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Happy Tails to You
Once there was a couple who’d tried for years to have a baby. Having exhausted all the medical resources, alternative theories and old wives’ tales they could find decided, “Okay, enough is enough. Let’s get a dog.” The husband put a fence around the big back yard, making sure it was high enough not to be jumped over and deep enough not to be crawled under. The wife went to the local animal shelter (they called them “dog pounds” in those days) and asked, “Who needs a home?”
An employee led her to a caged area full of dozens of dogs, all sizes, shapes, colors and ages— all yipping and jumping and showing off as if to say “Pick me, pick me!” But the wife noticed another cage separate from the others, very small and off to the side. In it there was a little dog, curled up and shivering, half its hair missing from mange, too depressed even to lick his wounds. “What about that one?” asked the wife. “Oh no, Lady!” replied the employee, “He’s scheduled to be put down tomorrow.” “I’ll take that one,” said the wife. The employee repeated what he’d said and went on to list the myriad problems plaguing the solitary pup.
“I’ll take that one,” repeated the wife. “Lady! That dog’s a goner! No matter what you do or how much you spend or how hard you try, that dog’s gonna die. You’re just gonna get attached then get your heart broken cuz that dog won’t make it. I give that dog six months, tops.”
“That one!”
When the wife placed the dog in her husband’s hand — just one hand, the dog was that small— the husband said, “He’s perfect.” They didn’t have to try very hard — the dog was just dirty, hungry and scared; so a bath, food and feeling safe fixed that. They didn’t have to spend very much— the dog just needed some ointment for his skin and the usual shots. The guy at the pound was right about one thing though. The couple became immediately, profoundly and permanently attached to the “goner” dog, and they told the guy so six months later when they went back to visit (show off, really, proud parents that they were). Nobody at the pound recognized the dog.
Happy, as he was now called because that’s what he was and that’s how the little pooch made the husband and wife feel, was taken for a visit every six months for the next 15 years! Except once, a year or so later, when Happy’s anniversary coincided with the birth if the couple’s baby daughter.
