Lulu was our first rescue Bulldog, and the joy she brought into our lives was immeasurable. There are many fond memories we have of her... she was always the clown, and she was unbelievably clever when it came to doing things behind our backs. No matter what she got into when we were away, she would always be snoozing in her bed when we came home, and she would inevitably raise her head and look at us drowsily, as if to say "oh, you're back? I've been asleep the whole time. What, the sofa cushions are all over the floor? Well, who could have done that??" We just kept letting her believe she'd gotten away with each little caper. After all, I think she knew what was really not OK to do, and what was just develish enough to make us laugh.

One of our fondest memories, though, was of her incredible surgical technique. We discovered this rare talent when we bought her first plush squeaky toy. We thought it would be a fun diversion for her, and that little fuzzy duck was just so cute! Well, we got it home, took it out of the bag, and gave it a couple good squeaks. Maybe dogs are genetically programmed to recognize the squeak... at any rate as soon as she heard that high-pitched sound, she knew "that's MINE!" We expected some play time and interaction, but that wasn't on Lulu's agenda. She took Mister Squeaky Duck and promptly headed over to the corner of the room. Well, for the next hour, we heard nothing but squeak-squeak-squeak-squeak, never ending, never breaking the rhythm. Just about the time we were all nearing a nervous breakdown, the squeaking stopped. Well, as anyone fortunate enough to have a Bulldog in the family knows, it's when you DON'T hear anything that you really better go investigate... because someone's up to something. Well, we found Lulu, and we found Mister Squeaky Duck, and we found Mister Squeaky Duck's squeaker. Duck and the squeaker were sitting properly next to each other, and Lulu was standing back admiring her work, and looked at us proudly. What was most amazing was the complete lack of duck stuffing that reasonably should have been everywhere. No, Duck was intact. The "squeaker extraction surgery" was a success. Honestly, it took us a good bit of post-surgical exam to even find the tiny incision Lulu had made to extract the squeaker. Well, naturally, we thought we'd found a new favorite toy for Lulu. However, Lulu naturally thought that her work was done, at least as far as Mister Squeaky Duck was concerned. Try as we might, we couldn't get Lulu even remotely interested in that toy again.

That is, until we decided to get a NEW Mister Squeaky Duck, squeaker intact. This time, the surgery only lasted about half an hour, with the same success. And again, after her work was done, Duck was of no more interest to her. At this point, it became pretty clear what our little Lulu wanted... an endless supply of plush squeaky toys in need of her medical attention. Well, now, plush squeaky toys aren't exactly free, but if you shop around, there are bargains to be had. Still, we soon realized we had to ration them. Lulu's surgical technique improved with each operation, until she could perform a squeakectomy in about five minutes. Now, logic would say, grab a needle and thread, stuff the little squeaker back in, couple of stitches, and Mister Squeaky Whatever has just been recycled. Only, Lulu didn't think that was very funny. Throughout her stint as resident surgeon, she refused to repeat the surgery on any individual plush creature. Once was all she'd give them, and if they somehow re-squeaked, well, they were on their own.

Lulu never tired of her "job," although we kind of did. We had to cut back to one procedure a week, lest we go completely broke. Lulu managed to tolerate this insult, mostly by pushing cushions off the sofa to remind us that we were wasting her talent. But once a week, when she'd hear that plastic bag rustle and see some new member of the squeaky animal kingdom emerge, she'd jump a few times in excitement, then get right down to business.

It's been several years since Lulu crossed the rainbow bridge, but her memory lives on with us, and with the countless stuffed companions she saved from a life of squeaking. Now, when we pass that part of the toy section in the pet store, we can only hope that those little ones will eventually be "cured" by one as skilled and compassionate as Lulu, our little microsurgeon.

Contributed by Steve

Have an original story to contribute? Just click to email it to us, and don't forget to attach a picture!

Back to Newsletter