, it was my duty to fix their breakfast of softened puppy chow, set their bowls in the garage and then carry 2 puppies, at a time, to the garage. After breakfast, there was the charge through the outside door to the Iris plot, where they did their business, tore up a few more Iris's and romped.

After a few minutes outside, I carried them in, 2 at a time, racing back and forth. One day, as I returned for the last one, there was no puppy in sight. I searched the yard, the garage and then headed down the hall to the bedrooms. No puppy. No puppy anywhere. I frantically ran back to the kitchen area where the puppies were housed in a mesh play pen. No puppy. I searched outside again, in the garage, all around the house and finally found him in my room, happily destroying my house shoe.

The next day, the same thing happened. By the 3rd day, I was determined to find out what the little rascal was up to. I caught him in the act. When I retrieved the first 2 puppies, and ran them back into the house, little 'Snotty Nose' followed behind me. When I turned to head back outside, he slipped passed me and hid under the play pen. He stayed there until I had already searched for him, down the hall and when I ran back outside, looking for him, that's when he made his mad dash to my bedroom. Smart? Oh, yes but too smart for his own good.

Now Bozo, was called Bozo because he was the biggest of the bunch. He was also clumsy. Each morning, if I didn't get up right away, when they awoke and began wailing for breakfast, it was Bozo who had learned how to climb up the side of the mesh play pen. What he didn't know, was how to accomplish an escape. Thud! Every morning, he landed spread eagle, on the slippery kitchen floor. Of course, soon after is when I would hear the clacking of his little toenails as they trotted across the kitchen floor, then down the hall to my bed.

When all those puppies found a home of their own, we still had Brownie. She was now the little sister. Smart as a whip and spoiled rotten. That's one dog that lived a miraculous life.

She was so spoiled, she complained if mother tried to leave sugar out of her morning coffee. She would start to drink then back off, as though something horrible and smelly was in that cup. Oh, yes, cup. She would sit down and turn her head to look at mother with this wild eyed shock. Too much sugar and she complained, too little and she complained. You simply had to do it right or be in big trouble.

Brownie was amazing. When she needed to be groomed, she moped around the house like an old woman. When daddy came home from work and said hello to her, she hung her head in shame. She made it clear, she knew she was looking like a hag.

Did she like the groomer? No but that wasn't the point. The groomer decided to use a different shade of nail polish, one day and we all were punished. You'd think we had shaved her bald. Mother applied her usual color and all was well. What a fussy girl.

On those days, when she first got home from the groomers, she would prance in front of mother's full length mirror. The mirror went all the way to the floor, so Brownie could see herself well. She would pose looking at her left side, then her right side, then actually try to see herself from behind. She would stick out one front toe, as though posing and admire herself, for the longest time.

This time, when daddy arrived home, Brownie was right there, making sure he noticed and waiting for her compliments. I'll never forget the day he ignored her, as he came through the door. We found her in a back room, moping on a bed. She didn't forgive him for 3 days.

Brownie road in a doggie car seat, up front, where she could see everything. Anytime, mother had to leave her in the car for a few minutes, she had to leave it running, with the air conditioner on and locked up. That dog ruled the house.

You didn't dare leave Brownie at home, alone for long. She would punish you. She once found my mother's girdle and dragged it out and up onto the cedar chest in front of a huge plate glass window. She would rummage through the dirty clothes and find the dirty underwear of the offender, and lay them out, right in front of the front door.

We visited my grandparents, out of state, once. My grandfather, being an old farmer, couldn't see the sense in keeping a dog indoors. So Brownie did her morning poo-poo right behind his favorite chair. Every single morning until we left. No amount of punishment would sway her.

Brownie grew old and began having seizure's. Mother was heart broken to think about putting her down but the day finally came, when she was forced to. Now that was a sad day, indeed.

I will never forget Brownie. The little dog, we kids could embarrass by making her think she was the one making those farty noises. The dog we played with, yelling out "Come In", just to watch her go nuts at the front door. The little dog whose tongue was so long and narrow, she constantly cleaned out our sinuses. The little dog who could carry on long conversations, just by sitting in front of you and staring. The little dog who spent half her time, riding in mother's big purse. The little dog who rode the ferris wheel, went to the fair and enjoyed a cocktail, every now and then.

I miss her and always will.