Elise Manion's Blog - Posts Tagged "pets"
New Puppy
Three-year-old Thomas sat by the campfire, marshmallow roaster in his hands and booted feet swinging to a rhythm of their own. Mommy was explaining the benefits of browning the treat, rather than catching it on fire.
As Thomas ate the golden brown crust off of Mommy’s marshmallow (because his had fallen into the fire), he listened to the conversation going on around him on this summer’s night near Yellowstone National Park.
Uncle Jerry was talking about his cattle dog, Daphne. Papa had already discussed a litter of puppies he’d help ween on the farm when he was a boy.
Thomas wanted a dog too, one who would sleep on his bed and scare away the monster who lived in his closet. He imagined his dog running to the pond with him and chasing ducks or following him to school.
“I used to have a dog,” he suddenly said.
Grandma smiled at him. “You did, Thomas? What was his name?”
“His name was Montana and he was the best dog ever.”
“Was? What happened to him, honey?” Mommy wanted to know.
“Well,” Thomas began, but Mommy knew that he’d never had a dog, he improvised with “he died, but only after he was my best friend and played with me and kept the monster out of my closet.”
“Ah,” was all she said.
Months after that camping trip, Thomas didn’t get a puppy for his fourth birthday.
Christmas came, but Santa didn’t bring him a puppy either.
The scary monster was still in his closet.
On New Year’s Day, Daddy hung up the phone with Uncle Joe. He talked to Mommy quietly in the kitchen before calling Thomas into the room.
Daddy said, “Uncle Joe’s neighbor has twelve puppies and invited us to come look at them.” He stressed the word look and seemed to be in pain but Mommy gave Thomas her secret grin and gave Daddy a kiss on the cheek.
Later that day, Thomas stood in the front yard across the street from Uncle Joe. He was waiting for the puppies. When the front door opened, it was like a furry waterfall flowed down the porch steps and pooled around his legs! The puppies made little yip sounds and small tails were wagging around his ankles.
“Thomas, let’s sit down in the grass to see which ones like us,” Mommy said.
“What if I like one who doesn’t like me?”
“You will know your puppy, Thomas, because he will know you.”
A white puppy with large golden spots all over its body and freckles on its nose climbed into Thomas’s lap. It sniffed his pockets and played tug-of-war with his jacket. It kissed his face with a big sloppy tongue making Thomas laugh, before it curled into a ball and fell asleep.
“Can we keep Montana, Daddy?”
Mommy and Daddy looked at each other. With a sigh of resignation, Daddy talked to Uncle Joe’s neighbor, while Uncle Joe laughed. He was cradling a black and white puppy under his own arm.
Later that night, Mommy tucked Thomas and Montana into bed; the boy on his pillow and the puppy at his feet.
And the monster moved out of his closet that very night.
The end
I wrote this short story as practice in a small FB group I was invited to join a while back. It's based on my family's own dog, Washington, and she was named by my son in a much similar fashion as Thomas's puppy in the story above.
Yesterday, we had to put our baby girl to rest. She was fourteen.
For a long time, if you asked my son what kind of dog she was he'd answer with, "She's a pure bred mutt." No truer words have been spoken about her. She was a total mutt with the best personality and behavior. When the vet was taking her history she'd asked me if she'd bitten anyone in the last ten days. Honestly, Washington hadn't bitten anyone... ever. Oh, she'd told off a few people in the past fourteen years but never bit them.
I swear she could speak English as well. Our family also has another dog, Franklin. He's a dachshund and he doesn't speak a lick of English! He's ten. And he misses her too.
As Thomas ate the golden brown crust off of Mommy’s marshmallow (because his had fallen into the fire), he listened to the conversation going on around him on this summer’s night near Yellowstone National Park.
Uncle Jerry was talking about his cattle dog, Daphne. Papa had already discussed a litter of puppies he’d help ween on the farm when he was a boy.
Thomas wanted a dog too, one who would sleep on his bed and scare away the monster who lived in his closet. He imagined his dog running to the pond with him and chasing ducks or following him to school.
“I used to have a dog,” he suddenly said.
Grandma smiled at him. “You did, Thomas? What was his name?”
“His name was Montana and he was the best dog ever.”
“Was? What happened to him, honey?” Mommy wanted to know.
“Well,” Thomas began, but Mommy knew that he’d never had a dog, he improvised with “he died, but only after he was my best friend and played with me and kept the monster out of my closet.”
“Ah,” was all she said.
Months after that camping trip, Thomas didn’t get a puppy for his fourth birthday.
Christmas came, but Santa didn’t bring him a puppy either.
The scary monster was still in his closet.
On New Year’s Day, Daddy hung up the phone with Uncle Joe. He talked to Mommy quietly in the kitchen before calling Thomas into the room.
Daddy said, “Uncle Joe’s neighbor has twelve puppies and invited us to come look at them.” He stressed the word look and seemed to be in pain but Mommy gave Thomas her secret grin and gave Daddy a kiss on the cheek.
Later that day, Thomas stood in the front yard across the street from Uncle Joe. He was waiting for the puppies. When the front door opened, it was like a furry waterfall flowed down the porch steps and pooled around his legs! The puppies made little yip sounds and small tails were wagging around his ankles.
“Thomas, let’s sit down in the grass to see which ones like us,” Mommy said.
“What if I like one who doesn’t like me?”
“You will know your puppy, Thomas, because he will know you.”
A white puppy with large golden spots all over its body and freckles on its nose climbed into Thomas’s lap. It sniffed his pockets and played tug-of-war with his jacket. It kissed his face with a big sloppy tongue making Thomas laugh, before it curled into a ball and fell asleep.
“Can we keep Montana, Daddy?”
Mommy and Daddy looked at each other. With a sigh of resignation, Daddy talked to Uncle Joe’s neighbor, while Uncle Joe laughed. He was cradling a black and white puppy under his own arm.
Later that night, Mommy tucked Thomas and Montana into bed; the boy on his pillow and the puppy at his feet.
And the monster moved out of his closet that very night.
The end
I wrote this short story as practice in a small FB group I was invited to join a while back. It's based on my family's own dog, Washington, and she was named by my son in a much similar fashion as Thomas's puppy in the story above.
Yesterday, we had to put our baby girl to rest. She was fourteen.
For a long time, if you asked my son what kind of dog she was he'd answer with, "She's a pure bred mutt." No truer words have been spoken about her. She was a total mutt with the best personality and behavior. When the vet was taking her history she'd asked me if she'd bitten anyone in the last ten days. Honestly, Washington hadn't bitten anyone... ever. Oh, she'd told off a few people in the past fourteen years but never bit them.
I swear she could speak English as well. Our family also has another dog, Franklin. He's a dachshund and he doesn't speak a lick of English! He's ten. And he misses her too.
