Episode 2: “No Puppy”

Chronology is such a good word to add to a dog’s vocabulary. Especially when said dog can write. Along with another big word, autobiography, which is apparently what I am writing.

When a dog has been given this ability, this amazing grasp of language, with no ability to speak, it follows that their observations must transcribe into readable dialogue. I recall in those first few months of my life, that, as days went by, I learned the human language by hearing it spoken. Much like a human baby, but, remembering the dog years thing, I was aging at six or seven times the human year. I got smart quickly and wrote my first simple stories within my first two years. You will find them under Young Dog fiction. (Good luck finding that category on Amazon.) If you pet me, I will share some puppy stories throughout these pages.

 I do not know it for a fact, but I am sure it is true, many families treat their dogs like children once their actual children grow up and move out. Many do so, even before. I know it is true of my masters. They even call themselves Mom and Dad around me. If I plop down and look at my Dad and give him the “hungry stare” he always says, “Go get your Mom to feed you.”

 I am certain it cannot be true. They are not my birth parents. I do not look anything like them. I am surely adopted. Of course, I know that. I am just making a point here about the behavior of dog owners. Why do they even call themselves dog owners anyway? Am I a slave? Can I be owned? I thought I was just one of the family. The one who gives them unconditional love. And loyalty. And companionship. I see the way they look at me. And pet me. And brush me. And of course, feed me. Even hand down their food from the table where they eat. If anything, I own them. (If you look closely, you will see that I am smiling.)

 What I did not experience first-hand, I heard. I was privy to the stories they would tell their friends. Remember that dogs have excellent hearing. Whether I was in the room or not. Whether the people were in the room, or just voices coming out of the little phone thing that they use with a speaker on, broadcasting what they say to the immediate world, I heard it all. Think about it, I know their secrets. Things they talk about with friends, but not with each other. I am the original fly on the wall. As you continue to read these pages, I will rely on you to stop me if I divulge anything that might hurt my family. Humans can be very unreasonable when threatened or lied to. Enough said. I can keep a secret.

 I was born in Florida. Mom and Dad and Rebel had moved to a neighborhood in a small beach town, just a short mile from the beach. I know that because an early memory was being put in the back of the car, taking a short drive, and then walking onto the beach. I was small and timid and stayed well back from the rolling water crashing onto the shore. Of course, Rebel ran right in.

 My dad tells of the first time he arrived at the shack he bought to spend winters in. Well, not, a shack,but barely a place a dog would want to live. I do not know why people think dogs are not just as fussy as they are about where they live. Maybe, it is due to my less fortunate peers have no home and need to roam the streets. These days why is that the test, since it seems there are as many homeless people out there as there are homeless dogs.

 Dad came to town in early November, dogless. He was on a mission to make the house habitable for Mom and Rebel, hoping to finish before Christmas so they could spend the cold weather there rather than in the north where it got cold and did something they called snow. (Something I have never witnessed being born in Florida to a family that never ventures north in cold weather.) Dad calls this story the beginning of living in “Labradoodle Land.”

 Rebel was born in 2002. Well before every second dog you see is either a Labradoodle or Golden Doodle. He laughs when he tells of getting his out of the van to be greeted by a Labradoodle running at him from directly across the street and then find there is another just two doors down. Big finish…the woman who lived next door was breeding Labradoodles.

 As you may imagine, I was born into one of the next several litters. Less than a year and a half later I went from the house I was born in, and the yard on one side of a fence, to the house next door, and shared that same fence. The woman from that house, the one I now call Mom, came over right after I was born and helped the breeder, Toni, take care of us. She went along when we went to the doctor’s office for shots and would nuzzle us and gush about how cute we were. The guy next door, now my Dad, would come over and say, ” Honey, there is no way, no how, we are getting another dog. Rebel is all the dog I can handle.”

 The weeks went by and one by one my litter mates left. People would come. Play with us, one at a time. Then viola, one of us was gone. It went on that way until after three months I was the only one there. The woman who became “Mom” had been talking to all of us through the fence each morning and would visit and play with us most days. Once I was alone, she would come over and take me back to her house. Rebel was less than thrilled when I would be there. He was huge. I was tiny. He did not like the amount of attention I received. Then one day she came over and carried me to her house. I was trying to get Rebel to play and while he was ignoring me, I overheard this conversation; “Please Joe, Toni said we could have her for free. She is past fourteen weeks, and Toni is tired of trying to sell dogs right now. She said, “Another week or two and the puppy loses her Puppy Value.” Mom then said, “She may not be a good-looking dog and has been passed over by everyone,but she is so sweet, and I think she’s really smart.” Joe smiled and sat down with an exhale of air. ” Donna, I thought this was resolved. No puppy. We need to go north in a few weeks, pack up and sell the house up there. Who knows how long that will take? Where in that picture are we going to train a dog, let alone deal with the damage puppies seem to do.”

You do know what they say about famous last words? I never went back next door.