On the Tuesday of the second week of school – as if things weren’t hectic enough – the universe once again threw puppies at us.* I was running around like a chicken with its head cut off for 12 straight hours – school all day, after-care program after school till 5:30p, PSA meeting from 5:30p till sundown – and there they were: two black and tan coonhounds (it was fate!) with no one in the world but each other.
Jeremy – whose heart is a cold, dead stone – rationally wanted to give them some food and water and leave them to their fate. I thought we could find homes for them, so opted to bathe them, feed them, and let them sleep in the trailer. Oh, reason, why didn’t I listen to you?!?
Long story short, everyone wanted the boy of the pair (eventually homed at our maintenance man’s parents’ house; named Elvis), and no one wanted the girl. I took her to the vet the next day for the vaccine clinic, figuring that we would get her the first round of shots and let her new parents keep them going. The nurse at the vet asked me her name, but Jeremy had forbid me to name her, a command that did not stop me from obsessively thinking of names the entire hour-long drive to ABQ. However, I hadn’t settled on one, and sadly looked at the nurse and said, “I’m not allowed to name her . . . Just leave it blank.” The whole rest of the visit, everyone said, “Aww, is that the little no-name puppy?”
We got her shots, experienced a very unpleasant and traumatic episode while I went food-shopping, and returned home tired and cranky with the fun prospect of waking up all night for the long and joyless game of puppy house-breaking.
Tomorrow, it will be three weeks, and despite my mother’s stoic (read: annoyed) stance on the whole subject, I think we have a new dog.
Her full name is Little Orphan Annie Oakley – orphan because she is one, Annie because it goes with the other two names and gives honor to my most beloved Aunt Andrea, lover of all things canine, and Oakley because she is one tough, little cowgirl. As all my friends call me “Coon”, it is especially appropriate that she is a coonhound.
She fits right in, is mellow and chill, and sleeps most of the day so that when Boon hassles her or we play outside, she has enough of a burst of tiny, puppy energy to patrol around like a solid, little army tank, giving Boon a run for his money. She’s a lover, not a fighter – but she’ll fight if she has to.
She’s great! And now she’s a part of the Coon pack.
Be well. – SAWK
*Boon adopted us last January when he showed up inside of the fence at school, melted our hearts, emptied our wallets, and bit holes in our shirts and pants. He was a tiny, seven-pound, brindled ball of fluff, smaller than our rabbit. He was, and shall always remain, a lovable pain in the rump.