Marley
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Marley
at six weeks, a little sleepy from her first day
in her new home.
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Just
chillin'. About three months old.
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Bath
time is not happy time. Here she's five months
old.
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Sometimes
she slows down long enough for a glamour shot.
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Click
on each picture to see a larger version.
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As
some of you know, while Malhavoc Press had a great year
in 2003, on a personal level, Sue and I did not. One
major reason was the death of our Welsh Corgi puppy,
Rufus,
in a car-related accident. Somewhere on my hard drive
I have a column that I wrote soon after the incident,
which is extraordinarily angry and bitter. I never posted
that column and I never will. To sum it up, though,
would be to simply say, "No one should have to
watch their brand-new puppy die."
Months
passed, and we felt a real emptiness. It was hard to
decide what to do next. Should we get a new dog? Lots
of people encouraged us to, but we worried about somehow
betraying Rufus' memory so soon. We weren't over our
heartbreak, yet, and probably -- although we never said
this out loud -- we weren't ready to take on the responsibility
of having a new and important presence in our lives
which could be so easily and quickly lost.
Eventually,
though -- about mid-February -- we understood that we
were "dog people," and that our house would
be very empty without a little pal.
Enter
Marley.
She's
also a Welsh Corgi, although her coloration is entirely
different from Rufus'. She's almost six months old now,
and to say that she's a handful would be to make a grievous
understatement. Marley is fairly high-strung -- she's
very eager to play but, like so many puppies, her way
of playing usually involves biting clothes, shoes, or
even fingers.
Marley's
very smart. She's quick to figure things out, both in
training her to do things, and in getting the "way
things work." I like how quickly she figured out
that bells and whistles meant that something needs doing
-- the phone ringing, the doorbell, the oven timer,
or the teapot whistling all cause her to spring into
action.
She's
also incredibly brave. Well, "brave" is not
really the right word (because she does get scared of
things -- like bigger dogs -- and bolts when she's scared).
She's really just very optimistic. She looks at any
obstacle and never considers that she can't overcome
it. We have to watch her closely when she's perched
up high on the furniture, because there's no leap she
doesn't think she can make. And just because she hasn't
been able to climb straight up a sheer wall to get at
a high shelf doesn't mean that her attempt will fail
this time.
I
was originally going to entitle this column "Hope
Springs Eternal," because that's the thought that
crossed my mind as Sue and I sat down to have lunch
yesterday and Marley sat there looking at us, wanting
our food. We've had Marley for months now, and we have
never, ever fed her human food. We've never fed her
anything while we are eating, or even fed her anything
while we sat at our table. Still, every day she's there,
thinking, "today's the day."
I
used to think of my pet rabbit Wilbur
as the eternal pessimist. I mean, I had Wilbur for years,
and every day when I went to take his food dish out
of his cage to feed him again, he would get all upset
at me, as if thinking, "Oh yeah, I knew it. All
these years, he's been lulling me into a false sense
of security with his niceness and all the meals. Today's
finally the day when he takes away my food dish and
leaves me here to starve."
Marley's
just the opposite. Hope springs eternal in our little
dog.
Which
is, of course, exactly what we needed.
