Pawsing to Remember Pepper Miss Lee lived next door to us on Beach Haven Road, the constant companion of her “papa”, our neighbor Mike, a young widower. While he was away working construction during the long days, she passed the time comfortably confined in a spacious pen he’d lovingly built in the backyard. She was a pure yellow lab with a penchant for adventure, biscuits, tennis balls (she could mouth 3 at a time), plus a heart as golden as her coat. Here on Maryland’s Eastern Shore purebred lab pups were at a premium, and Mike fully planned to find Lee a suitable stud when the time was right. Despite his best efforts to contain her when she went into heat, the high spirited Lee managed a daring escape into the moonlit night, paddling across the creek and hooking up with Bandit, a border collie with little to no visible lab credentials but ostensibly other qualities which served him well that evening. Over the months following the rogue rovers’ rendezvous, a haggard looking Lee could be seen hauling a massive belly that appeared ready to burst. At long last, on July 5, Lee laid her bulbous belly down and out squirmed a dozen adorable pups, ironically all black and brown, and nary a single yellow one in the bunch. The blessed event, which brought joy to all in the neighborhood, was especially welcomed by our family, who’d spent the last few months mourning our beloved chow mix Ginger, who had been an integral member of our family for 12 years. Her passing produced a gaping hole in our hearts, a hole that couldn’t help but heal a little bit with exposure to all that puppy love. As the pups grew our neighbor initiated a proactive charm offensive in search of good homes for the “whole herd,” as my former husband pegged them. Knowing first hand our pedigree as caring dog lovers, he repeatedly hit us up. No doubt suspecting my deep seated chocoholic tendencies, he’d shamelessly tempt me the sweet nuzzle of one of the “little brown ones.” Unwittingly assisting him in his efforts was our 13 year old son, an only child, who had honed excellent lobbying skills during his formative years, hoping for a sibling. Although he’d effectively thrown in the towel on that front, Ryan accurately sensed that his powers of persuasion might just work when it came to imploring his parents to grant him a pair of puppies. He was right; I somehow heard myself telling Mike that we’d be taking not one but two of Lee’s little ones—a male and a female, a black and a brown one. As Labor Day weekend approached, Mike planned to pile all the dogs into his car and head home to Pittsburgh, where he’d afford family and friends the opportunity to adopt one of Lee’s offspring. Time was growing short, and we still had not finalized our puppy picks! With one brown male remaining, two of our bases were covered; now we needed to find our black female. While wondering how in the world we were going to decide, I began seeing a black puppy running out of the car and back into the pen over and over again, cowering in the corner, shivering with fear. I plucked her up in my arms and held her close. Dont worry, I whispered, “You don’t have to go in the car. You’ll stay here with us, and live right next door to your mom.” Puppy selection complete, now for the names. As the family English major I recoiled in horror at the suggestion to simply dub them Blackie and Brownie. Though not given a long leash in the creative naming department, I managed to come up with the moniker Max for the little brown one; both her color and speed seemed to suit Pepper perfectly. The pair played together by day and snuggled together each night, in the roomy outdoor pen put together just for them, in part in deference to our two cats, who had developed a distinct preference for a dog free domicile following Ginger’s demise. While we planned to keep the puppies outside, Mother Nature, specifically a lady by the name of Isabelle, had other ideas. When the hurricane took aim at our area, safety overrode feline foibles and Max and Pepper moved in, at least until the danger passed. We rushed to buy matching crates and ginormous chew bones (while the bones kept them busy, the crate boxes were also enthusiastically torn into– ragged bits of cardboard eclectically decorated our living room for the duration of the storm.) Once Isabelle departed, fall in effect arrived; the chilly nights aroused our concern. A defacto decision was reached: Max and Pepper would reside outside by day, but take their rightful place within the family abode by night, with one caveat: they must not breach the baby gate separating them from the aforementioned felines, who through seniority had gotten dibs on the bedrooms. The gate served to give the cats a semblance of sanctity and our leg muscles a much needed workout; in reality, either dog could have felled the fragile fence with little more than a paw swipe. Whether they realized their power and chose not to use it, or simply accepted the partition as part and parcel of the house rules, the result was blissful coexistence, for the most part.
Posted on: Mon, 21 Oct 2013 01:36:03 +0000
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