More About Toulouse

I should have known a dog story would generate the response it did. Remember now...in the Blogosphere, I am not a playa’. I’ve said before that I have a ‘very exclusive’ readership. That means the posted and e-mail replies went from 0-2 to over ten. People seem to react more to a good animal story than visiting the grave of an old, dead, white guy. I don’t get it.

The responses brought forth more Toulouse memories. So, before I launch into another series that some may find boring, here are more grainy old images and stories.

Tanta Anna and Toulouse, 1960

My sister Pat reminded me of a special talent Toulouse had. Again, he was 145 pounds and had the appetite to match. His regular evening meal was a big scoop of Gravy Train plus a can of dog food plus table scraps. Mix with water and stand back since he ate like most dogs...wolfing down his meal before any other dog could get to it. Chew? Who needs to chew when you can just devour? Yet, whenever Mom included little baby peas with the table scraps, Toulouse managed to leave them in the bowl. While he inhaled his dinner, he knew how to maneuver any baby pea in the opposite direction and back into the bowl, unscathed.

On Fire Island, 1953

He was not grown when this shot was taken. 

The big black dog from the city was popular on the island. 

He loved to dig deep into the sand and run into the surf.

After the first post, friend Bill wrote to ask if Toulouse drooled a lot. Bill grew up with a St. Bernard and knew how that breed had, shall we say, saliva issues. I recall that our boy did drool some but not as much as a Saint does. It’s like his poodle half moderated that trait.

The scene is the dinner table...where so much family history is remembered...and made. Our mother would occasionally debut something new at mealtime. This was the Bronx in the ‘50’s so we’re not talking about something trendy and exotic. She introduced us to frozen okra. I came to enjoy okra much later when we lived in New Orleans and it was often used in gumbo and other great southern dishes. We had it straight up as a veggie, alone in its element...which is rather viscous in nature. I will add here that there are no problem eaters in my family. We’ve always tried things and refused little based on how it looked. After I jokingly said the okra resembled Toulouse’s drool, the vegetable was never seen again. Sorry about that.

Easter, 1961

As we noted last time, Toulouse was a smart dog. He understood spoken English, not just the tone of our voices. “Yeah, right,” you say. Another great example was recalled by Pat.

We’re all at the dinner table...three kids and the parents with the dog lying off to the side...when this awful odor starts to permeate the air. The kids all knew WHAT it was but we didn’t know WHO was responsible for this SBD (silent but deadly) emission. We were taking these side-long glances at each other until Dad had enough. He addressed the kids with something like, “Good grief! This is incredibly rude. If you have gas, please do the right thing and excuse yourself so you can relieve it in another room.” At that point, Toulouse groaned to his feet and shuffled off to the living room. It was hard to eat for a while as we all laughed so hard. He was the best dog ever.