Vampire in the House!

VAMPIRE IN THE HOUSE! Tiny has been a part of my life like since forever. He was a Chocolate Labrador-Shepherd mix who had the size and build of a small Shepherd with the coat and sweet temperament of a shy Lab. He was half way to eight when Julie was born and by then, he was starting to look like rust speckled chocolate. He also had an arthritic left hip that made him limp when he walked or ran. Tiny came by his name dishonestly when mom was looking for the dog she believed was mandated by my recent birth and our family's astrological signs. Numerological analysis had impelled her to pick one particular dog breeder over the many others who advertise in our local newspaper. Since dad did not care what the dog was as long as it had four legs and barked, mom's tactics and needs were acceptable so off they went. Mom's only requirements were: "It has to be good with children and when full grown, weigh under thirty pounds." Mom really did not care about the weight but the stars or the numbers apparently did. This allowed the breeder to decree: "I have just the dog for you! He is the runt of the litter so he is and will be smaller than the others… and since he is a purebred Shepador, his temperament will be perfect!" Mom played it straight: "A Shepador?" "Shepador is the breed you get when you mix a Labrador and a Shepherd. Both are great with kids and this little fellow has the best of both! You will adore him!" Dad knows less about dogs than mom, but what he does know is spot-on cause his job depends upon knowing thousands of inconsequential tidbits with unerring accuracy. Salesmen need to convince others of their credibility and knowledge so if he blows it on the latest sports scores or dog facts with someone who knows the subject inside and out, he might lose a sale. This allowed dad to note: "Last I heard, Shepadors are not recognized by the AKC and the other two breeds average over sixty pounds." In the United States, the AKC, the American Kennel Club, is the official decreer of which dog breeds are pure and which are mutts, but this breeder did not miss a beat: "That's why I recommend the runt of the litter. He will be the smallest of them all. And the reason he is a purebred Shepador is because his father's a Shepherd and his mom's a Lab. Besides, if he was AKC registered I would have to charge triple for him." Tiny's hefty dam whom the breeder belatedly named Wisp, was easy to verify cause she was right there and dad noted that she was decidedly more than seventy pounds. The picture presented of the sire, a Shepherd supposedly named Tiny Tim, was partially retracted when dad noted that the handwritten name on the back of the photo was Godzilla. The breeder backtracked a little: "Wrong photo. Godzilla is Tiny Tim's littermate. Tim was the runt of the litter too," but this no longer really mattered to mom. Holding the pup, she wanted to know: "What's his name?" "I named him Tiny because he is so much smaller than any dog I have ever bred." Over the years, mom and dad sometimes quibbled over the fact that Tiny grew to be "a little over" seventy pounds and also about whether he had even come close to being the smallest puppy in the litter. But what really mattered was that he had licked mom's hand several times, then had the common sense to stop, yawn, and snuggle. The timing was as perfect as his actions, so Tiny had gotten his name and become part of our lives and he was on the receiving end of whatever me and later my sister could dish out. So it came to pass that at five thirty in the morning on Monday, May 17, 2010, mom headed to the kitchen to start the water boiling for tea and oatmeal, before checking on critters including me and the baby. She later admitted to being frazzled due to having spent most of the night with Julie, then having to drag herself back to wakefulness to get me off to school. This explained why she reacted the way she did when she entered the living room and discovered the dog lying only partially on his accustomed dog bed, for neither parent believed in crating dogs even though Tiny made a dash for his crate whenever he got into the garage. He loved that crate and the few times we thought he had escaped from the house or yard, we found him dozing inside of it which was why dad took the door off of it and why we always made it available in the garage. For us, it was good insurance against a runaway dog, however on this morning, Tiny had the martyred expression that only a dog who has lived its life enduring young children, can truly perfect. The reason was cause Julie had somehow gotten him half way out his bed and he was more than just trapped. He was helpless.