Volume 9, Number 49, 2006

by Alison Thibault

I’ve wanted a dog of my own since 1 was seventeen. My mom bought a miniature poodle the day before my prom. My mom and sister named him Caramel because of his light brown fur. I didn’t get a say on his name because I was at work all day. I was excited to have a puppy even though he wasn’t really mine. I wanted him to sleep in my room. Mom agreed on the condition that I sleep on the floor because my bed was three feet off the floor, and she was afraid the puppy would fall out of bed.

So the night before my prom, the puppy and I slept on the floor. It was cozy, except for the wee-wee pad inches above my head, which he actually used that night. He slept in my room for a few more nights, but I caught the flu and didn’t want to wake up in the middle of the night to put the dog outside or sleep on the floor. He started sleeping in my mom and step-dad’s room, and he wasn’t my puppy anymore.
I worked a lot while he was young, so I didn’t get to play with him as much, and he grew fonder of Mom, my step-dad, and my sister. Then I moved out in September, and I was without a puppy again.

The next March, Mom came to visit and told me about this cute, pure-bred Pomeranian puppy at the pet store. She kept saying that it was sad to see the poor little fella all alone for a week. He had three siblings, but they were all gone about a week ago. She stopped in the pet store everyday to talk to him. I felt horrible. He needed to have someone to play with and to take care of him. After she told me that he looked like a blond fox, I was sold. I called up the pet store to tell the owner I was going to buy the last Pomeranian that afternoon.

All the way there, I kept telling Mom I was going to name my puppy Wolverine because Wolverine is my favourite superhero. But when I got my first look at him, I kept his name simple: Fox. I second doubted the name Fox after I saw his vicious attitude. He would have made a great Wolverine.

He was a very tiny two-pound ball of fur when I bought him. Since he was small, I trained him to use a kitty litter box. When summer came, he was an outdoor trained puppy. I’ve taught him a lot of tricks since then. He knows how to shake paws (both of them), how to sit, back up (to catch the ball), how to bring the ball back, to dance, to hide his eyes, and his most famous trick: to speak. He doesn’t bark. His speak is a wolf’s howl. Some days, he has a lot to say, and others, he’s more quiet. It’s an impressive trick, which my sister enjoys to showing off to everyone who visits.

His favourite toy is a dirty pink and yellow foam ball. It’s very gross to touch, but it keeps him entertained for hours. His favourite activity is going for long walks, which is funny because I read those dogs didn’t need much exercise, and I had to drag him on his butt the first time he went on the sidewalk.

Although he is happier to see Mom than me, he’s still my puppy. He’s cutest when be sticks out his tongue, which is a sign that he’s happy. But whether he’s vicious or sweet, I love him all the same.