Puppy Love

I remember those halcyon summer days, hazy and hot, but heavenly to me, especially where our Daddy was concerned. He was always working on something -- a car, the garden, or tooling around with a lawnmower. If he wasn't working, he was playing with us...usually softball or basketball (possibly tennis), his long, lanky, awkward frame towering over as he threw or hit a ball, feet never leaving the ground. He was not naturally athletic but he managed to get good at these things and he was the best of coaches, knowing the balance of toughness and encouragement. He was also a Finder. Back in those days we didn't have Facebook marketplace or Craigslist. We had the Atlanta Advertiser. You could buy it at little gas stations along the way. He would buy them every time they came out and was always looking for a deal. His Daddy (my PawPaw) was a horse trader, not sure how honest...my Daddy got the DNA but also had the Holy Spirit. When he showed up, it was like people couldn't help themselves -- they had to give him the best price for whatever he wanted. But he definitely had no shame in asking, and therein lies the rub. Many a time, I wanted to run and hide myself, given the audacity he had at making insane offers on things. I've also seen him slip a widow a few extra dollars over a price, rather than work his sales magic when he could have. That was him. 

Either way, when it was time to go "Finding," us kids were jumping in the car. Sometimes he would use the expression "I'm gonna go see a man about a dog." My heart would begin pounding as I raced to the vehicle. I'm not sure why I thought he was ever talking about a real dog. We always had a family canine or cat(s), a motley collection of kindly animals that curled by the door. Mama was never an animal person, though she was the one who managed them and fed them for us. I think of all the many pets I had over the years, from the more domestic kind to a couple of lab rats, a king snake and a mean Shetland pony stallion. When Daddy would bring home the Atlanta Advertiser and was done perusing it himself, I'd sneak to the back recesses of the house and underline ads for free puppies and kittens. I'd also dream about the ads for various horses, imagining myself flying alongside the road on a beautiful black Arabian, with the wind in my hair. Then I would actually call the people connected with the ads, asking questions about said animals, daring to hope maybe I could ask Daddy for one of them. Occasionally I would slip him a question about a puppy or a kitten, but we were usually already "full up," though sometimes it did result in another addition to the family. My dear parents... 

Are you ever too old to quit dreaming about puppies? I think not. Because I'm dreaming about a little one that has been offered to me, an Aussiedoodle that is grandbaby to my dear Sadie. I named her Scout, after my favorite character in To Kill a Mockingbird. I spent two hours with her last week, most of it with her on her back in my lap. Her little black eyes like poppies, snapping with intelligence and joy, she kept running back to me over and over again. There was another beautiful golden puppy in the same litter, more luxurious and with a gorgeous blocky head. She looked like she should be in a show ring, but she fought me every time I picked her up. Each time I held her and gently stroked her fur, she cried out for dominance. Maybe we are like that with God. He is waiting to bless us, but we are kicking and screaming because we want our own way. 

Well, I want my own way. Here we are again. I have been young and now am getting older, but there's a puppy in the mix once more. Ken says we already have a dog who is wonderful, and she is. And a cat, and she is. They're both getting very old. Some new blood would do us all a heap of good. So ya'll pray that Papa Ken will change his mind. And if he doesn't, that Yaya will find a way not to run away. She is, after all, still a kid at heart.