Our son and his family have talked about getting a dog. Their children have certainly talked about a dog and have pushed their parents in that direction. Tonight there was a Facebook posting of their oldest child, beaming with joy and holding a puppy. The post read that our granddaughter had cried tears of joy and now so do I. Another photo showed the puppy sleeping on her bed, snuggled away at her feet, under a blanket that I actually made for her and now, also, for the dog, Arlo.
Given parents attentive to the mutual needs of the pup and the kids, it's a perfect fit. Every kid should have a dog; every dog should have a kid. I recall getting puppies when I was growing up on the farm. I chose bizarre names like Four Paws which was rather obvious, and Suzy Cotton Hole, which sounds more like a stripper but seemed appropriate at the time. Farm dogs live a dangerous life and I recall more than one of them being killed in accidents of one sort or another. There were several puppies in my formative years. I also tamed strays and at one time had a pack of four dogs, a luxury I would like again in my adulthood.
One puppy, I think it actually was the aforementioned Suzy CH, and I were at liberty one summer evening after the cows had all been milked and sent on their grazing way. I had been granted permission to play with my new puppy as Dad left the barn. Usually it was lights out, head for the house to eat and get ready for bed. That night Suzy and I raced about the barn chasing after each other. She barked her puppy bark; I giggled my little girl laugh.
Good clean fun came quickly to an end when Suzy tried a short cut to catch me and fell into the gutter of cow manure. She was a mess. What to do? What to do? I had an idea but had to be careful or the punishment would have been on my backside. Stealthily I brought her into the milk house and squirted her off with the water hose. First the insult then the injury of cold water and Suzy retreated to a pile of hay to lick herself dry and take a puppy sleep.
I, however, had to expediently clean away all form of manure from the milk house which had to be meticulously maintained. I never told Dad that story until I was an adult, and have rarely shared it, actually because it's not that interesting.
Yet, this evening seeing the joy on my granddaughter's face having a dog to hug and cuddled in her bed, made me recall what a joy it is to have a puppy.
Adopt never shop!