A day, why minimize, let me tell you a story. The most frightening moment of my life came at about 1am February 10th, 2004. Terrifying moments filled with loud crying – me, loud baying – my mom, and mass confusion – my jet lagged breeders, who’d just returned from a trip to Germany. It began as a routine event, the first puppy – me, moved into position in the birth canal and then nothing. The first puppy – me, was stuck as stuck could be and that is about the time the baying began.
Later retellings let me know the vet, thirty five miles away in Wilsonville, had been called and was speeding his way north to aid the chain of events. But at the time I didn’t know or even know what that all meant, I just knew I was stuck between the proverbial pelvic bone and a hard spot. The vet, a kindly soul with manly hands, arrived in time to pull, I mean tug me out, and the other seven puppies followed in a somewhat chaotic and rapid fashion. I, on the other hand, was forgotten in the rush of chaos and….ugh, goo.
Forgotten that is until the recounting left everyone positive one pup was missing – me. At about the same time the vet and jetlagged breeders noted the highly agitated yelping coming from somewhere from the bowels of the couch. Apparently I’d found a nice, quiet place that offered up a safe, dark cushy haven in the storming rage of the night. Yes, folks I’d crawled under the near by sofa and up into its underbelly. The only thing missing was mom and that promising teat.
I spent months being teased for having big feet, big ears, and big feet. Did I mention I have big feet? They call me Arlo the Tank. I’ve no idea why, it’s just words. Now, excuse me there are some flowers that need grazed.
Arlo (as in Guthrie) the Tank (as in incidental)
Pont-Croix, Brittany VIII
23 hours ago