Shorty

This is about a little puppy dog. Her name was Shorty. She was the cutest little thing, though she used to be called Short Rat, and other things. She was the perfect addition to my family a long time ago.

I think I was in middle school at the time, my mom and dad did paper routes to earn extra money for the home. One very cold and snowy day while we were all helping with the routes to get them done quicker Dad came up to us with his paper bag held in front of him. What was inside became a wonderful addition. You see, Shorty was left to freeze and fend for herself, but lucky enough for her my dad found her near a barn.

She would go and run around our yard when we lived in town, and with us when we moved to my Grandma’s house that my mom inherited. Shorty was never scared of anything. I had seen Shorty walk up to large aggressive German Shepherds and try to scare them off. This dog was an interesting sort, she would go after deer, but always got chased by the deer instead.

She was our watch dog. One night, while my parents were watching an opera on cable TV and I was playing chess with my cousin, she suddenly barked. It turned out that a thief who had previously been arrested for and convicted of drug abuse, was trying to sneak into our house to steal our antique brass clock in the bedroom. Shorty’s barking alerted us and scared the thief, who then slipped and fell down into the ditch, breaking one rib and getting a lump on his head. With Shorty, we didn’t have to install any alarm in our house.

She was around for some of the biggest events in my life. When my grandpa died, she was there; when my grandma died, she was there; when I had two friends commit suicide at different times, she was there. She was at my graduation party, I got pictures of her when I was dressed up for a class dance. She attacked me with lots of puppy kisses when I returned home from Spain, and Las Vegas, and Tennesse.

Throughout all of the good or bad times in my life for the longest time she was there. Sometimes I may have said I didn’t like her, but she was a constant reminder that I was always loved. I miss her a great deal.

When the end started coming I finally realized how old she was, we had had her for 13years, but she was already full grown when we got her. So I don’t know how old she really was. But for those 13 years of my life she was something I could count on. She started getting white fur from age. She couldn’t move around as well, nor jump on my mom’s bed without help anymore. I would do anything for that puppy when I was at my mom’s house. I would help her outside, and back inside, take food into my mom’s room for her, and kept my daughter from pulling her ears, though she seemed to love having my little lady there with her.

I think the thing I am most grateful for, is the fact that Shorty gave so much love, and that I could see that she had love in abundance in return, from my family, my sisters family, from friends I grew up with, but most of all my mom. Shorty was my mom’s puppy, always was and always will be.

Shorty was loved, and that’s what matters.

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