Pippin made the paper with that fiesty little Boston Terrier who repeatidly tried to mount him!
...Here is the article & pic!!!....Wooooohhhh
hhoooooooooooo
o!...Pippin is a celebrity!!
Best Friends
Dogs have faithful owners wrapped around their paws
by M. D. KITTLE
Colleen Hickey is a dog person. Need proof? Well, the 9-year-old Dubuque girl recently helped her mom bake a birthday cake for the family's Irish terrier, Murphy. It wasn't an Alpo or Milk-bone-concoction, either. We're talking good, old American marble cake with frosting and plenty of yum.
Colleen and her kid brother, Tim, placed two sparklers on top of the cake, marking Murphy's second birthday.
"We didn't have any candles," Colleen said.
After Murphy wolfed down his piece, the birthday boy was treated to a romp in what dogs all over the tri-states have come to know as a kind of canine nirvana - Dubuque's dog park.
The typical dog person there has been known, on occasion, to ask whether the fenced-in stretch of green on North Grandview Avenue is heaven? The reply most often is, "No, it's Dubuque," quickly followed by, "Oh, I think you just stepped in something."
On an early evening, on the cusp of summer, this is the perfect place for pups and the people who love them.
"This is the best thing Dubuque ever did Advertisement
for dog lovers," said Donna Schroeder, at the park with "Marvelous Marvin II," a year-plus-old Jack Russell terrier with more energy than Exxon.
Marvin loves soccer. If only the United States team had this hard-driving pooch it might not have made a speedy exit from the World Cup.
At the park, Marvin is nothing short of marvelous. He noses a small, yellow ball, 25, 30 yards at a clip, weaving through a phalanx of big dogs, amazed onlookers and a black cocker spaniel enjoying a late-day lick.
"He is fixated on that ball," someone calls out.
Schroeder smiles. Marvin apparently picked up the game from neighborhood kids when their soccer ball took a wrong turn into Schroeder's yard one day. Marvin nosed the ball back, and his soccer star status grew from there.
"Now the kids take him with them when they go over to (John F. Kennedy Elementary School) at the field. When they kick it out of bounds, they turn Marvin loose," she said. "Sometimes he gives the ball back; most times he doesn't."
That's pretty much the Jack Russell terrier breed, or, as Schroeder describes the dogs, the Jack Russell "terror."
As marvelous as Marvin is, Schroeder knows his limitations. She only wishes other would-be terrier owners would learn a little bit more about the breed before taking one home.
"There are so many Jack Russells at the dog pound," she said, sighing. The 50-year-old Dubuque woman said the popular terriers are "high-energy, high-maintenance" and not always great around kids. And they love to dig. And dig. And dig.
Marvin has been known to push the envelope of canine courtesy. But it's clear Schroeder loves the pup she took in after her son moved into an apartment.
But then again, Schroeder is a dog person.
So what makes a person a dog person?
"I think it's probably that first dog, when you are little, that you meet and it goes to you and makes you feel special," Schroeder said. "Then I think you fall in love with the breed."
For Schroeder, it was Sassy, a little mixed mutt of a thing. Schroeder was 3, living in Spain with her family. Sassy's name certainly fit. The dog got into Schroeder's coveted stuffed seal, a gift from her aunt and uncle stateside, and tore the toy to smithereens.
Angry, the little girl picked up the dog and threw him in a swimming pool. Schroeder's mother immediately sent her to the room for the reprisal.
It was in that moment, Schroeder said, that she first learned injustice. Then, forgiveness.
"We made up," she said, laughing.
Mary Haberkorn, fondly remembers her first pooch. A mixed cocker spaniel breed, by the name of Cookie. Her family picked it out at the Dubuque Humane Society.
At the park these days, Haberkorn watches her mother's dog, a soft blonde cocker spaniel named Bailey, make the rounds with a dozen or so dogs. The social butterfly curiously walks up to each dog, exchanging with a black cocker spaniel the kind of exceptionally friendly greeting that would get the average human being arrested.
"He never lays down; he's always on the go," Haberkorn said of Bailey.
Haberkorn ranks herself as a definitive dog person. Unfortunately for the Dubuque woman, her husband is not. He's one of those "cat people."
The couple has worked out a livable peace lo these many years, however.
"He can't have a cat and I can't have a dog," Haberkorn said.
You don't have to own a dog to be a dog person. Not everyone who has a dog is a dog person. The people who pit pit bull terriers against other pit bulls for sport in fight-to-the death matches, for instance? Not dog people.
Dog people - most anyway - seem to love their pets like their children. They see their dogs as part of their family, and the loss of a four-legged friend cuts about as deeply as the loss of a two-legged loved one.
Now, of course, dog people have their problems, too. Those who dress their pooches in costumes or outfits because they think it's cute could very well make the case that dog people have "issues." (*See Dubuque's annual Dog-o-ween parade for compelling evidence.)
At the dog park, you will hear grown men and women speak in high-pitched voices in addressing their pets, much like some people speak to infants.
"Who's a wittle bitty, oodie boodie? Hmm? Who's the good boy? Who?"
To some, this high-pitched squawking is understandably annoying. It is, generally, harmless to the dog, however.
Kristi Christ is a convert. The East Dubuque, Ill., woman admits she spent the first 30 years of her life definitely not a dog person. She grew up afraid of canines, probably the result of a childhood scare, Christ surmises.
Then, somebody brought in a "cute little puppy" to work. Christ's no-dog stance quickly crumbled.
Christ and her husband, Pete, a natural-born dog lover, then met Howie - a black Shih Tzu/poodle mix, about as big as a boot. She said it was love at first sight.
Howie is just what a dog person convert needs. "He's a big cuddler," she said.
Maybe too much. Pete says Howie loves attention.
"He's adamant. If anybody is home, he has to be right by them," he said. "I think he's part cat."
On this early summer evening, as the sun begins to set, Howie rolls and runs and prances and bounds and barks and absolutely loves his first trip to the dog bark. That black cocker spaniel runs by again ready to pounce on a 160-pound Mastiff.
At the dog park, little dogs dream big.
