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| Sunny |
Caro's Sundae Sunshine was a whimsical, sweet as pie cocker spaniel. His luxurious beige coat curled from a proud head to a jet-propelled tail. His leg fur feathered into strands of glistening silk. The ribbons of hair on his ears cascaded like mountain waterfalls. Soft, black eyelashes swept over chocolate endless-love eyes. Caro's Sundae Sunshine was his fancy name, but I always called him Sunny. Our fifteen years together were filled with laughs, loyal companionship, love. But when I think of Sunny's beginnings, I am still saddened.
Although reading the "Pets for Sale" ads in the newspaper was habit, back in 1991 I was not looking for another dog. I was in the middle of unpacking from a big move and finishing college. The ad was in bold print. "NINE-MONTH-OLD COCKER SPANIEL NEEDS PATIENT, LOVING HOME." I loved cockers, but the ad was a dead ringer for a problem animal likely the product of a treacherous "puppy mill" breeder. I don't know why I went to see him.
Five disheveled children opened the door. A creeping baby
followed behind, collecting furry dust balls on gooey hands. They led me
to the kitchen where a well-worn woman sat on an equally worn gray vinyl
chair. She brushed an inch of crumbs from the table to the floor and
motioned me to take a seat. The dog, crawling like the baby, slithered
from under the table and placed a grimy face in my lap.
"Well, there he is," said the mom. "We
told Mikey we'd get rid of him if he didn't teach him right."
"I tried, Mom," cried the biggest child through
tears sketching streaks down a dirty face.
Mikey was no more than six-years-old. His parents had dumped full
responsibility for the puppy on a child barely able to reach the sink to fill a
water bowl.
"We thought it would teach him something," the
mother quietly said. The sincerity in her eyes showed a caring, overworked,
misguided woman.
The dog's head became heavy in my
lap. His pleading, crusty eyes stayed fixed on mine. Mikey started
to cry again, the mother yelled, the baby threw up a puddle of green on the
floor. Imagining the desperate animal placing the ad in the paper
himself, I wrote out a check without bargaining for price. I put my
frightened, trembling pup in the car. Looking into his eyes I
envisioned him going from the warmth and security of furry littermates directly
into chaos - no strokes of comfort, no training, no water, no regular feedings
- his only lifeline a moppet who could barely feed himself. We sat
quietly in the car for a bit. In truth, we sat until I stopped
sobbing. Once the motor was running pup stopped shaking, sat straight up
and looked ahead. For me this was a clear sign of brighter days. I
decided right then to call him Sunny.
I drove to a park. We settled down on the bank of a stream.
I soaked a cloth in the cool water wiped Sunny's crusted face and put my
hand out, palm up. He sniffed and licked. Reaching under his snout
to scratch his chest, I felt the tension release. I asked him to sit and
pushed lightly on his rump. He willingly complied. We shared an apple and icy water from my
thermos and headed for home. In the
following weeks a beautiful, trusting, well-mannered, happy companion emerged,
a beloved new family member enhancing my life.
A friend, relating the uncanny
antics of her little brown dachshund, once said to me, "I often wonder
just who's inside that dog suit." It was a sweet comment and one I’ve
thought of often over the years as different dogs have shared their lives with
me and as I have honored and cherished the loving spirit residing in each dog
suit. 💕
