Puppy Power
How a forgotten puppy from the C litter won our hearts
“I don’t want a dog in this house. It will stain the rugs and chew the furniture,” said my wife, as my sons, aged 9 and 11, watched.
“My father adopted dogs when we grew up. Our dogs provided an opportunity for us to learn to love and care for a living being,” I said, speaking like a yogi at a world peace retreat. “And your family had your dog for fourteen years, didn’t they?”
Our sons watched our ping-pong volley of words in restless anticipation of a decision. Dog or no dog.
“Think of the boys. Please.”
I’m setting a great example for the kids, I said to myself. I’m not speaking aggressively and I’m not acting mushy. This is a win, no matter how this goes. My mother banged pots and pans when she got angry, and my father didn’t talk. He held in his feelings. Look at me, the silky smooth diplomat.
“No. The answer is no.”
I persevered. I researched breeds and found a compromise. A small easy to care for dog. A dachshund. I printed photos of cute little hot dog orphans.
“Look, dachshund puppies, completely free! They’re shaped like hot dogs, remember? Your friend Debbie’s husband bred them.”
My wife turned from stirring the homemade tomato sauce, glanced at the picture, and resumed her stirring. I scurried away. “Ah ha! She softened! I bet the hot dog analogy won her over. Who doesn’t love a hot dog? Wait, did she really look at the photo? Maybe not, but I could claim she did.
Later that day, I took my son Danny for a ride to see the puppies.
“Johnny’s playing with his trains,” I yelled up the stairs to my wife from the downstairs foyer. Then, like a sports announcer reporting from a golf tournament, I said, “Danny and I are going to see some puppies.”
“Okay.” she said. I think that’s what she said. She may have said “What?” because I spoke so low, or maybe she said “Where?” The point is, she responded in a neutral tone. How much trouble could I possibly get into?
Every dachshund puppy immediately melted my heart and Danny’s. I asked which one of the cuddly, innocent pups he liked and each time he pointed at one, the attendant said someone had already adopted it. Instead, we looked at beagles. I figured beagles resembled dachshunds, somewhat. However, other adopters beat us to them too. We walked away in a state of sullen discontent when a good Samaritan in green scrubs yelled for us.
“Wait!” she said like a cop asking a bank robber to stop. Unlike burglars who never stop when they’re running away, we stopped. I turned to face our pursuer and wondered if we did something wrong because I have a “I think I did something wrong” complex. It’s from years of attending Catholic school.
“I heard you two want to adopt a dog.”
“Yes, we do.” I waited for her to say we didn’t fill out the proper paperwork and therefore would need to leave the premises immediately with summons in hand. My guilt for deceiving Lu-Ann ramped up. Now I would need to go home without a puppy, but with a summons. My wife might chase me with her wooden spoon like my mother did when I was a kid. And Lu-Ann’s spoon would have tomato sauce on it. Fortunately, I wouldn’t need to face that fate.
“There’s another dachshund puppy in the infirmary. He’s fine and needs a home.”
“Great!”
Like kids invited to an all you can eat cotton candy buffet, we followed the kindhearted vet to a desolate room. She reached into a dark cage, pushed aside shreds of old newspaper and retrieved a lone jet-black puppy.
“We neutered him. Keep him out of the snow for a few weeks. He’ll be fine.“His name is Carter?” I said, looking at his tag.
“Yes, he’s from the C litter. All his brothers’ and sisters’ names start with a C. He’s eight weeks old.”
Danny held the puppy like a newborn.
“Danny, do you like him?”
He nodded his head in the affirmative. Every person on Earth loves a puppy, but I needed to set Danny up for the puppy pledge-of-allegiance-to-your-pet speech. Danny nodded to every promise, although I’m sure I sounded like Charlie Brown’s teacher to him.
“What do you want to name him?”
“Carter,” he squeaked in the strongest prepubescent voice he could muster.
“Carter it is.”
On the ride home, Danny sat in the back seat and held Carter in a small cardboard box. I looked in the rearview mirror and saw Danny gaze upon the innocent angel with the most caring and smitten eyes I’ve ever seen.
I called my wife on my cell and gave her the good news.
“We adopted a puppy!”
“I didn’t know you were going to adopt a dog today! You said you would look at them, not bring them home. I don’t want a dog in this house!” My arm held the phone receiver a foot from my ear to prevent her decibel level from giving me permanent ear drum damage.
“But you have to see him. He’s the cutest and Danny loves him.” I looked in the rear-view mirror again and saw my son stifling tears. “I’m driving. We’ll talk when I get home.”
Once again, my training in the powers of Zen controlled the situation. A situation I got myself into by attempting to smuggle a dog into our house!
Ten minutes later, we arrived home. Danny took the cardboard box into his bedroom as my wife and I jousted like Ralph and Alice Kramden.
“Our sons want a puppy!” I said, like the proverbial king of his castle.
“I don’t want a puppy in this house!” The queen retorted. She went through her list of reasons, most of which dealt with the ruination of the home and taking her away from her primary caregiver duties to our sons.
“Go see it before you decide!” Then I called upon my psychological manipulation powers.
“Our argument is making Danny cry!”
Lu-Ann softened her Alice Kramden persona as her maternal instincts overrode her annoyance at my decision-making. She marched down the hall to our son’s bedroom. The judge had entered her chambers. A few minutes later, I heard the bedroom door open and close. I sat like a defendant waiting for the judge to read my verdict. I stood, wringing my hands and ready to plead for a lean sentence.
“Your honor, I throw myself at the mercy of the court. I knowingly and willingly tricked the plaintiff into an unwanted dachshund.”
She sat opposite me and spoke in a voice like Snow White. “He’s cute.” Not guilty!
I wanted to say “Thank you, your honor” but refrained. Instead, I said like one of my sons, “Can we keep him?” I almost said can we keep him, mommy. I know. Weird. She didn’t answer, but I knew Carter had already used his puppy powers to win her over. Many times, Lu-Ann and I speak to each other without talking. The method works favorably fifty percent of the time, which is a much higher percentage than when we talk.
We called our friend, who bred dachshund puppies, to come and assess our new family member.
“Lovely puppy, but he’s not a dachshund.” “
“The adoption papers say dacshund x”. Hmm. I unfolded the adoption agency’s web site ad and reread the description. It said “dacshund mix” with pictures of puppies who looked like Carter.
“Oops. He’s a mix. How big do you think he’ll get?”
My friend held his hands apart wider and wider. Lu-Ann returned to her Alice Kramden persona. I returned to my Ralph persona and said “Hominah, hominah.”
My partner-in-crime son and I brought Carter home from the kennel on a Sunday. The next day I commuted into Brooklyn for work, which was two hours from home. I called at noon to find out how Carter and the family were doing. That is when I found out chaos ensued after I left at 5:30AM.
“Carter has had diarrhea all morning,” Lu-Ann said like a very concerned mother.
“Okay, I’ll call the local vet.”
“Good. The poor little thing’s having a hard time. I don’t want him to become dehydrated.”
“Understood.”
The vet said Carter’s system needed to adjust to his new environment, and that was the reason for his gastric distress, but he recommended bringing Carter into his office. I called Lu-Ann back.
“I’m here with the kids and need to get them on the bus.”
“I won’t be able to get home until seven if I catch the 4:40pm out of Flatbush. You were right all along. To have you take this on is unacceptable. Mea culpa.”
“It’s okay. We all want to take care of him. He’s so innocent. I’ll bring him later.”
“So, you’re okay with him staying?” I spoke like one of my sons again and once again almost called her mommy. I know. Weird.
“He’s an orphan and needs a home, and he’s not well. Yes. I want him to stay.”
Carter grew and grew, and my wife’s predictions regarding home repair came to pass. We needed to replace our rugs with laminated flooring and cover our couches with hypoallergenic stain proof material. However, our entire family and sixty-pound mixed breed from the C litter shared unconditional love in our happy home for the next sixteen years.
My predictions came to pass too. As Carter grew, my sons learned to care for him by feeding, walking, and cleaning up after him. Every time I visited the vet with Carter, the boy who took Carter home came and stood by his dog’s side, comforting him. Likewise, as Danny and his older brother Johnny grew, Carter became their protectors.
Both our sons felt unconditional love flow between us and them, and then from them to Carter. Carter recycled love from all of us and sent it back to us all. When my sons grew into teenhood and yearned for independence, my wife and I turned to Carter as our focus for love and care.
Our sons no longer wished to sit on the couch and watch a Disney film with their mom and dad and understandably so. So, our family dog sat on the floor between my wife and me staring at the TV, trying to decipher the gray noise, and anxiously awaiting a stray potato chip or pretzel.
Our family pet posed for every self-timed family portrait. He trudged through gift wrapping paper on Christmas morning, and birthday gift wrapping paper on birthdays. Each time, he’d put a bow on a gift by jumping and licking the face of the recipient.
Our dog patrolled our yard, serving notice to wildlife. He would protect our territory. Rats, cats, and racoons understood and kept their distance. His bark served as a notice to potential burglars. It would be better to bypass our house lest they tangle with a dachshund who grew into his actual breed, an American Staffordshire Terrier mix.
Lu-Ann turned into a primary caregiver, too. She prepared his boiled chicken when his stomach became too old and sensitive for dog food. She brushed him and gave him his medicine.
We all sat with Carter, the puppy who could once bound six-foot stockade fences and drag two-hundred-pound people cross the floor in a game of tug of war, as the vet sent him peacefully over the rainbow bridge in our living room. Our sons learned about the preciousness of life and the emotion of grief. Carter’s loss reminded me and my wife of them, too.
Now Carter’s portrait and his cremains look out over his domain, his spirit watching over our family as we age and change, too. The circle of life, as taught by Carter, completed.
Recently I asked Lu-Ann, my wife of forty years, if she would be okay with adopting another dog. She said, “No, not yet. I’m not ready. It’s too soon after Carter’s loss.” This time I didn’t argue or scheme.
In loving memorial of Carter | Lap of Love
John Passadino is a writer/producer/director/actor in the New York metropolitan area. He performed improv and stand-up comedy in NY then founded two long running sketch and improv groups called Them Again and SEE Saw Comedy. John wrote and acted in countless sketches for these groups. Later, NY theaters produced several of his plays. Lazy Bee Scripts is John’s home for his best theatrical work.
In addition, he published two short story collections, a book of poems — available on Amazon. He looks forward to continuing development of new and interesting material for all platforms. You can find his links at https://johnpwrites.com
