Puppies

Puppies, those cuddly balls of fur that most people find impossible to ignore: Go to a pet store, puppy farm or breeders’ ranch “just to look,” and it’s almost a guarantee that you’ll take one home.  But what do you do when you unexpectedly inherit a dozen and a half of these cuddle-some and affectionate creatures?  This is the story of such a situation. 

The time is the mid 1960s and the place is a one-family home in Saddle Brook, New Jersey, where a family of six children, two adults and two medium size dogs lived in crowded comfort. The two dogs were mixed breeds: One was mostly Golden Retriever and the other was mostly Hound with the markings of a cow.  Both dogs were very affectionate and neither had the barest example of temper.  Both were extremely tolerant of a young child’s unintended persecution.  Most important for this tale, both were females and neither was spayed.

Unnoticed by family or neighbors, one afternoon a rogue male dog vaulted the fence surrounding our back yard where both of our dogs were lounging, and did his thing.  As spring approached, the family prepared for the coming Communion of one or both of our younger daughters – I’m not certain which.  Sunday, the day of the Communion arrived, and both dogs gave birth.  In short order, we had 14 puppies on hand, one of which died, and the need for getting to the church ceremony on time.  I stayed behind and performed the nursemaid duties to the herd of puppies, which were now searching for a food source.  The Retriever had the motherly instincts to attempt to feed all comers, but the Hound lost all interest after the initial feeding, and made herself scarce.  Faced with a horde of pups doing their thing everywhere, I was forced to build a small enclosure in the living room with walls high enough to discourage the pup’s instinct to wander, but low enough for the mothers to enter to feed them.  At feeding time, it was a circus with the Retriever willingly feeding the pups and the Hound being driven to equal the task.  Between feedings, the puppies were permitted to run loose in the kitchen where the floor was covered with acres of newspaper.  I’m glad we weren’t responsible for payment of the cost of disposing of our garbage by weight or volume.  They had an unbelievable ability for messing the newspaper as fast as I changed it.

Time passed and they graduated to a diet of both mother’s milk and Puppy Chow, gradually moving to all Chow.  Feeding 13 pups so that they all were able to get a fair amount of food, was a challenge.  We found that a large roasting pan, the kind with low sides, was ideal.  It permitted access for all and was large enough for the required food.  For the uninitiated, the largest bag of Puppy Chow is packaged in small bags.  After all, who would need to feed more than 3-4 dogs at one time?  That meant purchasing many bags of Chow at one time to keep them fed. 

Feeding time was hysterical.  We would mix the Chow in the pan and place it on the kitchen floor.  Thirteen hungry pups would eat until they were satisfied, and then drop and fall asleep wherever they stood.  That meant the pan, with remnants of Chow, would be surrounded by many sleeping pups, with others sleeping in the pan on top of the remaining food with still others draped over the sides.  My first attempts to move them to their bed were hopeless: It only woke them and started a chorus of yapping.

As they became more active, their bed and the kitchen floor was not enough room for exercise.  Since the weather was nice, we took them out on the front lawn, which was a huge mistake.  If we didn’t have a group of interested children around, we would still be looking for the dogs.  The answer was the back yard.

It didn’t take them long to find that there were several small holes under our fence that offered them freedom.  I could just see them exiting the yard through the holes and scattering throughout the neighborhood echoing Reverend Martin Luther King’s famous words from the Washington, DC Mall, “Free at last, free at last.  Thank God almighty, free at last.”

As the dogs grew, Marie and I knew that it would be necessary to find a home for the puppies.  There was no room in our home for 15 dogs.  The two older dogs could stay, but the pups had to go.  First efforts were successful in gifting a few dogs, but the gifting stopped when all local interest vanished.  Children were willing to play with them and some adults stopped by to view the daily circus, but that was the extent of the later visits. 

Our fears increased with time.  We knew that the local pounds had no interest in keeping the dogs and we knew that the county pound always had more dogs and cats than they could support on their limited budget.

The answer was becoming uncomfortably obvious.

Then the proverbial miracle!  Through word of mouth, a pet shop owner in Paterson, New Jersey heard of the dogs being available and called to express his interest.  Much of Paterson has been rebuilt during the past decade or so, but in those years, Paterson was run-down and badly in need of restoration.  Marie wasn’t sure if the offer to take the dogs was a true answer.  She drove to the pet shop and found the owner to be a middle-aged African American who reassured her that the pups would find good homes in Paterson.

He pointed out that he wouldn’t take the responsibility of feeding and housing the dogs if he didn’t expect to make a profit. 

The dogs were transferred to the pet shop in a tearful exchange and from what we heard from the grapevine, were successfully placed in homes.  The interest was surprisingly great.

Much later, while attending a gathering at a neighbor’s home another neighbor, whom we didn’t know, approached us, and jovially told us that it was his male that had impregnated our dogs.  He thought it was very funny and didn’t hide the fact.  I suppressed the desire to throttle him and ignored him for the rest of the evening, knowing that the dogs were well placed.  As Shakespeare said, “All’s well that ends well.”      

August 2004

LFC