SANDY'S DOG

SHE WAS THERE WHEN I ARRIVED newly assigned to the unit meant for caring. We were there to “care” for those who were pushed aside and left on the doorstep of the general public. She was there sitting alone to herself “compromising,” she said, “...compromising the effect of not sharing her pups to a willing owner.” Not as giddy as the other women who chatted and sashayed about the front rooms of the Lowden workspace mulling over their “has dones”, “had to be dones” and “wanna dos” for that coming next session of days before or after work. She sat there writing notes of suggestion to herself. I stepped over to the table and, with a smile on my face, sailed a big “hello” and sat down across from her. “We have a slightly different program on this unit than at my last workstation… the women are all needing for “personal skills” help aren’t they?” Sandy Smits glanced up from her notes to reply, “They are all non-working, ambulatory and low to medium incidence mentally impaired… from birth. We have a lot to do if they will ever get into the “normal” swing of life.” She gazed back upon her notes and went silent again. “I can see they are going to be a handful. What are you detailing there? Special procedures for…” A smirk crossed her cheek and lips before they parted to speak, “No, I have to make a decision. I have to part with my little loves. I’ve just become a mother to a welp of Irish setters and have no clue as to where they are going. They can’t stay with me... us; we don’t have room to raise puppies… large nor small.” My eyes brightened. I had always loved the look presented by the setters flowing red... Auburn hair! Nose-to-tail auburn, seeming grace and undying energy! Try one on me, my children are young enough to grow on it and it on them. They would have a running buddy. We go out often. hiking trails and fields on any number of plant identification moments… we identify beneficial plants for medicine and wild edibles. He would be right at home with us!” How much for one… a boy preferably.” Now she smiled, “You hike?” I gave up my admission, “Only as much as time permits... And locally. Not further than out to our family patch in Indiana.”

We agreed on the trade-off… no spoken price, but I imagined to giving at least one hundred dollars. In the end I gave her four hundred for the most rambunctious red puppy we’ve ever enjoyed. I named him “CJ” after a dead beat woulda been date who took off on date day with my older cousin as I arrived at the home of a family friend. He stayed with us just until after losing our first house being bought from my aunt who “needed help” to keep her income from failing. I could buy her house on a land contract, and she could have the monies paid to her as additional living ends. I moved myself and my children into her three-bedroom bungalow; CJ came with us. Two years later we were all out… I got married and she took her house back. CJ was a bundle of energy that prevented anyone else from sharing their space to us... Including my mom who preferred small dogs on the chihuahua scale short of the Old English Sheepdog she brought home for my children shortly before Sandy’s pup was offered. Smoggleh… the Sheepdog, died mysteriously one day and nothing was ever resolved on the issue. Foxie… the albino German Shepherd, went the same way during a walk around the block by my younger sister. It was the temporary layover of rescue at her house that drew the line. CJ was parted with on her command before we could sign onto another address of our own; “taken out to the farm.”

Before the date of his departure, CJ took us on many treks through the back woods of Plum Creek, the outfields of Steger, and once or twice through the rural pastures in Indiana. Every outing found him delivering found objects dug at on his own approval. His favorite being the houseplants set around the apartment. No one could tell him that adventures need be outdoors. His tantrums for having been left home over a grocery errand or work day told us what he thought about the matter. My ponytail plant was unpotted… soil intact… and the flower pot left upside down on one occasion. Another found him locked in the bathroom for us to “unlock” and pull him out for a lecture on behavior. He immediately returned to the bathroom and locked the door again. Paw-pushed penalty or self-banishment? I don’t know. It was his favorite response. When he disappeared “out to the farm” by my mother’s doing, he was learning to access water in the bathroom… on his own. He was learning how the tub faucet worked. Imagine coming home to a filled bathtub… on doggy order.