Category Archives: dogs

Sadie

If an animal can have a kind soul, it’s Sadie. She just has a sensitive spirit!

She’s a Porky, half Pomeranian, half Yorky.  Even as an adult dog, she’s permanent puppy size.  If she’s ever weighed more than 4 pounds, it’s only because her hair was wet!

Her little fox face and big, dark eyes give her the appearance of a harmless, nocturnal creature.

She quickly picks up on feelings, and well knows the regulars to our house.  She also knows children love to hold her like a baby doll, so she’s developed an adept ability to hide.

Yet when someone new comes over, she studies them a while before jumping in the chair beside them just to make the acquaintance. After a time or two of visiting though, she’s content to just sit on her blanket and watch from a distance.

Sadie’s 15 years old now, and it may sound strange to say, but when she was 6 years old she was traumatized.  My wife, Janet, let Sadie and her sister out early one morning.  A minute later, Janet heard an odd, chilling scream, one that sounded like a woman screaming, just outside her back door.

Janet ran outside. On the other side of the driveway, a black panther was running away toward the woods with Sadie’s sister in its mouth. Continue reading Sadie

Flea Market Flea Bag

Seven years ago, my oldest daughter wanted a little pet.  An inside cat was out of the question.  So was a dog. At least until I had a momentary lapse of sanity.

We went to a flea market to look around. If I’d known how things were about to play out, I would’ve walked right by the old woman sitting under a shade tree selling puppies.

She was selling little breeds. Without hesitation, all four daughters zeroed in like heat seeking missiles to a cage with four puppies, half Chihuahua, half Japanese Chin.

Half Chihuahuas!  God made Chihuahuas as a practical joke on rats. They’re noisy, obnoxious, cranky little animals that on their best day look genetically defective.

These, however, looked like the furry Japanese Chin part. Before I knew it, the heat seeking missiles exploded.  Shawnna was holding the runt of the litter, all nine weeks old, in the palm of her hand talking to it like it was a little baby.

I’m convinced now the old lady selling them set the hook right then. I just didn’t know it right then. Continue reading Flea Market Flea Bag