Mr. Puppy

We were living in a 600 sq. ft. mobile home; half was storage. Following the stretch of hard times inherent in every marriage, we sat in our small living room and discussed Christmas options; exchanging 'things' was objectionable. One option occurred to us simultaneously: we were ready to adopt the long discussed beagle.

I spoke it and he began his online search. We were at the breeders house within an hour. Knowing we wanted a female, the breeder brought her to us. We then asked to see the male. He wouldn't come to us, hid under and behind the furniture, wiggled wildly when we tried to hold him. He also had too much black coloring on his back and she wanted too much for such a timid, hopeless hound.

I wrote the check, tucked him in my jacket and headed to the grocery to buy everything we would need to be proper doggie parents, including a manual on beagles.


True to character, I accepted and implemented the advise I liked, argued against the suggestions I didn't like, understand or that required too much from me. This puppy and I had an 'understanding', therefore obedience training would not be necessary.

He learned quickly to sit on his pillow for breakfast or dinner, if he looked cute enough we'd give him food, private business happened outside, he could stomp at will through the woods if he just came when 'Daddy' called, nighttime was spent in the crate in the second bedroom, my lap was the most comfortable place in the house and he could outsmart the cat.

Life was blissful. Just a week after Puppy arrived into my world, I became aware he had wrapped himself around my heart; or that I was wrapped around his little paw. Twenty-some years previous I had experienced this very same feeling when I brought my daughter home from the hospital. This time it was puppy love.