DOG NUMBER TWO

One day a few years after we got Snoopy, I had taken the children for their piano lessons. As we were leaving, a woman came up to us carrying a mangy little red and white puppy. When I say mangy, I mean literally --- she had spots of mange all over her little body. This woman was trying to get someone to carry it to the Humane Shelter, and good Samaritan that I was, I agreed to do it.

So I took that sickly looking thing in the car with us, wondering what diseases I was exposing the children to. When I got to the shelter, it was closed (unbeknownst to me, Mondays were always their day off). So I told the kids we would take it home to keep over night. You can guess what happened. We became attached to that little puppy and instead of taking her to the shelter the next day, we took her to the vet. And that was the beginning of our relationship with Puddy --- she was by far the family’s favorite pet of all time, (until Rufus, of course).

Puddy was essentially an outside dog like Snoopy. The two of them shared the fenced-in yard both at the Haverford and Chickering houses, but we also brought her in a lot to enjoy her. She loved being around all of us, and because she was a small dog, she was aptly named --- she looked like a “puddy dog” all of her life.

When we moved to Chickering, we had a big chain link fence installed around the small barn that was already there, and both dogs enjoyed the freedom of running around, plus they had shelter in inclement weather. When we wanted to bring Puddy in, one of us would stand at the back door and someone would open the gate. Here she came, flying to greet us in the house. We never put her on a leash because we didn’t need to. She always wanted to come in, so just opening the gate worked most of the time. One time it didn’t, and she paid for it.

There was a big Saint Bernard named Santana, who lived a few doors down who would wander into the yard every now and then to fight with our dogs through the fence. Snoopy and Puddy on one side of the fence would snarl and bark frantically while running back and forth, and Santana would be on the other side doing the same. One snowy day, the genius came home early from work and went straight out to the fence to let Puddy into the house. As he opened the gate, Santana appeared and the genius shouted, “Run, Puddy!” She ran, all right --- straight to Santana to fight. Of course, it was no contest, and we were horrified as we watched the genius in his IBM uniform (three piece pin striped suit, white button down collar with tie, twelve pound wing tipped shoes) rolling around in the snow getting Santana off of Puddy. We were all out there by that time getting Puddy and running with her to the house. She received a bite or two, nothing serious, but we were all a wreck.

We never trusted her to be out like that again --- she just thought she could beat up anyone, no matter what the size.

We didn’t have Puddy spayed, for some reason, and every now and then she would go into heat. We would bring her in and keep her for a few days while several dogs hung around outside. One time we decided to mate her with a little neighborhood dog that we named “Parva Dog” (pronounced parwa, Ashley told us it meant “small” in Latin). So they spent a night or two together, but it didn’t “take.” There would be no little puddy dogs to come later.

Puddy lived to be seventeen years old, and finally became so weak that we had to send her to her final rest. Snoopy had already been the same route some years earlier, and both times we all shed tears over their departures.

We buried both of them deep in the fenced-in area where they spent so much time, but we will never forget them, especially Puddy. I can look up from this chair and see Puddy above our fireplace in the living room along with the three children, immortalized in a portrait we had done when the children were grown and just leaving the nest. Of all of the subjects, I believe the artist captured Puddy’s expression the best.