Puppy Love

Not too many people ever think seeing a stray animal outside of a parking lot will be the moment to usually change your life, nor your outlook on it. Normally, one would simply look for any proof of ownership. Maybe the stray could be taken home until a suitable owner is found.

               Such a situation happened to me one year, on a warm summer day in 2011. I was simply a senior in high school, spending his evening at work, contemplating how to tackle the homework assigned earlier that day. However, that had to wait, as I was my evening was devoted to carrying out groceries and stocking shelves full of goods.

               Halfway into my shift, I and a few customers noticed a small black and brown dog wandering the parking lot, sniffing for a bite to eat. Many tried to approach it, but the tiny pooch would have none of It, opting to run away from each stranger. One man even attempted to give it a can of dog food, which was refused. By that point, everyone just gave up, and I too was about to pay the canine no mind, until I caught it staring at me. I knelt, and it came closer, but slowly. Transitioning to sitting, the pup then scampered faster towards me.

               As my hand stroked its fur, I saw the tiny one was a dotson male, but most heartrendingly, he was frighteningly skinny. The poor dog’s ribs were showing, and he was shivering; he looked as though he went through a lot, evident by the look in his eyes. Despite all that, his tail wagged as he made the effort to climb onto my lap (with my help, of course.). I can still hear his whines as he licked at my face.

               Surprisingly, my boss approved of this embrace, stating he would carry out the groceries, while I find someone who would adopt this dog. The same man that had the rejected dog food returned, and handed me the can it was in, to see if he would accept it from me. In a flash, the dog proved to be mightily hungry, eating straight out of the can until he couldn’t reach further in there, to which I scooped it out for him.

               “You think you could take him home?” the man stood back up, having knelt beside me. “Seems he’s taken a likin’ to you.”

               “I don’t think so,” my hand scratched behind the dog’s ears. “We’ve got so many dogs as it is, and I don’t think we could afford to take another one in.”

               “S’fine, I’ll run on hoe and bring my wife. See what she thinks.”

               True to his word, the man returned, wife in tow. She clasped a hand over her mouth and her eyes started to water at the sad sight in front of her. The two talked for a bit, planning out scheduling veterinarian appointments, and how to nurse him back to health. The dog didn’t pay much mind to them, instead staring deeply into my eyes. I didn’t realize then how heavy my heart was.

               The woman thanked me, as I handed my new friend to her, and I responded by asking them to take good care of him. Of course they would, they just had THAT look you just can’t fake. He was in good hands.

               One thing I’ll never forget is the way the dog looked at me as he was carried off. That look of sheer, utter joy he had was now replaced by that expression of forlorn melancholy at which I met him. He even tried to climb over her and jump, but she had a good handle on him. The rest of that night was spent with my silence, otherwise I would have been a blubbering mess, flowing with tears. I hoped the best for him.

               Perhaps he got that “best,” but a bittersweet one. A couple of weeks later, I bumped into the customer that took my little friend in with his wife and greeted him.

               “How’s the little fella doing?” I asked as I shook his hand.

               “Ah,” the man sunk his head, eyes meeting the floor tiles. “We did the best we could, we really did. We nursed him back to health, y’see, and even took him to the vet. Said ‘he was eatin’ good,’ but that he was sufferin’ from cancer. We, uh, we had to put him down.”

               Plenty of thoughts ran through my mind in the months since, about how unfair and cruel it all is, about how such a small creature full of love could be given this kind of fate. Come the January of 2012, my mother took in a new dog. This dog was also black and brown, like my fallen canine, yet he was a rat terrier. He too, was skin and bone, and had a limp. According to the woman that found him and gifted him to my mom, he had been in the wild for so long, having a broken leg and a ruptured diaphragm.  

               All the same, my family and I took care of him. He ate well and got in rather good shape, despite it all. He took to me first when we first met him, climbing on my lap and we’ve been best friends ever since. At first I named him Scruffy, but my family and I got so used to calling him Buddy, that that name stuck. As the years went by, his breathing became normal and he walked on his leg much better. He sure loves to bark at anything, but he has proven to be a great companion.

               Every now and then, I remember that little dog in the parking lot, about how I wished I could’ve done more for him, about how happy he was in that small window of time I shared with him. But rather than being bogged down with that dark cloud, my skies are always brightened when I glance over at Buddy and see him notice and wag his tail at the sight of me. Then I think about how life can take so much out of us, bogging us down with dark clouds, but it can also brighten our skies and fill us with hope. I look at Buddy and I know he is as happy too, and I’m happy I got to at least give him a second chance.