Yesterday, Kate and I went to see the movie, Truth. During the movie, I got a call from Day that they had adopted this little three-month-old rescue puppy.
Due to Marcus' allergies to dogs, they've not had one for years--but recently decided to try again. When Day called, I could hear shrieks of joy as Marcus ran around the kitchen with the puppy, and Jackson (non-allergic) was over-the-moon happy.
Hearing their excitement, I remembered a lifetime of beloved dogs: Tony, Pollo, Ivan, Black, Sasha, and Cookie... I can't actually remember a time when we didn't have a dog, often two.
Tony was our first and (except for Ivan who lived 17 years) our longest-living dog.
In 1967, we sold wedding silver to get the $65 we needed to buy that five-week-old Shepherd puppy! When Day was born in '71, Tony took on the mantle of her protector. He'd sit beside her stroller and watch her while we circled on motorcycles, guarding her from flies, bees and anything else that might threaten to bother her. Tony was my constant companion in the car, on the porch, everywhere.
We had Tony for eleven years until one awful day when we found him dead on Scenic Loop, hit by a car or truck, and covered with a blanket by a stranger. Everyone loved Tony. He was a funny, wonderful, legendary dog.
"You know what I want to be when I grow up?" three-year-old Day asked that terrible day.... "One of them angels what takes dead dogs up to God."
But late last night, I got this heartbreaking picture of Marcus, his eyes inflamed with tears and allergy-redness.
I'll be waiting all day to hear what happens--whether they figure out a way to keep the puppy they've already fallen in love with or have to return her to the shelter for somebody else to find.
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