I loved Muffin, but I quickly learned that owning a dog was hard work! Just managing all that input and output is a huge job. And I was in charge of both ends.
Muffin was 110% mutt. (Honesty time: The photo above is of my friend Brillo. Muffin was a bit more mutt-like and larger.) She was high-strung. Loved to runrunrunrunrun all around the house. And always peed on the floor when Dad got home. I think he expected Muffin to behave in a calm, civilized way that was counter to her nature, and that made her extra nervous.
Muffin was medium-sized and, I thought, perfectly suited for riding. She didn't mind playing dress-up. She was cuddly and snuggly and my best friend.
Other than peeing on the floor, and chewing up our shoes and escaping and making us chase her down the street a few times a day, she was a very good dog.
Some months after we got Muffin, we went to Virginia to visit family for a couple of weeks. For the life of me, I can't remember if it was at Christmas - or if it was a summer visit. But what I do remember is missing my dog the whole way home. I remember bursting into the house and yelling, "Muffin! Muffin! Did you miss me? Come out, girl!" I looked in all her hidey places. And then, someone - my dad? my mom? my sister? told me that Muffin had gone away. She'd been taken to a nice place in the country where she could run and play outside and have a wonderful time and we wouldn't have to worry about her being hit by a car. Oh, I was furious. F.U.R.I.O.U.S. I felt betrayed. And incredibly alone.
Perhaps a month or so later, we got the news that Muffin had been hit by a bus on a country road.
So that was Muffin no. 1. My first pet and only dog. A series of hamsters and guinea pigs followed over the next several years - bunches of Muffins.
No comments:
Post a Comment