by Caroline Tigeress

Created on: October 25, 2009

The soft brown eyes of the golden retriever looked up at her from the contrasting green carpeting. He was getting a bit older and grayer in the muzzle, but rarely if ever missed the refrigerator door being opened, much less the sound of an electric can opener.

His legal, American Kennel Club name is Sweet Sandy Paws, and in the days prior to thanks giving, after the fateful 9/11 attack, he was born. His parents, two purebred AKC Goldies were tall, well-proportioned beautiful dogs.

When his new owner came to pick him up at the tender age of five and one-half weeks, he had no idea what was happening. No clue as to the luxury of life that would come.

She held him to her breast and he tried to suckle at her teat through the cloth, his little puppy teeth a tiny bud. His first car ride and he became nauseous, vomiting all over her. She just laughed and stroked his little face.

He did not whine a great deal, nor mewl. Her father was driving in their Aerostar and they did not go straight home, but to the local PetCo. He promptly dropped nearly one-hundred dollars in bowls, toys, puppy food, and a tiny collar with a little bell.

She mollycoddled him as they walked throughout the store, with little children pointing at him and everyone saying how cute and adorable he was. Even at this tender age, he started to develop a sense of how he would be loved and looked after.

At the house, her mother thought him adorable, and they laid an old blanket out for him to sit on in the sunken living room. When he sat upright, he was not tall enough to clear the single stair.

At night, he slept with her. She learned from him to be a good mother again, watching over him, playing with him, and thinking outside of her own self-needs and depression.

When she got him, she was unemployed, and they were never separated; either she carried him, or she would giggle as he toddled about on his little puppy legs. It did not take him long to find his high-pitched squeaky voice, nor to discover the other animals in the household. He too had to learn to share, not with his brothers and sisters but by a strange, curious tribble of a dog known as a Pomeranian.

Then there were the other, odd animals, who answered to no man. They were called cats, and smelled radically different from anything else he had seen in his little life. The household was full of them, nearly a dozen, and each had their own perspective. None were too thrilled when he discovered his yelping howl with its cute lips. He was quite

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