Sep 03 2008
A Dog Named Pluto (part 1)
When I was fifteen years old I found a little Shepard mixed puppy on the side of the road about a quarter mile from our house. He inside a box curled up on a dirty old blanket. I took him home with me even though I knew Mom would never let me keep him. As soon as Mom saw him, she told me to take him back. I cried and begged Mom to let me keep him. As soon as my little brother and sister saw the puppy, they began to cry and beg too. When my Dad got home from work, he talked Mom into letting the puppy stay until he was stronger. Dad promised Mom to find a home for the puppy later on. We named him Pluto and for two months, everything was fine.
Pluto was a very active puppy who had a taste for freshly hung laundry. After he ripped a new spread from the clothesline, Mom again said he had to go. She was so angry she made me take him and his box back to where I found him and leave him on the side of the road. For three days, we kids cried and begged Mom to let us go check on Pluto. Mom relented on the third day and walked down the road with us to where I had left Pluto. When his little head popped up out of the box Mom told us to take him home. Mom said any dog that would trust us that much to sit in a box without food or water for three days deserved a good home. As we walked home with Pluto Mom had to listen to us argue over who was going to carry him. Once again, dog and children were happy.
