by s.i.

Created on: July 05, 2009

When I was nine years old, my mom brought home a puppy from the pound. My mom called it a fox terrier, and I thought it was the cutest little thing. For many weeks we tried to choose a name for this puppy. We each called it by the name we favored, and I think that she must have been quite confused in those first few weeks in our home. I wanted to call her Sam, but she ended up Tootsie.

My mom and step-dad spoiled Tootsie, and Tootsie adored my parents. She seemed to always be around my parents more than my brother and I, which may be due, in part, to the fact that we were, like all young kids, rough and experimental with animals. Tootsie received royal treatment from our family; she was like our new little sister. She was given human food in addition to her dog food, and during Christmas there were always presents under the tree to Tootsie from Santa. In fact, Tootsie was more likely considered the favorite child, as she slept in my parents' bed and stayed in their bedroom with them every evening while my brother and I were exiled to the living room. Even though some may think it absurd, I think Tootsie knew she was the favorite and often looked at my brother and me with knowing eyes.

My parents were not the only ones who loved Tootsie, she had admirers among our many friends and house guests. Tootsie was unlike any pet I had ever known; and, this was during a time that it wasn't trendy and fashionable to spoil your dog with designer collars, sweaters, and carrying cases.

However, as a result of the spoiling, and completely unintentional but nevertheless irresponsible on our part, Tootsie gained weight steadily over the years. Too many McDonald's pancakes and sausages, and too many steaks and hot dogs, turned Tootsie into a big duffel-bag sized sausage sitting on top of four skinny, wobbly legs.

Over the years she grew slower and slower in movement, and she started to limp in her front right leg. Her fur became dull and blotchy in places, and she started forming open wounds on the surface of her skin where the hair was balding. I never, even till this day, understood what one had to do with another - what did Tootsie's weight problem have to do with the wounds attacking her skin? Did one have to do with another? Or maybe, I thought, when an animal or human suffers one affliction, other ailments can follow even if seemingly unrelated. In any case, it was a strange feeling to watch her suffer, and know that we most likely caused it.

I was

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