For the sake of my brothers and friends,
I will say, “Peace be within you.”
In my younger years, I longed for a companion. Yes, I had a sister, but what good do sisters do when you want to pull on tails and trick with wild-squirrel-chases? No, what I needed was a dog. After many years of begging and intermittent demonstrations of responsibility involving pulling a rollerskate around behind me, my parents relented and we began looking for my heart’s companion. Many vain attempts later we found Truffles (then called Lady) at PAWS. My mother facetiously named her Truffles because she was rare, wonderful, and had a distinctive odor. A lovely black mutt with brown eyebrows, silky-soft fur, and brown-and-white markings, somebody had crossed a Sheltie with a Spaniel of some sort to produce the mellowest dog you ever met. For most of her tenure at our house she acted as a very soft, very warm doggie carpet that occasionally vomited on the floor. One instance of deviance, however, stands out in my mind with clarity.
Christmas trees at my house never look like those in Hallmark stores. We love our homemade ornaments that Colleen and I made at age five. We reminisce about the circumstances of a particular ornament’s purchase. And most of all we hang up many old, rather hideous but much-beloved ornaments, including a set of realistic sparkle-covered styrofoam strawberries that sported two green cloth leaves and a brown plastic stem. The tree also shades our many small packages and presents, from which we always derived much anticipation and enjoyment. One day during Christmas time we returned to the house to find the tree toppled over, water spilled on our gifts and the dog’s brow eyebrows twitching very innocently.
After a careful inventory, we found only one thing lacking: the styrofoam strawberries. Truffy had surgically eaten only the strawberries, leaving behind their leaves and stems. What would happen to our dog?, I wondered with concern. Would she die of styrofoam-poisoning? Only time could tell, so I settled down anxiously to learn Truffy’s fate.
A few days later we learned her fate: no adverse effects and lots of pink poops.