It had been a very long night. Our black
cocker spaniel 'Precious' was having a difficult delivery. I lay on the
floor beside her large four-foot square cage, watching her every
movement. Watching and waiting, just in case I had to rush her to the
veterinarian.
After six hours the puppies started to appear. The
first-born was black and white. The second and third puppies were tan
and brown in color. The fourth and fifth were also spotted black and
white. "One, two, three, four, five," I counted to myself as I walked
down the hallway to wake my wife, Judy, and tell her that everything was
fine.
As we walked back down the hallway and into the spare
bedroom, I noticed a sixth puppy had been born and was now laying all by
itself over to the side of the cage. I picked up the small puppy and
laid it on top of the large pile of puppies, who were whining and trying
to nurse on the mother. Precious immediately pushed the small puppy
away from rest of the group. She refused to recognize it as a member of
her family.
"Something's wrong," said Judy.
I reached
over and picked up the puppy. My heart sank inside my chest when I saw
the little puppy had a cleft lip and palate and could not close its
little mouth. I decided right there and then that if there was any way
to save this animal I was going to give it my best shot.
I took
the puppy to the vet and was told nothing could be done unless we were
willing to spend about a thousand dollars to try and correct the defect.
He told us that the puppy would die mainly because it could not suckle.
After returning home, Judy and I decided that we could not afford to
spend that kind of money without getting some type of assurance from the
vet that the puppy had a chance to live. However, that did not stop me
from purchasing a syringe and feeding the puppy by hand. Which I did
every day and night, every two hours, for more than ten days. The little
puppy survived and learned to eat on his own as long as it was soft
canned food.
The fifth week I placed an ad in the newspaper, and
within a week we had people interested in all of the pups, except the
one with the deformity. Late one afternoon I went to the store to pick
up a few groceries. Upon returning I happened to see the old retired
schoolteacher, who lived across the street from us, waving at me. She
had read in the paper that we had puppies and was wondering if she might
get one from us for her grandson and his family. I told her all the
puppies had found homes, but I would keep my eyes open for anyone else
who might have an available cocker spaniel. I also mentioned that if
someone should change their mind, I would let her know. Within days, all
but one of the puppies had been picked up by their new families. This
left me with one brown and tan cocker as well as the smaller puppy with
the cleft lip and palate.
Two days passed without me hearing
anything from the gentleman who had been promised the tan and brown pup.
I telephoned the schoolteacher and told her I had one puppy left and
that she was welcome to come and look at it. She advised me that she was
going to pick up her grandson and would come over at about eight
o'clock that evening.
That night at around seven-thirty, Judy
and I were eating supper when we heard a knock on the front door. When I
opened the door, the man who had wanted the tan and brown pup was
standing there. We walked inside, took care of the adoption details and I
handed him the puppy. Judy and I did not know what we would do or say
when the teacher showed up with her grandson. At exactly eight o'clock
the doorbell rang. I opened the door, and there was the schoolteacher
with her grandson standing behind her. I explained to her the man had
come for the puppy after all, and there were no puppies left. "I'm
sorry, Jeffery. They found homes for all the puppies," she told her
grandson.
Just at that moment, the small puppy left in the bedroom began to yelp.
"My puppy! My puppy!" yelled the little boy as he ran out from behind his grandmother.
I
just about fell over when I saw that the small child also had a cleft
lip and palate. The boy ran past me as fast as he could, down the
hallway to where the puppy was still yelping. When the three of us made
it to the bedroom, the small boy was holding the puppy in his arms. He
looked up at his grandmother and said, "Look, Grandma. They found homes
for all the puppies except the pretty one, and he looks just like me.”
The schoolteacher turned to us, "Is this puppy available?"
“Yes,” I answered. “That puppy is available.”
The
little boy, who was now hugging the puppy, chimed in, "My grandma told
me these kind of puppies are real expensive and that I have to take real
good care of it."
The lady opened her purse, but I reached over
and pushed her hand back down into her purse so that she would not pull
her wallet out. "How much do you think this puppy is worth?" I asked
the boy. "About a dollar?" "No. This puppy is very, very expensive," he
replied.
"More than a dollar?" I asked.
"I'm afraid so," said his grandmother.
The
boy stood there pressing the small puppy against his cheek. "We could
not possibly take less than two dollars for this puppy," Judy said,
squeezing my hand. "Like you said, it's the pretty one."
The schoolteacher took out two dollars and handed it to the young boy.
"It's your dog now, Jeffery. You pay the man."
Still holding the puppy tightly, the boy proudly handed me the money. Any worries I’d had about the puppy’s future were gone.
The
image of the little boy and his matching pup stays with me still. I
think it must be a wonderful feeling for any young person to look at
themselves in the mirror and see nothing, except "the pretty one."
Roger Dean Kiser is the award-winning author of several books
filled with stories of love, hope and courage. Thank you for sharing
this with us Roger!
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