MIDLIFE PUPPY LOVE SPARKED BY GREEN-EYED CHARMER

by Mary Ann Herrington

At the age of 50, I have fallen victim to a lasting case of puppy love. No, not the kind Paul Anka likes to croon about, but the one which comes with four legs and a wagging tail.

My longtime canine sidekick, Buddy, had died several months before, leaving a void in my life that needed to be filled. So I decided to check out the Northern Chautauqua Canine Rescue in search of a large breed dog to serve as my walking companion.

I was about to give the adult dogs a second look when I spied him. Huddled in the back of his kennel was a drop-dead gorgeous nine-week-old Husky/Shepherd puppy. Moving closer, I took in his remarkable features: shiny brown coat adorned with beige, cream and white markings; huge stand-up ears disproportionate to his tiny head and body; a brown nose tinged with pink; gigantic paws which augured a good-sized fellow to come; and finally, a pair of green eyes so stunning they belonged on a fashion model.

The mental battle commenced at once. The voice of reason chided me for even thinking I would have the time, energy and patience to raise a puppy. ‘Keep moving,’ the voice cautioned, ‘and don’t look back. You may not turn into a pillar of salt, but your life will never be the same again.’ A warning duly noted. And yet I did look back – right smack into those mesmerizing, take-me-home green eyes. Who was kidding whom? Just hand me my complimentary bag of puppy chow and I’ll be on my way.

We named the little guy "Sabre." My 10-year-old daughter, Roxie was equally enamored with her first puppy. For months, she carried him around as if he were a doll before settling him on her lap. As he continued to grow, visions of an 80-pound lap dog danced in my head.

From the day we brought him home, "Mr. Clean" never soiled his crate. Would that he were so fastidious with my carpets! And now that my house resembles a day care center with toys strewn everywhere, why must Sabre’s favorite chew toy still be my leg? To add insult to injury, my piano playing has been put on hold since the resident music critic howls relentlessly from the first note to the last.

Sabre’s favorite game, ‘catch-me-if-you-can’, starts with his pilfering a forbidden object such as a brand new sock or Roxie’s homework. He proudly parades his newfound treasure in front of his master — and the race is on. A race I am destined to lose. After a dozen laps around the house, I breathlessly admit to once again being outwitted by the little spitfire. Without question, his innate dodging and juking prowess, coupled with unparalleled speed and a no-fumble grip, qualify him to take on any defensive line in the NFL.

Bathtime for Sabre invariably turns into a survival of the fittest, with the mother-daughter duo (clad in swimsuits) pitted against a whining, squirming dynamo desperately seeking higher ground. Ironically, he quickly develops nerves of steel whenever there is a car to be chased.

On the up side, two words make raising a puppy a blessing instead of a nuisance — unconditional love. A dog greeting his master at the door after a hard day’s work; bonding with a child; or soothing the long, solitary days of the elderly, creates that much sought after "warm, fuzzy feeling". And a steady diet of canine companionship has been known to put many a therapist out of business.

Caring for Sabre is a 24/7/365 commitment for the duration of his life. It has turned my serene, somewhat mundane existence into one of relative chaos, unpredictable happenings, and at times, total exasperation..

Would I do it again? You bet.

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