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 into 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 into
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 own 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.
Annonymous
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