A Sweet Puppy

Someone posted a picture of a puppy on Facebook this afternoon. It reminded me so much of a puppy we used to have (mostly the position it was in, and where it was lying) that when I saw it, I was hit with a flood of memories. Our puppy's name was Woof, and he was such a good puppy. I'm sure he would have been a great dog as well, but he never had the chance to be more than a puppy.

I was almost nine years old, my sister was seven. We lived in a small apartment in Kansas City, Missouri with our mom and dad. Diana and I shared a bed. One morning we woke up to quite a surprise -- the cutest puppy ever -- right in our bed! We learned later that my dad had gotten him from some college students who thought it was funny to give the puppy beer and watch him stumble around. When Daddy got Woof he could hardly stand up, he was so drunk. By the time we met him the next morning in our bed, Woof was just a happy, sweet puppy who won our hearts instantly.

Shortly after we got Woof we moved to a tiny house in Independence, Missouri. Woof loved having a yard to run around in. We loved having Woof to play with. Then winter came.

One winter day, while my sister and I were in school, my mom let Woof out to go potty. She had hardly looked away for a second when some guys on motorcycles rode by, and one of them grabbed Woof. I don't  think she saw it happen. I think a neighbor told her. We were all distraught. My dad put a lost and found ad in the paper, with a picture of Woof up on my shoulder.

It wasn't too long before a woman called and said someone had dropped a puppy in her yard. She was sure it was our puppy, and she was right. Arrangements were made for my dad to go pick him up the next day. This is where we have the happy ending, right? No. The woman who found Woof in her yard had a dog, and she was worried that it would hurt our puppy. She could have put Woof in a closed room in her house, but instead she chose to leave him outside. By the time Daddy got over there to pick him up, Woof had frozen to death in the snow.

I wasn't sure why I decided to tell Woof's short life-story until I wrote that last line. I have harbored anger and resentment against that woman all these years. I know that I have to forgive her, and now I do.

Woof was a good puppy. He didn't have a long life, but the short life he had with us was a happy one for him and us.