Puppy Love

More than 30 years ago I welcomed a black labrador into my life. To be truthful, she welcomed me. I was about five or six and we lived together for only a few years, but even though I had to move she always remembered me when I visited.
Small was the runt of her litter. She was a quiet girl and when my Auntie Alice took ownership from her son, it was more because Auntie Alice wanted a home for a dog that she wasn't sure would get one. Quickly Small became more than a dog to be pitied. She became a quiet hero to me. She protected me from school yard bullies and other childhood dangers. She became my friend.
When I was nine, I moved back home with my mother and left Small with Auntie Alice. I was a kid and excited to be with my mom. However, our apartment in Fort Rouge wasn't a place for a dog. Arguably it wasn't a place for a child, either, but that's a story for another day.
I returned to Auntie Alice's for many visits. In my heart, Auntie Alice was also my mother and Small was always there waiting for me to play with her. We had some good times. When Auntie Alice had her ceramic shop, I'd visit. After sweeping the floor and cleaning some molds, I would take Small out for a walk in the field that skirted the front door. How Small tried. She played fetch, just like always, she ran after balls, just like always, but she didn't move as fast, and in my teenage mind, I knew that she wouldn't be around forever. And then one day, she wasn't. I cried a lot that day and for quite a few after but with time, I let her memory fade.
Fast forward to today. .
I have a home. It's a bi-level. I own it. Well, my husband, the bank, and I, have an agreement, so I sort of own it. Two years ago, because my youngest needed a friend, I asked for a cat. I would have preferred a dog, but after 30 years of non-canine ownership, I had doubts that I was qualified to own one. My life is, and I guess will always be, chaotic. I'm not a housekeeper of any kind. Often, when you visit, you have to step over 18 pairs of shoes and few errant socks. When you get upstairs, it gets worse. I love to read so newspapers are usually stacked in a corner waiting for the recycling bin. Books are piled on flat surfaces and nobody in my family believes in loading or unloading the dishwasher. That task is mine and mine alone. I think I'd pass a health inspector's review but it would be close. The last thing I needed was a dog. Right?
Luke, my youngest son has some difficulties. Some say autism others just say developmental delay. Either way, I have a boy who doesn't get out much and as for companionship, nah, nobody his age, not really.
I started thinking about a dog again when I read an article about companion dogs for individuals with autism. Six days ago, on Sunday, after a particularly trying few days with Luke, I thought seriously about it. Luke, Dave, my husband, and I, went to the Humane Society to see who would join our family. We didn't fall in love with anyone there. The reasons for not getting a dog were still valid - we left without one.
On Monday, I decided to look online. Why? I don't know. After looking at many pages of dog listings with most priced in the $400-$500 range, I began to give up. I really didn't want a dog, did I?
And then there she was, a listing for a labradoodle. This "breed" is very popular. They're often used for companionship for those with special needs. Also, one of the side benefits of a labradoodle is a potential for being hypo-allergenic. With my second oldest son asthmatic and somewhat allergic, a dog that may not shed and might not induce and allergic reaction would be a good choice. But what about the price - I really can't afford a $500 dog. And then came the next omen - the puppy was only $75. I still hesitated. Why so cheap? I emailed, I wanted to see a picture.
I held my breath. I don't like poodles. Sorry, if you have one, I'm sure you love your animal. I just don't like the looks of them. A labradoodle is part poodle, and really I think they're funny looking. At least the ones I viewed online. As long as the labradoodle looked more like a labrador, it would be okay, but what were the chances?
The next day, we received the picture.
Small.
My dog Small. My old friend stared back at me from the webpage I was viewing.
Still, pictures can deceive.
I didn't want to buy from a puppy mill. I had questions - what arrogance. The woman from the farm where the puppy lived, had questions. She wasn't releasing her dog to just anybody.
After a day of calling and emailing, the dog was ours, if we wanted her.
After driving for two hours, I reached the farm. The woman who answered the door asked me to wash my hands before I handled the pups. Good sign. She cared about her animals. She directed me to her washroom.
In the washroom was a kennel with two smallish, rattish, poodlish dogs. My heart sank. This was going to be ugly. I tried to be encouraged. I wasn't getting a dog for me but for my son. He would probably like a rat-dog.
I walked out of the washroom with lowered expectations. No wonder the dog was $75. I was proably being overcharged.
"Do you want to see the puppies?" the woman asked.
We went downstairs.
More rats? I wondered.
I looked over to a small "pen." Inside were three beautiful pups with glossy black coats.
She let out the puppies and they went to play. A curly-haired male and a larger female chased this quiet, small girl who investigated her surroundings carefully. The woman told me I could have either of the females.
I gravitated to the smaller one. Can I hold her? She snuggled in my arms. "Well, I think she found you," the woman said.
"Yes," I replied.
After all of these years, she found me again.
This is the story of Root Beer. - our family dog.