The Capo

“Don Corleone, I am honored and grateful that you have invited me to your daughter’s … wedding… on the day of your daughter’s wedding. And I hope their first child be a masculine child.”

- Luca Brasi, practicing his speech, over and over.

- The Godfather

Vito has white paws, which I believe my family has mistaken for ancient Chinese foot-binding bandages. This must be the reason they have not allowed his feet to touch the ground.

He was so unused to standing on the floor, that if for some reason his paw pads touched the carpet, he began to shake as if we set him in a snake pit. At any given moment, two to four family members were on standby to swoop him up and save him from his inner demons.

On his first day home he appeared disinterested in food, so Beth hand-fed him while he lay in her arms. Christina threaded him into the hand-warmer of her hoodie and carried him around the house that way. Nick passed him to a buddy while he lined up his pool cue.

While he and the pup sat on the couch, Brian said Vito seemed to want to perch on his shoulders. He slung Vito around the back of his neck like a fur collar.

Like any new baby welcomed into the family, he’s had many visitors. We’ve had some fun celebrations as a steady stream of neighbors and their children, friends, and relatives hoisted him to their faces and breathed in his sweet-smelling fur. One friend Jim, who pumps iron and rides a Harley, kissed him.

He received so many gifts you would have thought it was his daughter’s wedding day.

The big event has caused wear and tear on us because it’s exhausting to escort a puppy everywhere. We can’t call him because he doesn’t know his name. We can’t find him because he’s so small. So we might as well just carry him around.

We got a respite when my brother Joe, his wife Kelli, and their children stopped by. When my nephews and niece finished cradling him, Kelli finally got her chance. You would think that after having had five children -- and babysitting another -- Kelli would have needed a break, but a mother is a mother. He was pudding in her lap as she stroked him and nonchalantly joined in the adult conversation. At one point, as she patted his back, I swear he burped.

Somewhere down the line, Vito is going to have to get somewhere on his own four feet. Before long he is going to be a 50-pound sack of potatoes. I fear bad habits have already started and that he has begun to think he’s the capo and that we’re his soldiers.

I am going to have to lay down the law that he has to learn to walk alone … as I type with him sprawled across my lap.

Vito Soprano

"It's not personal, it's business."

-Don Lucchesii to Michael Corleone, Godfather III

We arrived at the dog breeder’s, but she wasn’t around. A wood sign sat at the bottom of her front door, “At the Barn.” A couple of minutes later, she drove up in her SUV.

“Sorry I’m late, she said. “I just castrated a sheep.”

“Sure,” I said, like I’d heard that excuse a million times.

“It was our high school intern’s first time, and she slipped a little,” said Judith. “I had some clean-up.”

Judith has won multiple Westminster Dog Show best-in-breed awards and was three-time Breeder of the Year. She also raises farm animals. She was serious. “Is your intern going into animal husbandry, like you?” I asked, trying to get with the program.

“Oh she’s too smart for that,” said Judith. “She has a higher calling.”

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Medicine.”

I gulped.

“You know,” said Judith. “A people doctor.”

Our friends Kathy and Natalie needed a puppy fix, so they joined Christina and I on our 45-minute voyage to get Vito. Their 13-year-old Husky, Kiki, is an alumnus of Karnovanda Kennel. We followed Judith into her basement, puppy heaven.

A parcel of pups ran and tumbled in front of our feet. Kathy and Natalie scooped them up. Meanwhile, Judith and I went over discharge instructions. She said to give Vito cereal, but I noticed hunks of frozen meat on the kitchen counter. As Judith got chattier, political correctness blew out the door. Cereal was okay, she said, but raw meat was way better. Go to Kroger after 8 p.m. when they marked down the ground chuck, she instructed me, and buy pounds of it.

“My dogs eat good,” she said. “Yours will too.”

From there, the discussion once again turned to animal gonads.

“Neuter him,” she ordered. “There are too many unwanted puppies in the world.”

“I will be responsible,” I promised.

“Give him to me for a minute. I forgot something.” I handed her Vito. “I have to check if his testicles came down.”

She probed Vito’s privates. His eyes popped when she hit the jackpot.

“Yep,” she said. “They’re down. Tell your vet I found ‘em.”

I had an overwhelming urge to get Vito home fast. But at the exact moment I was to bid adieu, my good friend Kathy decided to get all class reunion-like with Judith. Out came the photos of her dog Kiki. She and Judith reminisced like a couple of grandmothers on a cruise ship. Judith really enjoyed sharing stories about Kiki’s royal bloodline.

“Yea,” said Judith in reference to Kiki’s dam. “That Deliliah, she was some bitch.”

I had a headache on the car ride home. I don’t know if it was because of the heavy traffic or whether it was because Vito squealed in the highest register I have ever heard. Some sopranos are born, others made.

Puppy Diapers?

"I have a sentimental weakness for my children and I spoil them, as you can see."

- Don Vito to Sollozzo, referring to Sonny

After we met Vito, Christina decided we needed a trip to the pet store – for a few necessities. He wasn’t due home for a week, but I liked that she planned ahead. Besides, it would be fun. She and I could bond over puppy chow and maybe a cute collar. I assumed we’d hit the modest pet store down the road, but she had bigger ideas. The place she picked had its own zip code.

As we were sucked through the sliding doors of the Petropolis, tropical fish in Caribbean blue tanks seemed to welcome and calm us. It was a ruse. As I look back, I believe a diabolical microorganism lived among the fishes. Its sole purpose was to enter unsuspecting humans and excite the purchasing-centers of our brains. To survive it needed fresh meat, namely Christina and me.

Immediately, Christina asked if we could buy a fish. It appeared that since she was younger, the drug worked faster on her brain. I was old enough to call upon learned behavior, so I was able to say no, though after that I developed a twitch.

We were so hopped up that we zigzagged between the aisles. First we stopped at pet toothbrushes; then doggie sweaters; next puppy diapers.

Into our cart we threw a leash that could hold a 110-pound dog, though Vito didn’t weigh 110 ounces. To it we added a Pee Post with advanced “Go Here” pheromones. We picked up Poop Patrol bags and an ergonomically designed training clicker. We bought a case of puppy food that will last a year and a half.

After I clawed through the discount bin and grabbed an absorbent baby blue microfiber towel and mitt, I realized I had lost Christina. I found her at the dog-tag kiosk where she feverishly punched letters and numbers to create a laser-engraved pewter identification tag for Vito.

As we waited in the checkout line, I tossed in a set of five puppy-training magazines -- prepackaged.

Because Brian might read this, I won’t say the exact amount we spent, though it is roughly $75 more than my monthly car payment.

We hauled the bags into the trunk and buckled ourselves up. By now, we had nearly detoxed from that bad microorganism in the fish area that made us buy too many things.

“We spent a lot of money in there,” said Christina. “Maybe we should take some of it back.”

“We did buy a lot of stuff,” I said. “ But I’m okay with it.”

It was worth it.

Just like Luca Brasi in The Godfather: Buyer’s Remorse sleeps back with those fishes.

Puppy chronicles

Sunday, February 14, 2010

“Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in.”
- Michael Corleone, The Godfather: Part III

Freedom teased like a chocolate sundae on a hot August evening. My mouth watered. But just before I began to bite, I got bit.
Puppies have an oral fixation.
This is an unusual time in my life to commit to a dog. To raise three kids takes stamina, about as much energy as it would take to hike from Michigan to the North Pole, via Alaska. With the twins on their way to graduate school, and the teenager in her junior year of high school, I estimate there are 25 miles left before I hit my destination, the top of the world. Now add in a puppy, and I’m back to, say, British Columbia. Four steps forward, three back.
We've had a lot of pets, so I know what I'm in for. Carcasses of countless creatures that have occupied our home for the past 20 years are buried in shoeboxes in the backyard. Broken habitrail tubes and cracked fish bowls from our house alone will clutter landfills for the next 4,000 years.
Our best pet, Sergei, a gray and white Siberian, died on Memorial Day weekend, and I imagine he runs free in the wide, open ranges of Husky Heaven. He suffered a lot before he died, so it was a relief for both of us to be free of his pain.
Soon after he was gone, I began to dream of my future with my husband: Brian and I sipping Tequila Sunrises and reading best-sellers on the patio; Brian and I grooving to “The Big Chill” soundtrack as we throw a little something together for dinner; Brian and I jumping on whatever plane is available and going where it’s headed because we’re freedom-drunk bohemians.
But a while after Sergei died, something happened. I missed him more than I enjoyed my empty-nest daydreams. I don’t know why this happened because, on paper, this particular dog didn’t look that great. He sassed back. He picked locks, ran off, and ended up in the dog pound. He stuffed himself like a gluttonous Roman and threw up outside. He was only one animal, but he shed like multiple personalities lived inside him.
But Sergei was really nice. When I finally sat down after a long day, he moved to be at my side, even when the basketball-size fatty tumors hung from his haunches and weighed on him heavily. If there wasn’t a squirrel in the vicinity, he looked only at me, as if I were the most beautiful being on the planet. He yowled my name, “Uh-ma-reee.” He said he loved me: “I la u.” Brian said if Sergei had lips, we could have had some interesting conversations.
So I have put my empty-nest dreams on hold.
Most in my situation will opt for a smaller dog, or a toy breed. But, I have unfinished business with the Huskies. Sergei was smart, and he had a lot of potential, so much of it unused. I imagine he probably could have caught a Frisbee in mid-flight, if I had ever had the time to throw him one. But when he was growing up, so were my children. I was immersed in bassoon lessons, hockey teams, and lacrosse tournaments. I taught my kids a lot of neat stuff, but I never really taught Sergei much of anything. I have a little extra time now, so maybe I’m looking for a do-over. Whatever the reason, I haven’t been able to get this particular breed of dog out of my system.
So goodbye mature bliss, long vacations, and undisturbed sleep, and hello potty training, loose teeth and unbridled energy. If Brian has any qualms, he better stage a quick intervention because I’m on the hunt for a breeder.
After I make contact with a breeder, I’ll ask Brian to make us each a Tequila Sunrise, and I’ll propose a toast to Sergei, and the next generation of Pedersen puppy to chronicle.
Posted by Annemarie Schiavi Pedersen at 8:36 AM


Tuesday February 16, 2010
101 Huskies
“Do you spend time with your family? Good. Because a man that doesn't spend time with his family can never be a real man.”
- Don Vito Corleone in “The Godfather”

I sent an e-mail to Judith Russell of Karnovanda Kennels that we looked to adopt a puppy in the Spring, and within the hour she sent photos of four-week old pups that were available immediately.
No way would I take on a puppy during the depths of a Michigan winter. My resolution on this was so solid that I absolutely believed it wouldn’t hurt to take a peek at her photos. A minute later, I called her and arranged to view the pups the following day.
The first wind the kids got that we were getting a puppy came via my text message. I expected their responses to trickle in over the whole afternoon, as usual.
Immediately, Christina answered, “YES,” repeated a hundred times over three text screens. A second later, Beth shot off a text that Nick had already arranged to pick her up at 3 a.m. that morning, after the bars closed, so she could make the Karnovanda meeting.
Brian wrote, “POTTY TRAINING IN WINTER???”
My fingers played dumb, “Huskies don’t get cold.”
“NOT TALKIN ABOUT HUSKY!”
“Cell battery dying.” I lied. “GTG.”

We drove up the curved path to Karnovanda, which is situated next to a small icy lake in northern Oakland County. To our right, Siberian Huskies bounced to life as our car approached. Huskies of every size and color jumped on the flat roofs of their doghouses or ran back and forth in their immaculate pens to warmly greet us. These are some of the most beautiful dogs on the whole Animal Planet.
Judith directed us to her basement, which brimmed with blue ribbons and five-week old Siberian Huskies. She opened the gate to their roomy pen and lifted the pups so that we each had one to hold. We traded them back and forth and took pictures like the paparazzi.
We finally put them on the floor, and sat ourselves, in the middle of puppy pandemonium. Nick lounged as puppies climbed his legs onto his lap. Three pups wiggled in Beth’s arms. Christina held her camera in one hand and photographed herself with two puppies in the other. Puppies ran loose in every direction. We caught them and hugged them, and we never stopped laughing. It was a real life Disney movie, and we were the stars.
We chose our puppy, a mysterious-looking black and white fellow with thick fur. We were especially impressed with his dignified demeanor. We left Karnovanda empty-handed, because the puppy needed to be completely weaned from his mother before we could take him. On the car drive home, we deliberated on his name, perhaps something with an Italian flair.
We’re part Sicilian, which may be why we use “Godfather” films as a touchstone. When Christina saw the puppy, she described him as a tough guy. Beth said the puppy’s dark and shadowy face reminded her of Marlon Brando as he appeared on the movie poster of “The Godfather.” As fast as a Mafia hit, the puppy was christened Vito, after Don Vito Corleone.
Soon, we will welcome Vito into “The Family.”