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It had been scheduled. Muffie, our seven-month-old Lhasa
apso, was to be fixed. But as luck would have it, we didn't
schedule it soon enough. Five months pregnant myself, I sat
at the kitchen table staring at my beautiful pet and
reprimanding myself for not doing something sooner.
My ten-year-old daughter walked into the room and saw me
staring at Muffie. "What's wrong?" she asked.
I thought Nina, an animal lover, would be thrilled to have
puppies in the house. And lately I'd noticed her mood had
seemed a little down. But when I told her, she simply
looked from Muffie to my protruding stomach and stated, "I
don't know how I feel about babies right now."
My heart squeezed. "What do you mean? I thought you wanted
a brother or sister."
The expression on her young face turned anguished, and deep
down I sensed her fears. Steve and I had married when Nina
was six years old and because her biological father had long
since severed the ties, Steve had become the daddy she had
always wanted.
"What if Daddy loves the baby best?" she asked and tears
filled her brown eyes. "It will be his, you know. Not just
some stepchild he got stuck with."
My own eyes grew moist, and I reassured her that Steve had
enough love to share and he would love them the same. But I
still saw the doubt in her watery eyes, and it broke my
heart. It seemed nothing we said or did could convince her.
Two months later, Muffie had two beautiful puppies and
although Nina was fascinated, and I'd occasionally find her
visiting with the puppies, she still remained somewhat aloof
about the whole "baby" situation.
Then one day I came in and found Nina crying as she stood
over the puppies.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
Through her tears she told me about a friend who had found a
stray pregnant dog. After a few days, the animal had gone
into labor and after several hours they took the dog to the
vet. The puppies were premature: Two were born dead, and
the other two were sickly. It seemed the mother dog was too
weak to feed the puppies. "The vet is giving the mother
until this afternoon, and if her milk doesn't come in, he's
going to . . . put the puppies down.
"That means he going to kill them, doesn't it?" she asked.
Heartbroken, I took Nina in my arms, "Oh baby, I'm so
sorry."
"They can't do that, Mama. They just can't," she cried.
She allowed me to hold her a second then she pulled away.
"So I've been thinking. Maybe Muffie will take them as her
stepchildren."
I was shocked at her idea. I'd heard that sometimes
whelping animals would take other young, but I also knew it
wasn't a sure thing.
"But honey," I told her. "Muffie's puppies are almost four
weeks. And you said the puppies were premature."
"So, you told me I was premature, too. They didn't kill
me."
"But honey," I said, "What if . . ." What if she doesn't
accept them, I almost said, but right then my mind played
back what Nina had said, "Maybe Muffie would take the
children as her stepchildren. . . . I was premature."
Somehow Nina related to this situation at a deeper level
than I first guessed.
I stood there in a quandary. I wanted to say we'd try, but
what if Muffie rejected the puppies? Would that send a
message to my daughter? Yet would our not trying send a
message? I thought of the puppies, the consequences, and
then I met my daughter's pleading gaze. "I'll talk to the
vet."
The vet was not reassuring. My Muffie could very likely
reject the puppies.
Steve and I talked, and in the end we felt that not to try
would be more damaging than to have tried and failed. We
also discussed the possibility of attempting to save the
puppies ourselves. But with our baby on the way and Steve's
job situation, the around-the-clock care seemed too
daunting. In spite of our doubts, the next morning Steve
went to the vet and got the puppies.
Nina stayed home from school, and although we had explained
to her that Muffie could very well reject the new additions,
Steve and I both worried.
Removing a towel from Muffie's box, I placed the two new
puppies on the towel in another box. Then I put the box in
the middle of the kitchen, a room away from where Muffie was
nursing her own litter.
When Muffie heard the new puppies' soft cries, she came
bustling into the kitchen to investigate. She stared down
in the box, and I can honestly say I've never seen a dog
with a more befuddled expression. She ran back to her
puppies and stared down in the box as if to count. Then she
scurried back to the two other puppies and looked at us in
total bewilderment. After a moment, she smelled them,
nudged them with her nose, and then left the room as if to
say, "These aren't mine."
I looked at my daughter. Her big brown eyes had begun to
fill with tears. "She doesn't want them, does she?"
"Let's give her some time," I told her. We waited for
fifteen minutes. The new puppies began to cry again, and I
felt like joining in. The vet had said not to force Muffie
to take them. It had to be her choice. Eventually, I took
Nina's hand and Steve wrapped his arm around her shoulder.
"We tried," he told her. Then he looked at her, and I saw
the beginning of tears in his eyes. "But hey," he said.
"We can still try. We'll get those droppers. We can do
this."
Nina looked up at him with love in her eyes, somehow sensing
this was a sacrifice on his part. "Thank you," she said.
Sighing, he reached down to pick up one of the yelping
puppies and when he did Muffie came running into the room.
She barked at him. He quickly put the tiny newcomer down,
and we stood back. Muffie jumped into the box and licked
the puppies. We all started laughing and hugging. Then,
with our arms around each other we watched as she carried
her adopted family, one at a time, to her box.
Steve took Nina by the hand and led her to the puppies.
"You gave Muffie something very special today. You gave her
two more puppies to love. Just like your mother gave me you
to love." In gentle words, he assured Nina one more time
that she had a place in his heart, a place that couldn't be
erased no matter how many brothers and sisters she had.
Nina looked up at Steve, and then down at Muffie, who was
lying contentedly with all four of the puppies, and her face
brightened, breaking into a radiant smile. As she returned
his bear hug, I could see that her fears had finally melted
away. In that happy moment, I knew our combined family was
going to be just fine.
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Reprinted by permission of Christie Craig (c) 1999 from
Chicken Soup for the Cat & Dog Lover's Soul by Jack
Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen, Marty Becker, D.V.M. and Carol
Kline. In order to protect the rights of the copyright
holder, no portion of this publication may be reproduced
without prior written consent. All rights reserved. |
