Not one of these, he's a little canine friend. Because I don't have enough to do, or enough people to keep alive and fed. In order to appreciate this story, I need to go back a few weeks.
Our dog Jill is getting old, fat and sassy. She has begun relieving herself on the basement carpet at night if we don't shut our bedroom door tightly. We've had her a long time, but incontinence is a bit of a deal breaker for me. (hear that boys? you've been warned!) A few Saturdays ago, Lewis was out of town, but it was okay because there was a church dinner. If I don't have to cook, all is right with the world. There was some sort of scout recognition and the big boys had to be early, so I sent them walking to the church. A few minutes later, I get a call from Dainon. "Mom, Jill just got hit by a car."
"What?! Are you joking? Is she dead?" There was a slightly hopeful sound to my voice.
"No, she's just limping on her back foot." Dang.
I went to pick her up, and found that she'd followed Dainon, and he hadn't sent her home. So she went and got herself run over, but not enough to finish the job.
Don't hate me, I'm not an animal person. I'm a people person. I like animals just fine, but they aren't on the same tier to me as humans.
Her back paw was injured. I looked at her, and saw dollar signs. I knew that I was going to miss that lovely dinner that I didn't have to cook. I was going to miss my boys' recognition, and everyone was going to think I was one of those flaky moms that just drop their kids off at stuff.
I called Lewis.
"Honey, Jill's been hit by a car. Where's your gun?"
"What?! How is she? How bad is she hurt?"
"She probably has a broken paw. Can I put her down? Please?"
"No."
Double Dang.
I didn't know if I actually could pull the trigger. Then I thought about her poop on my freshly shampooed carpet, and I thought I could. Lewis' dad told me about when his wife's cat came home badly injured with intestines hanging out. He knew the vet bills would be big, so he got out his 22 and took matters into his own hands. He washed, dried and fluffed the kitty back up. Then he curled it up under a bush like it was sleeping.
"Oh, look honey, I've found your cat."
"Ooo," she cooed "It looks like she went in her sleep."
He smiled.
I called him, and asked him to come up for a visit.
A week after this happened, Lewis came home with this little creature.
His friend from work had been begging us to take him. I'd been saying no, no, never. But they desperately needed a babysitter for the weekend. So, there he was, looking like some unholy combination of rat, monkey and dog. I approached him and he stood on his hind legs. I lifted him up from under his arms like a baby, and something magical happened: He put his arms around my neck and hugged me tightly. I'm not kidding. His breed has double jointed paws and can use them a lot like arms. He imprinted on me like some kind of werewolf in a vampire novel. I am now his whole world. Know what he's doing in this photo? Waiting and howling for me to come home. At first it was a little irritating not being able to take so much as a step without bumping into him, but he's relaxed a bit. He's quite naughty and steals food. When he's home alone, he has to be in his crate or he marks things (oh, the incontinence of it all!) But we like him. He makes us laugh. Violin practice is one of our favorite times now, see why?
*Oh, and Jill is still alive, and her paw is healing nicely.
