Quick as a Flash: The Lost Little Puppy That Stole Our Hearts
We got a call late one night from my mother-in-law, Ellen. She’d found a small puppy by the side of the road and wanted to know what she should do with it. Fearing the pound might ultimately become a solution she’d decide upon, my wife and I made the trip to pick up the dog to give it a home until we could find it more permanent accommodations.
We arrived and were greeted by Ellen, wearing one of her trademark loud, gaudy, and paisley patterned robes, bright pink 1950’s style glasses, and one of her many cats. Ellen didn’t mind dogs, so to speak, but she was a cat person and feared a dog wouldn’t get along with her ten or so feline companions.
Ellen, who is as loud as her wardrobe, screamed “The little darling is out in the garage!” and escorted my wife and me out to see him. He was a cute little basset hound, black and white in color with a little patch on his back that looked like Australia, but was dirty and thin and had a few scrapes and cuts on his feet. He looked like he’d lived on his own for most of his few months of age.
“Well, what do you think?” Ellen bellowed. My wife and I talked it over. Should we take in another dog, or should we try to adopt him out? We already had a dog and a cat at home. Did we have enough room for another? Could we afford him? He had taken an instant liking to my wife and was following her around in the garage. “Aw, ain’t that sweet!” my mother-in-law roared. We decided to step out in the yard and leave the puppy in the garage for a few minutes while we gave it some more thought.
We had almost decided to leave him, until we heard a low, plaintive howl coming from the garage. “Aooooooooo…” the pup’s cry trailed off into nothingness. It was enough to melt even the iciest of hearts. We retrieved him from the garage, bid my overly loud in-law goodnight, and headed home.
The next morning, we loaded up the new family member and headed toward the vet’s office. He was in good shape all things considered. The vet bathed the dog and trimmed his nails, and generally cleaned him up. He made sure the pup’s wounds were dressed and healing, wormed him, and gave us a few pointers about hounds.
We took him home, and turned him loose in the backyard to let our dog and cat meet their newly adopted brother. They got along right away, and soon, they were chasing each other around the yard, playing “hide and seek” and having a grand old time.
We laughed at the plodding, short-legged little rascal and his “boo woo woo” bark, and then remembered we still hadn’t named him yet. What do you call the slowest dog in the neighborhood?
“How about ‘Flash’?” my wife suggested. I had a good laugh at that. What else could you name a dog like that? It looked like Flash had a new name and a family to call his own.