The Pretty One
This was the last litter of puppies we were going to
allow our Cocker Spaniel to have. It had been a very long
night for me. Precious, our only black cocker, was having a
very difficult time with the delivery of her puppies.
I laid on the floor beside her large four-foot square cage,
watching her every movement. Watching and waiting just in
case we had to rush her to the veterinarian.
After six hours the puppies started to appear. The
first-born was a black and white party dog. The second and
third puppies were tan and brown in color. The fourth and
fifth were also spotted black and white. "one, two, three,
four, five," I counted to myself as I walked down the
hallway to wake up Judy and tell her that everything was
fine. As we walked back down the hallway and into the spare
bedroom, I noticed a sixth puppy had been born and was now
laying all by itself over to the side of the cage. I picked
up the small puppy and laid it on top of the large pile of
puppies, who were whining and trying to nurse on the mother.
Instantly Precious pushed the small puppy away from the rest
of the group and refused to recognize it as a member of her
family.
"Something's wrong," said Judy.
I reached over and picked up the puppy. My heart sank inside
my chest when I saw the little puppy had a cleft lip and
palate and could not close its little mouth. We had gone
through this once before last year with another one of our
cockers. That experience really hurt me when the puppy died
and I had to bury it. If there was any way to save this
animal I was going to give it my best shot.
All the puppies born that night, with the exception of the
one small pup, were very valuable because of their unusual
coloring. Most would bring between five to seven hundred
dollars each. The next day I took the puppy to the vet. I
was told nothing could be done unless we were willing to
spend about a thousand dollars to try and correct the
defect. He told us that the puppy would die mainly because
it could not suckle.
After returning home Judy and I decided that we could not
afford to spend that kind of money without getting some type
of assurances from the vet that the puppy had a chance to
live. However, that did not stop me from purchasing a
syringe and feeding the puppy by hand. Which I did every day
and night, every two hours, for more than ten days. After
that the little guy had learned to eat on his own as long as
it was soft canned food.
The fifth week I placed an ad in the newspaper, and within a
week we had taken deposits on all of the pups, except the
one with the deformity.
Late that afternoon I had gone to the store to pick up a few
groceries. Upon returning I happened to see the old retired
schoolteacher, who lived across the street from us, waving
at me. She had read in the paper that we had puppies for
sale and was wondering if she might buy one from us for her
grandson. I told her all the puppies had been sold, but I
would keep my eyes open for anyone else who might have a
cocker spaniel for sale. I also mentioned we never kept a
deposit should someone change their mind, and if so I would
let her know. Within days all but one of the puppies had
been picked up by their new owners. This left me with one
brown and tan cocker as well as the smaller puppy with the
cleft lip and palate.
Two days passed without me hearing anything from the
gentleman who had placed a deposit on the tan and brown pup.
So I telephoned the schoolteacher and told her I had one
puppy left and that she was welcome to come and look at it.
She advised me that she was going to pick up her grandson
and would come over at about eight o'clock that evening.
Judy and I were eating supper when we heard a knock on the
front door. When I opened the door, the man who had placed a
$100 deposit on the dog was standing there. We walked inside
where I filled out the paperwork, he paid me the balance of
the money, and I handed him the puppy.
Judy and I did not know what to do or say if the teacher
showed up with her grandson. Sure enough at exactly eight
o'clock the doorbell rang. I opened the door, and there was
the schoolteacher with her grandson standing behind her. I
explained to her the man had come for the puppy just an hour
before, and there were no puppies left.
"I'm sorry, Jeffery. They sold all the puppies," she told
her grandson. Just at that moment the small puppy left in
the bedroom began to yelp. "My puppy! My puppy!" yelled the
little boy as he ran out from behind his grandmother.
I just about fell over when I saw that the small child also
had a cleft lip and palate. The boy ran past me as fast as
he could, down the hallway to where the puppy was still
yelping.
When the three of us made it to the bedroom, the small boy
was holding the puppy in his arm. He looked up at his
grandmother and said, "Look Grandma. They sold all the
puppies except the pretty one, and he looks just like me.
Well, old Grandma wasn't the only one with tears in her eyes
that day. Judy and I stood there, not knowing what to do.
"Is this puppy for sale?" asked the schoolteacher.
"My grandma told me these kind of puppies are real expensive
and that I have to take real good care of it," said the
little boy, who was now hugging the puppy.
"Yes, ma'am. This puppy is for sale."
The lady opened her purse, and I could see several
one-hundred dollar bills sticking out of her wallet. I
reached over and pushed her hand back down into her purse so
that she would not pull her wallet out.
"How much do you think this puppy is worth?" I asked the
boy.
"About a dollar?" He replied.
"No. This puppy is very, very expensive. More than a
dollar," I told him.
"I'm afraid so." Said his grandmother.
The boy stood there pressing the small puppy against his
cheek.
"We could not possibly take less than two dollars for this
puppy," Judy said, squeezing my hand. "Like you said, It's
the pretty one." she continued.
The schoolteacher took out two dollars and handed it to the
young boy. "It's your dog now, Jeffery. You pay the man."
I think it must be a wonderful feeling for any young person
to look at their selves in the mirror and see nothing except
"the pretty one."
Roger Dean Kiser
trampolineone@webtv.net
Stories from The Life and Times of Roger Dean Kiser
http://www.geocities.com/trampolineone/survive/noframe.htm