Having had
a canine companion my entire life, the thought of no longer having a fuzzy
friend to cuddle with at night was something I didn’t want to bare.
It was
December 2001, I was six years old, and my family and I were headed down to the
White Pass and Yukon Route train depot. It was the day of the Santa train, which
meant I had the chance to see Santa and tell him what I wanted for Christmas.
When we arrived the feeling of the holiday season was in the air. Fresh,
powdery snow on the ground from the night before, the flickering Christmas
lights in the shape of reindeer decorating the walls, and the sound of children
crying from being forces to sit on some strange mans lap while stander-byes
laugh and point and stick cameras in their faces. After waiting about twenty
minutes of standing in line, and about five crying babies, I was finally up. I
plopped my rump right on Santa’s lap, looked up at him with my best pleading
eyes, and said, “Santa, this year, the only thing I want for Christmas, is a
REAL puppy. Not one of those fake stuffed ones like last year.” Lucky enough
for me, the man playing Santa that year had a dog who just gave birth to a
little of nine beautiful pups on December 10th.
A month
later, the new member of the family had arrived. We decided to name him Calvin.
Seeing as how we owned a cat named Hobbes, it seemed appropriate. He was a
great pup, he would come in my room every night, climb on my bed, and wait
until I fell asleep, then made sure to be back in my bed before I woke up the
next morning. He listened to me even though he knew he was twice my size and
was mistaken as a bear and a normal basis. It was easily the best Christmas
present any child could be given. It goes without saying, not only me, but my
whole family were spoiled.
Just like
every living thing, he was aging. He was eight years old when we started
noticing the arthritis in his hips and other joint problems. After many
strenuous hike and being 120 pounds, this was not unexpected. The question was
first asked by my sister, do we get another dog? It seemed like the thing to
do. Calvin was getting to old to hike, and my mom needed a partner to walk up a
mountain with. After seeing many potential applicants for another pup, we just
couldn’t come to face the fact that Calvin was getting older, and soon would
not be with us anymore. Despite my mom’s doubts, my sister, dad, and I found a
dog at the Anchorage pound that was perfect. A pit bull lab mix that was two
years old and cute as can be. My sister made several visits with Gracie to make
sure she was well behaved. The previous owner said the only issued she had was
a little aggression toward the other female dog in her home, but it was minor.
Needless to say, I was excited to meet the newest addition to our family.
It was the
day Kaylie and Gracie were coming home. My mom wasn’t informed about the new
member of the family, so it was extra exciting. The introduction of Calvin and
Gracie couldn’t have gone better. They instantly started barking and playing
like they had known each other their whole lives. Everything was going
swimmingly. Until one day, I walked into the house and found my mom and sister
crying. I asked what had happened, and I was informed that while on a walk,
Calvin was playing with a stick and Gracie attacked him. This made my mom
uneasy, so we had to giver her away. I was heart broken I was excepting to have
another Calvin. Calm, well behaved, wouldn’t hurt a fly. But instead, I had to
say good-bye to a dog I had already fallen in love with.
No comments:
Post a Comment