These past three weeks with Franklin have reminded me of the personal oath I'd made after raising each of our canine babies, an oath that obviously I'd forgotten. "I will never get another puppy." I picture Scarlett O'Hara with the sun setting behind her, a fist raised to the sky. It's that type of oath. And yet, here I am, yet again, raising a puppy.
Those people who raise guide dog puppies, only to send them off to formal training school once they've gotten through all the hard stuff? There's a special place reserved for them in heaven, I'm sure.
And speaking of Heaven, it was the loss of Charlie's dear doggie brother, Olaf, that prompted the addition of Franklin. Charlie just wasn't himself and he looked lonely and we just knew that he'd love a little puppy brother. We were wrong. Very wrong. At his advanced age, he's like the grumpy 80 year-old man who yells at the neighbor kids to get off his lawn. Right now, Charlie wants Franklin off his lawn.
I read somewhere that by 12 weeks a puppy should meet at least 100 people. Since I'm a bit of a homebody, I've had to make a conscious effort to take Franklin somewhere every single day. In our quest to find people of all ages and sizes, we've explored parks, visited schools, window shopped downtown, and blasted through many a scene of Autumn peace and tranquility. And as tiring as it's been, I honestly can't remember a Fall that I've appreciated so fully. Nothing says joy quite like a fat puppy rolling and romping through leaves. I have no doubt that lurking within this bundle of fur are the makings of a great dog.
need the energy....
to get him there.