Bob M
New member
Got up this morning and first thing, as usual, woke Mary and took her outside, to make sure she didn't forget her manners before she remembered just where she was.
As she always does, the perpetual puppy burst out the door, ran down the porch steps, and circled the yard, sniffing and exploring as if for the very first time. To Mary, the world is new every day, a tabula rasa of fresh sounds and sights, and above all, smells. There's no time to lose as she races from the woodpile to the rosebush to the corner of the garage, taking a quick sniff, then moving on. Later, she will go back and examine each closely, but for now, it's Christmas morning in her newborn world.
I smiled at Mary's enthusiasm as I watched, as I do every morning, but today, everything felt different for me, still reeling from yesterday's news. Mary's sweet sister Eleanor was gone, following Ernestine and Sawyer and Kona and Tug and all her brothers and sisters to the place where beloved dogs go so awfully soon. How could it be that of all those dogs, the last survivor was the strange puppy- the one who never played with the others, the one who sat in the corner and barked at the wall, the one who would get lost on the porch, scratching at the wall instead of the door that she somehow couldn't find?
I remember sending her brothers and sisters off with their new families, and coming to understand that Mary would never be fit to leave home. I remember the veterinarian who told me kindly, "You've done everything you can for her," and another one who told me dismissively, "You don't have to keep every puppy alive, you know."
I remember looking at her and knowing that there was really only one course of action that was right. Let the little girl stay with us, with her mother and her sister, for whatever time she had.
It's almost nine years now, and Mary's still here, and the world is still new to her every morning, with good things to be found, even in times of sadness.
As she always does, the perpetual puppy burst out the door, ran down the porch steps, and circled the yard, sniffing and exploring as if for the very first time. To Mary, the world is new every day, a tabula rasa of fresh sounds and sights, and above all, smells. There's no time to lose as she races from the woodpile to the rosebush to the corner of the garage, taking a quick sniff, then moving on. Later, she will go back and examine each closely, but for now, it's Christmas morning in her newborn world.
I smiled at Mary's enthusiasm as I watched, as I do every morning, but today, everything felt different for me, still reeling from yesterday's news. Mary's sweet sister Eleanor was gone, following Ernestine and Sawyer and Kona and Tug and all her brothers and sisters to the place where beloved dogs go so awfully soon. How could it be that of all those dogs, the last survivor was the strange puppy- the one who never played with the others, the one who sat in the corner and barked at the wall, the one who would get lost on the porch, scratching at the wall instead of the door that she somehow couldn't find?
I remember sending her brothers and sisters off with their new families, and coming to understand that Mary would never be fit to leave home. I remember the veterinarian who told me kindly, "You've done everything you can for her," and another one who told me dismissively, "You don't have to keep every puppy alive, you know."
I remember looking at her and knowing that there was really only one course of action that was right. Let the little girl stay with us, with her mother and her sister, for whatever time she had.
It's almost nine years now, and Mary's still here, and the world is still new to her every morning, with good things to be found, even in times of sadness.
Thank you for a great Mary story.
