The old saw of “Do something you love and you’ll never work a day in your life.” is pure hogwash. Well at least it is for me. I love to do many things and when they became my paying job all of them really lost their luster in time. That said, I do have one passion that has endured the test of time.
DOGS!!!!!!!!!!
I have loved these most noble of all creatures my entire life. I have been the lucky human for a lot of pooches. I know them well yet they always amaze me. Every. Stinkin’. Day.
So imagine, if you will (or dare), a shy little human who stared into the box of amazement that was full of puppies. I was a few months shy of my second birthday but I already knew I loved dogs. No real reason I can recall because I was, after all, just a toddler and was busy playing with Hot Wheels and learning how to use a toilet. But damn, those things I learned were called dogs totally blew me away.
I stood there in wide wonder at the joy I had found. (Yeah, I went there.) My babysitters, Vernon and Thelma* along with their two daughters, lived on a little spit of land out in the country. They had your basic pieces of livestock for pets. And then they also had Jill.
*(Vernon and Thelma are not bit characters in my Life With Dogs. They figure deeply into my life with dogs. They will be back around more than once when it comes to these dog tales. Thankfully.)
Jill was a Heinz 57 terrier mutt. Basically all you could tell about her lineage was there was more than a smidgen of terrier. What else was in her DNA is pure conjecture. But she was a good girl. Come that particular Halloween night she gave birth to a litter of equally mysterious puppies. Healthy, squealing little critters.
When I was (finally) allowed to see them for myself, I immediately became fixated upon the runt of the litter. A little black and white female. I guess this explains why I’ve always had a huge soft spot for underdogs. I just took the term very literally, long before I was capable of understanding what it meant.
A little backstory is needed here. My mom was a single parent. It was a tough road for her to raise a child on a small income. Yet she always found a way to take very good care of me. The love and kindness of family and friends were no small part of our well-being. She saw how much I loved these puppies and one in particular. Mom decided I should have a dog in my life. It helps that mom was a huge lover of dogs herself. Go figure where I got that trait of character.
Now back to the dogs…
As the puppies started to grow, I grew more attached to the runt every passing day. I guess you could say she was lining me up for a life of dealing with project dogs that I have to this day. The pup was healthy and all but being the littlest creature she kinda got shuffled to the bottom of the deck. My mom was hatching a plan for my Christmas present and Thelma assured her that I indeed loved the runt the most out of them all.
“She looks like a drowned rat!” Mom would tell me later.
But Thelma insisted she was indeed The One.
Come Christmas Eve, Mom arrived in her old Chevy to pick me up after her long day working at a catalog shopping store. Normally I would be ready to go to sleep for the short ride home. But noooooo. Not that night.
Much to her chagrin, I decided to attempt foiling her grand plan of smuggling home a puppy without my knowledge. She had me belted in my bassinet and my Best Christmas Present Ever ensconced in a box that Vernon had snuck into the back seat. And I was pleased as punch to stay awake.
Mom had the radio absolutely blaring to mask the noises of a puppy who was away from her pack for the very first time. Mom was singing along to the endless carols to make more noise. How she pulled off this feat, I still don’t know. All I do know is that I was none the wiser that in a few hours I would be the happiest kid in the world.
Christmas is a magical time for folks. Especially kids. It’s a night of idle threats of Santa Claus not stopping at your house because you were still awake. A night of dead-tired parents pulling together every shred of energy to make it all happen. Ain’t nobody sleeping too well on Christmas Eve for one reason or another.
When I guess Mom finally got a bit of rest for herself, she woke me up for my bathroom time. She nudged my bleary-eyed, half-asleep body to the bathroom. She waited for me to enter the bathroom before following me. I think I know why….
BABY PUPPY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I know damn well my shrieks of joy were heard loud and clear all the way up and down our street. There, in the bathtub, was My First Dog.
So the saga began in earnest. I grabbed her up and was screaming like, well, a kid with his first puppy. Of course love hurts and can kill so I was, of course, unnervingly close to choking the life out of the pup as I ran around the house clutching her to my chest by the neck.
My dear mother in hot pursuit of me, trying desperately to save the poor dog’s short life. She finally snagged me by the back of my pajamas and took control of the puppy.
More squeals from me. Squeals from the puppy. I’m pretty certain there were squeals from the frayed ends of Mom’s sanity.
“What do you want to name her?” Mom asked.
”Baby Puppy!!!” was my not-so-calm reply.
”She won’t be a baby puppy forever.”
I wouldn’t relent. Baby Puppy.
Later on, in the evening we were watching A Charlie Brown Christmas on the little black and white TV we had. Mom had an inspiration.
“What about Peppermint Patty?” she offered.
She knew who my favorite human character was within the realm of Peanuts. I swallowed that bait, hook, line and sinker.
And there you have it.
At that moment, I had my first dog and it had a name. Pepper, as she would be called, was still my baby puppy. She was the first spark that lit my fuse when it came to becoming That Dog Guy. Who knew such a little puppy would be the beginning of my life passion. She is also the avatar for this page.