Two summers ago Patrick brought home a tiny squirming Australian Shepherd puppy from Iowa that quickly won my affection and became the perfect canine companion for me. In my eyes he could do no wrong, and I told him so on a daily basis. Right before Christmas, my dog was hit by a car and died of internal injuries.
After he died, I vowed that I would never get another dog again. Even the sight of dogs bothered me. I was well aware that the family dog, Bounder, was expecting his offspring.
But I was convinced that having another dog would be too hard. While I was away in New York, Bounder disappeared under the porch into a little den like space that nobody could get to. It was evident that she had given birth judging from the sounds of a yelping puppy. A month went by with her hidden in her hole, only coming out for food and water. I came back home still adamant that I had no interest in whatever was business going on under the porch. Finally the yelping stopped and we wondered if she had died. Indeed, this was not hard too imagine as she is 11 years old in dog years which means about 70 in people years. Last Sunday morning I took the time to investigate and checked the doghouse that my brother, Robert had procured out of an old broken freezer.
As you can see, it’s a pretty hard scramble house with a camping mat draped over the top for extra insulation. Personally, I call it the dog trailer house. Although I disdain it, Bounder must not, for I discovered that she was contentedly sprawled in it with just one lone puppy. For all we know, she may have had more, please do remember though that she is 70-something in dog years. 70 year old animals and people have every right to eat their new offspring I suppose. So if she did pack in a bit of extra puppy protein, please don’t judge her.
After collective communal agreement, the puppy is now named Fig. Fig is a funny little guy, and has a curved spine. My brother, Patrick took him to the local vets house and found out that he has scoliosis. Patrick said that when he was at the vets house Fig was yapping away with bravado at the vet’s big dogs. That’s just what his dad would have done too.
Scoliosis doesn’t stop him from scampering about though!
I still think about Fig’s dad a lot. Sometimes I dream about him dying, and once in awhile thoughts of him still make me cry. But when I see Fig I forget about never wanting a dog again. He makes me squeal with delight, and I am thinking that maybe eventually we are going to be friends….
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