Beulah

I got a new puppy on Saturday. She was one of 11 of a litter of Bassett hounds. Only 5 weeks old. I chose her because her face was all squished with wrinkles of extra skin and her eyes were so patiently resigned to the heat, to the battle for puppy chow against her siblings and to the lady who kept holding her and kissing her on each side of her skin endowed face. She made that soft grunting noise that only puppies make and I was lost.

My husband did not want another dog. Let me re state that so it is perfectly clear; Robert did not want another dog. Brymer and Nellie, the Pomeranians, were a perfect fit for our empty nest house. But one look at 'Beulah' and he was lost. Hey, everyone who's seen her are lost . . . she has that kind of face.

So this dog's been with us for like 4 days and she gets some loose poo poo going. The parvo light goes off and I rush her to the vet, where she's put on pedilite for a day and I am told to chill.

Chill? Crud, here's this young little thing that thinks I hung the moon, that Robert hung the sun, and Brymer and Nellie are responsible for the stars and I'm supposed to chill? Did I get her to let her face the world alone, take her chances, survival of the fittest? I am not a proponent of evolution; Mankind is not simply the top of the survival chain. And the think-ology that 'it's just a dog' makes me wanna . . . uh . . . discuss the matter with those who feel thus.

I think I'll change vets.