January 22, 2020

Many years ago, we lived out in a rural community—one that was so rural the word “community” to describe it really is superfluous. We lived out in the sticks. Yes, our nearest neighbors were within sight, but the closest store was about a mile and a half away, and once that corner store closed, the next closest was about six miles from us.

I loved that place. It had been the house in which I had spent most of my childhood. I loved it even though it was old, and drafty. That was the house where we had our first fire; we had the house repaired afterward, updated electrically and given a new face. Then, for reasons far too complicated to put down here, a couple of years later, we sold it.

If I could have one do-over in life, it would be that decision, the sale of that first house. But I digress.

Before the fire, we had two dogs, named Snoopy and Cherokee. And I’m not sure how now, (okay, I know how but I’m not certain if I know who the sire was) but our Cherokee ended up having a litter of pups—nine pups—and we gave them all away except three of them. Yes, that meant we had five dogs at one time, out in the sticks, where they ran free, because in those days that was how it was. They weren’t big dogs, they were medium sized, but still there were five of them.

When we would be out in the yard and throw a ball? It sounded like a herd as they all ran after it! I don’t recall the copious details of raising those nine pups to the eight-week point. But I’m trying to, because at the moment we have three puppies almost at the eight-week mark here. On Friday they go for their vet checks – something we didn’t do in the olden days, either. And then, after that, within a couple of weeks, two will go to new homes, and one will stay with us.

This new puppy will be David’s new best friend. David has decided to name him Theodore Bear. To that impressive moniker, I will add: son of Tuffy, because he is.

Three puppies that are Chihuahua(dam) and Morkie(sire) cross are apparently called Chorkies. Two of the three are fluffy, kind of like their daddy, but mostly all black, like their mommy. The third resembles a chihuahua, almost; he doesn’t have a lot of fluff, just a tiny bit, but he’s brown and black, which were Tuffy’s colors, and he’s getting a bit of facial hair that resembles his daddy’s beard. He’s the smallest of the three, even though he was the largest at birth.

The most important thing about Bear is that his daddy already loves him.

David traveled a bit of a road to get to the point where he wanted one of the pups. I mean, he always kind of wanted one? But Tuffy, you see, was his heart in a lot of ways. Tuffy was supposed to have had a life span of 13 years. We got him when he was eight weeks old, and we only had him two months shy of 7. 

The pain of losing an animal is real, and for David and yes, me too, losing Tuffy was devastating. When we knew Bella was pregnant, David’s original position was that he didn’t want to go there again.

There are a lot of reasons to decide not to take a puppy on. Most of them are valid, and when looked back upon, static.

The reason David clung to at first was that he didn’t want to go through that kind of loss again. And I understand that. But I also understood that a decision made under those emotions could come to be a decision he would regret. Tuffy fathered three puppies, and the girls and I believed and still do that if David doesn’t take one of them, he truly would live to regret it.

I’ve written within the confines of a novel or two, that once you love, you become a hostage to your loved one’s fortunes. It’s so with people, and it’s so with pets. Now with pets, you understand going into the relationship that you will outlive your fur-baby. You will have to suffer that loss at some point down the road. Most of us, I believe, suffer that loss after the pet’s full life expectancy has been reached. We get a good long time to prepare, emotionally, as best as one can to such an event. And letting go, that final goodbye, is a gift we give them for the long life of love they’ve given us.

But nothing in life is free, and the price you pay for love and joy is often loss and sorrow. And the secret is knowing in your heart that love, true love, is worth that price, and more.

David still says that he hasn’t completely decided, not one hundred percent. For his sake, I hope he keeps the little bugger.

But that is a decision that only he can make. I’ll keep you informed.

Love,
Morgan
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