When I was a little older, my uncle brought home a Chow that he was claiming as his, but he was more than willing to let me play with it. He named him Bruno. At first, Bruno was a fun dog, but he soon became as vicious as his name. One day when I was trying to go play with Bruno, he snapped at me. I am not entirely sure why. It could have had something to do with me spitting my strawberry milkshake on him whenever I found chunks of strawberry in it. Whatever the reason, I was not allowed to play with him anymore, and I still have a resentment towards Chows.
Around some time in middle school, I finally had the chance to own a dog. My grandpa had stumbled across an abandoned puppy. Being the good man that he was, he decided to bring it home to AT LEAST find someone who could care for it. He tried to keep the fact that there was a puppy on the premises a secret because he knew I would be more than willing to volunteer for the position of caring for it. Little did my grandfather know about my "puppy radar" that I still possess today. Basically puppy radar is me sensing a puppy's presence, finding said puppy, losing all self-control, and acting like a gorilla on speed for the next twenty minutes. Needless to say, after the puppy radar went off, I decided to argue a convincing case of why we should keep the puppy in the most logical way my ten-year-old self with hippie hair knew how.
My argument eventually won, and I had my very own dog. Grandpa named him Fido. Yes, I must include that my grandfather named him, and I didn't. I would never pick such a ludicrous name for a dog. I would have picked something more like Lintu which is Finnish for "bird" because of the irony.
Fido and I lived happily together for approximately two weeks. I have no idea what kind of dog he was. I'm going to assume he was a Labrador Retriever, but I am not sure. It didn't matter though because we had so much fun. He was an amazing puppy, even though he didn't do much. My friends and neighbors loved him too.
My grandma is not a big animal fan, and we still had my uncle's Chow living with us. The Chow did not get along with other dogs; therefore, he would snap at Fido if Fido wondered a little too close to him. My family knew that the best option was to give Fido away. It was only fair since the Chow had been there longer (even though we all didn't really like him). The problem was that my grandparents knew I would not let Fido out of my sight, and if they did try to take Fido away, I would throw a temper tantrum that made the kids on SuperNanny look like saints.
Finally, the horrid day came: the opportunity my grandparents had been awaiting. I was outside playing on the trampoline with my little cousin, when I decided to do one of the infamous flips my grandparents and the manufactures of the trampoline warn you not to do. Much to the disapproval of every adult in the world, I had done this flip numerous times and landed successfully. However, today was the day I unfortunately landed wrong and hurt my neck. It wasn't a serious injury, but it hurt bad enough that I could not hold my head up for the rest of the day without it hurting. At lunch, my grandma decided to give me pain medicine and tell me to go lie down. Within minutes, I was fast asleep.
I don't know how I woke up at the moment I did. I'd like to think it was my puppy radar that woke me, but maybe it was the beeping sound of a truck backing up. All I know is I suddenly heard a commotion, and I was pretty sure I heard dogs barking. I stumbled out of bed with my neck hanging down like a person wearing a Chuck E. Cheese costume where they had to tilt the head down because they were too tall to see out of the lower hole and too short to see out of the higher hole (I know this because I worked there for nine months).
By the time I had reached the front door, the truck was driving away with MY dog. I was screaming to not take my dog with my head hung lower than any emo kid could ever dream. I was also slightly woozy from the pain medicine. Oh, and let's not forget the hippie hair! I am sure that it was the saddest sight to ever see.
Despite how pitiful I looked at that moment, the truck did not stop. I was instantly furious with my grandparents, but they couldn't tell due to the fact that I was either looking at the ceiling or the floor for the remainder of the day. Therefore, I decided to do the unconditional sobbing, so I could be sure they heard my heart breaking.
For the next two days, I was pretty sure life could not get worse. I was proven wrong while I sat outside next to our neighbor's mangled fence (it's not mangled in real life, but that day I hated everything) still moping about my puppy being taken out of my hands before he even learned his first trick. That's when I had my first encounter with cruel and unusual punishment.
Yes, my next door neighbors went to the animal shelter/pound/jail that my grandparents disguised with nice names, and they adopted MY puppy. MY FIDO! THEY EVEN KEPT HIS NAME AS FIDO! I was forced to watch my puppy grow up into a beautiful dog from across a fence that in my head resembled prison bars. I know that you're thinking that I should be happy that my dog found a home, and I should be happy I could see him everyday. As I grew older, I did become very appreciative of that. However, as a ten-year-old, I thought that was the biggest stab in the back that my next-door neighbors could do. Therefore, I spent the rest of my middle school years dramatically defeating their daughter at Pokémon. She may have been valedictorian of her class, but she could NEVER outsmart my Blastoise.
With all of this being said, this story is the biggest reason I look forward to having my own rundown apartment after graduating college. I will be able to own a dog. I don't know what type of dog it will be. I just know that she will be named Marzipan, and it will not be a Chow.
No comments:
Post a Comment