Leaning how to untie

The puppy pen was floored with sawdust. Feeding tins were in the corner and random chewed tennies were scattered about. I was unprepared for the blur of little bodies descending on my legs as I stepped over the gate, all with hopes of jumping, clawing and biting their way to the top of this soft  “tree”. With tiny tails wagging madly, they were clearly happy in their struggle. The sweatpants I was wearing made for a nice climbing pole. Tiny claws and teeth hooked into the soft fabric, giving them leverage for the climb. One actually made it to my knee. The onslaught resembled a school of fish honing in on dinner. (Clear photos were impossible.)

You might have called me a virgin until this week. Ahem, a puppy virgin, that is. Three days ago, a neighbor invited me to play with her beagle collection, eight puppies one month-old. I never imagined that this was an event one gets invited to but I was game. I also never imaged I’d be writing about dogs, but here I am. Remembering that swarm of busy little noses still makes me smile. I’m smiling now.

You could tell my neighbor’s family of four spent time watching the show that only eight squirming bodies can provide because there was a well worn chair nestled in the corner. After their excitement of my leg subsided, I sat down to enjoy this show of constant yelping, scrapping, rolling, jumping and general milling about.

When I was a young girl, we vacationed at a lake teeming with small fish eager to snack – bluegills, I think. As you descended the ladder off the pier into the lake, dozens of baby fish would surround your legs. Those tiny mouths were no match for a log of solid skin so mostly it was just the tickle of noses bumping on our shins. The memory of this absurdity jumped back to me yesterday.

I like dogs fine… as long as their somebody else’s. I’m not ready to kowtow to their eating habits, walking schedules, or vet visits. Barking drives me mad, and I already don’t like to vacuum and there’s not a dog hair in sight. Lastly, and most important of all, I do not want to scoop poop, even if my hand is wrapped in plastic.

This little taste of puppy was fun, and I seek any and all things that make me laugh and feel good inside. I knew someone once who had regular Saturday dates with her husband at the Humane Shelter. I thought it was weird at the time… but that was then.

Puppy Attack!