Love stretches your heart and makes you big inside.
- Margaret Abigail Walker
As we turned the key to open our little pet shop for the day, we heard the persistent ring of the telephone. I ran for the phone while my husband acknowledged the excited greetings from the cockatiels, canaries and puppies. It wasn’t uncommon to receive an early morning phone call, but the voice of this caller seemed different. The voice was raspy, and I detected an air of sadness. The elderly caller did not have a question, but rather a story to tell.
“You see,” the gentleman explained, “my wife and I were just sitting down to breakfast alone this morning. We used to have a schnauzer whose name was Pepper.”
The man went on to share how Pepper had been with them every morning for the past sixteen years as they ate breakfast, drank their coffee and read the morning paper. “He was a member of the family,” the man said.
Pepper had been with them when their last child left home. He was there when the man’s wife became ill and was hospitalized. Pepper had always been there - until this morning.
He went on, “Time passes more quickly than we realize, and time isn’t always kind.”
It happened that Pepper had developed a severe case of arthritis. They waited out the winter, they waited for spring, they waited until yesterday. Pepper was in constant pain, needed to be helped outside, and the man and his wife couldn’t watch his suffering any longer. So together, he and his wife, Ruth, and their veterinarian made the decision to “let Pepper go.”
His voice cracking, he said, “He was the best dog, and today is our first day alone, and we’re having a hard time of it.”
They didn’t want another dog. No other dog could begin to replace Pepper, but they were just curious. “Do you carry schnauzer puppies? Male puppies? Salt-and-pepper male schnauzer puppies?”
I said that we did, in fact, have two male salt-and-pepper schnauzer puppies on hand. “You do?” the aged voice asked incredulously. Not that they would ever or could ever replace Pepper, and besides, “Ruth has an appointment so we won’t be coming this morning.” We said good-bye and hung up.
The shop filled with people, and soon thoughts of Pepper and his loving family were replaced with the hectic activity of attending to the customers and the attention-seeking residents of the pet shop.
We were still bustling about at mid-morning when two elderly gentlemen came in the door. I knew the one man instantly. His face, weathered and sad, mirrored the voice I heard that morning on the phone.
He introduced himself. “My name is Bill,” he said. “Ruth went to an appointment.”
He explained that he and his neighbor had decided to go for a ride (thirty-five miles) and “just happened over this way.” They wondered if they could just take a quick look at a schnauzer puppy while they were here.
I brought out both of the puppies. They wagged their tails and wiggled their roly-poly bodies as they chased each other and tumbled over our feet. They put on their best “take-me-home” faces when Bill’s neighbor, picking them up, wondered out loud, “Bill, how could you ever pick just one?” He put them back on the floor, and we continued watching their puppy antics.
Bill seemed reluctant to pick up either of them. He finally yielded to the little one that had contentedly sprawled across his feet, chewing on his shoelaces. He picked him up with the tenderness and wonderment of a young father picking up his first child, and he cradled the puppy against his chest.
“Well,” he explained to the puppy, “I can’t take you home. Ruth would probably throw us both out.”
But once in his arms, Bill couldn’t put the puppy down. We talked about the weather, his children, our children, and finally, as polite conversation does, it began to wane. There was nothing left to say, no more postponing the inevitable. Bill concentrated on the pups, saying, “Ruth isn’t going to like this. Ruth isn’t going to like this at all.”
We watched as Bill looked from puppy to puppy. At last, shaking his head, he asked with a grin, “If I take this guy home and Ruth kicks us out, would you have a dog-house for us tonight?”
With his decision made, I helped Bill to the counter with his puppy, while his brother was returned to his cage to wait for another chance to be adopted.
The brother puppy had never been alone before, and he made us all painfully aware that he did not enjoy his new only-child status. Bill, standing at the counter, watching the remaining puppy expressing its displeasure, remarked, “It’s no good to be alone.”
Bill paid for his purchase, and then he and the neighbor left with the puppy affectionately secured in Bill’s arms. Smiles and back-slapping congratulations accompanied them out the door. With a warm feeling, we returned to our day’s chores, as visions of the elderly couple enjoying the new puppy danced through our minds.
Within minutes the door opened again. It was Bill, shaking his head. “We started up the road, and I just couldn’t do it...”
His voice trailed off. “It’s no good to be alone. Ruth’s going to be boiling mad at me, and I’m going to need that doghouse tonight for sure. But I’m going home with the brother pup, too. It’s just no good to be alone!”
The day ended as it had started, with a ringing phone. It was Bill and Ruth. They were just calling to let us know that Bill wouldn’t be needing the doghouse after all. “Well,” he said, “Ruth loves the boys and taking them both home was the best decision I’ve ever made - on my own, anyway.”
We heard from Bill and the “boys” just last month. Bill’s voice had an uplifted lilt and a smile in it. “The boys are great and are even picking up a taste for toast and eggs. You see,” he explained, “Pepper left some pretty big shoes to fill. That’s why it takes two.”
- Dawn Uittenbogaard