A Puppy

My son Julian turned 16 last Thursday and after weeks of Henry’s cajoling I consented and we got a puppy. Molly, a Boston Terrier, was 8 weeks old. Her breeder gave us a can of puppy food and we picked up a toy, a collar and some baby cereal on the way home. That was our total preparation.

            I woke up that night and couldn’t get back to sleep because I was worrying about the puppy. How was I going to manage?

It was already clear that I was going to be dealing with a lot of her care such as the frequent piddle that kept appearing around the house.  Over the next few days, no one had any plan to housebreak her, nor did I hear a word about taking her to a vet. The old dog continued to be neurotically afraid of the puppy. Everyone was busy and leaving me home alone.  And though the puppy was sweet, I was fretful and depressed. I can barely walk, and every step is a chore. How was I to deal with an active puppy?

But today, Monday, I got up first, fed Molly and then took her out in the still dark yard to begin housebreaking her. I kept taking her out and playing with her all day. I realized at one point that I just need to give in. Forget being anxious or resentful. Right now this little dog’s life is a priority in my life just because she’s here. Didn’t I let her in?

And I thought, maybe there’s a reason. Maybe I have something to learn from this animal. I hope so, because as my friend Janet said to explain why we both still have PD, “We have more to learn.”