February 7, 2008 Issue

It’s hard to know exactly what I was thinking when I got an email from someone I know featuring photos of three adorable puppies who had been tossed into a storm drain in Panama City on New Year’s Eve and presumably left to die. Fortunately for the dogs, a good and kind soul found them and took them to the nearest vet who said it was the second time that day the dogs had been in the office. Earlier, someone had tried to drop them off, but when told they didn’t accept dogs for adoption, the person left and apparently headed for the storm drain. Such coldness is difficult to contemplate.

The purpose of the email, was, of course, trying to find people who would offer the pups a home. “I will, I will,” I foolishly said. After being interviewed by phone by the dog rescuer, it was arranged I would pick up a female puppy in two weeks time, after it was determined the dog was free of internal parasites.

And so it came to pass that Wookie came to live with Snazzy and me. When I picked her up, the rescuer said he would keep in touch and said if I changed my mind, he would take her back.

There she was, about three pounds of wiggling, long-legged enthusiasm and cuter than the law allows. She bonded instantly, as puppies will, to the human. Snazzy was gracious about sharing her food bowl, her toys and me. She tolerated flying leaps onto her back and endless nips to her belly, ears, and head, right up until she had had enough for the time being. Then she would make a canine signal only understood by other canines, and the puppy would back off. At no time did she hurt the wee one, even though she could literally put the puppy’s head in her mouth.

It had been many years since I had a puppy. I was much younger then and I had forgotten how much work they are. They cry if they can’t see you and they hate to be left alone. They are eating, pooping, peeing, and chewing machines. Everything is fascinating to them; they are incredibly quick and they can duck under almost everything because they are so small. They want to chew on the shoes on your feet, the electrical cords, the legs of the furniture and anything else within reach. When they are tired, they want to be in your lap despite the fact you bought them a nice cozy bed. Nevertheless, some physical restraints were erected to keep her in one room with a tiled floor and things were going along pretty much OK, right up until I got sick.

It would be nice to report I suffered from some dignified illness like a migraine or sciatica, but not true. I was visited by a most persistent virulent intestinal invader causing me to become a toilet hugging, moaning, God-have-mercy, let-me-get-some-sleep-please wreck of a human being. Never before in my history have I encountered anything as bad as this or one of such energy robbing intensity or duration. In my severely weakened state, I could not think, and could not eat, I could barely take care of myself, much less a puppy who continued to demand as much attention as she had before the onset of my difficulties.

It is my belief that things happen for a reason. The illness was a rather graphic example of how ill equipped I was to handle the demands of a puppy and provide for her everything she needed. What she needed was someone far younger with enough energy to fully enjoy her in all of her discoveries of life. She was a joy to watch, hold and snuggle with, but the kindest thing to do was let her go, which I did. She was with me a week and it was enough to let me know I am truly past the age when it is sensible to have a puppy.

The afternoon I took her back to her savior, I was still not well and wondering if I ever would be. As I drove home I asked God to either take me or make it stop. The next day, my symptoms were largely gone and now I’m wondering if there is an implied obligation of some kind on my part.

More from Leah Stratmann