As the Tail Wags

Cheeky Chum

Dogs have been an important part of life, since I was a young child. As soon as we moved to the country, we got a family dog. The thing was, every family dog, quickly became my dog. I loved them as much as they loved me, and my parents recognized that too. As much as my parents wanted our dog to stay home, they always insisted on following me. I can’t count how many times whatever dog I left at home, showed up wherever I was. Nose to the ground, they’d track me, the second they were let off the chain. There were dogs that climbed over tall fences to follow me, climbed trees to stay with me, and always protected me. I felt invincible when I had a dog with me.
For years, mom would release the dog when she saw the school bus coming up the road. We were dropped off on the corner about a quarter of a mile from home, and there would be the dog, happily waiting for me.
I got my first dog of my very own, the year after, I finally got to buy a horse. My father said, and he sternly meant it, that I could not have one of the German shepherd puppies, my friend’s dog had given birth to. I so wanted one though. I had picked out my favourite, an adorable, chubby, little critter with a happy ending, a white tip on the end of her tail. My buddy, Jim came up with an excellent plan. My parents were old school. It would be very impolite to refuse a gift, so Jim would ride over on his bike with the puppy, and give her to me for my birthday.
She was the cutest, little thing, all dressed up in a big bow, but dad was onto us, and he wasn’t at all impressed. The expression on his face like thunder, he made it very clear what he thought of our ploy.
“Don’t think for a minute,” he growled with that thick, Dutch accent of his, “that I don’t know what you’re up to. I said no, and I meant it. That puppy goes back.”
“But dad, she’s a gift. Giving her back would be rude,” tears already trickling down my cheeks as I held her in my arms, I couldn’t believe he was insisting that she go back with Jimmy. I had been completely sure it would work, yet unbelievably, it didn’t.
Everything changed in the blink of an eye. One second I’m standing there, weeping while holding the puppy, the next there was a frenzy of fur, claws and angry cat attacking the puppy I held. I was trying to protect her, she was yelping at the top of her little lungs, and my arms were swiftly being scratched to pieces!
For a big man, my father was surprisingly quick. One second, the cat was trying to shred the puppy I held, the next she was flying through the air. She hit the ground running, and didn’t look back.
Blood everywhere, the puppy and I must’ve looked a dreadful sight. Dad frowned as he shook his head. I could see it in his eyes. He wouldn’t return an injured puppy. I was going to get to keep her.
“Go with your mother,” he grumbled as he looked at us, “She’ll clean that dog up.”
As I followed mom into the house, bawling my eyes out, I could hardly believe the change in circumstances. Because of the cat’s actions, I got to keep the puppy. Chum was now mine.
The funny thing, about the whole kerfuffle was, Chum didn’t have a scratch on her. All the blood was mine. It was only because the cat had kittens that she attacked at all. I certainly didn’t blame her. If not for her instincts, I wouldn’t have been able to keep the dog that became my sidekick and ever faithful companion.

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