By Joie Fields
Biology is the least of what makes someone a mother.
~Oprah Winfrey
Our ten-year-old dog, Heidi, shared a special bond with me. And we shared a disdain for Snowball -- the Spitz-mix puppy given to my daughter Susie by her granny.
Snowball was given to Granny by her children after her old dog died, but this white bundle of fur was hyperactive compared to Happy. The kids didn't understand that Granny and Happy had grown old together. Granny didn't have the energy to keep up with, train, and nurture this pup. When we visited Granny, she said, "They love each other. I want to give Snowball to Susie." My husband never told his mother "no" and he wasn't going to start then. He brought Snowball and a happy Susie home.
The first week Snowball lived with us, we kept her penned in the laundry room at night. Snowball chewed a gaping hole in the sheetrock. Her black eyes sparkled and her black lips seemed to beam a proud smile.
Heidi didn't want a new puppy. No matter how many bowls we put out with food, Heidi thought they were all hers. We finally put Heidi's bowl on one porch and Snowball's on a porch on the opposite side of the house. Heidi lost weight running from porch to porch trying to make sure Snowball wasn't eating from either.
Snowball was smart though, and much younger, and she would wait until Heidi collapsed on the porch, exhausted, near her own special bowl. As soon as Snowball was confident Heidi was too tired to care, we would hear her chomping on the food in the bowl we'd designated for her. It took several months, but Heidi finally gave up trying to starve Snowball and even occasionally allowed her the luxury of sleeping on the same porch. They never bonded though, and I didn't think I would ever learn to like Snowball either.
Susie adored her. They were constant companions all summer. When Susie had to go to school in the fall, Snowball howled as the school bus pulled away with her best friend. When the bus disappeared in a cloud of dust, Snowball was on her own with no guide -- or restraint. Boredom made trouble her companion. She gnawed young trees we'd planted and they died. "You gross and disgusting animal!" I spat one of the many times I tripped over the shell of a dead armadillo she'd found and left on the porch. This earned her the nickname "Snowball the Gross." Bob and I both became frustrated to the point of wanting to get rid of this bundle of trouble, but we felt trapped by Susie's affection for her.
The next year, Heidi and Snowball both became pregnant by the Collie next door. I worried about Heidi being able to bear the Collie pups, but let her do so. She and Snowball both swelled so big their bellies almost scraped the ground. Finally, in early August, Heidi had her litter. She'd never been a mother before and she surprised us by nurturing her pups immediately. She was also protectively aggressive toward Snowball when she waddled too close. Finally, a week later, Snowball had her puppies too.
Heidi reacted strangely to Snowball's pups. She kept trying to steal them away and nurse them with her own. At first, I thought she was confused and thought Snowball had stolen her pups, but I have often wondered if it wasn't something more. For a few weeks, this tug of war continued as Heidi sneaked Snowball's pups away and Snowball retrieved them. I found it intriguing that Snowball never got one of Heidi's pups -- she always knew which were hers and only took those.
One evening after dinner when the heat was beginning to subside, Susie went out to play. Snowball ran to greet her and Susie dismissed her as she climbed onto her bike. Heidi growled and barked -- seemingly at Snowball. "Oh shut up, you ole grouch!" Susie commanded. But Heidi's hair raised and she bared her teeth as she growled and stood between her pups and Snowball. As Susie pushed the pedal down on her bike, Snowball leaped in front of her, nearly causing her to fall. Just behind Snowball was a huge rattlesnake. Its body coiled tightly and making a loud hissing sound, it snapped at Snowball. Susie screamed for Bob to get his gun. By the time he shot it, the snake had bitten Snowball many times.
Susie sobbed deeply as she and Bob lifted Snowball into the car and rushed to the animal hospital. The veterinarian gave Snowball shots and told Bob and Susie not to expect much. There was too much poison in Snowball's little body to hope for survival. He gave them some needles and medicine and sent them home.
We made her as comfortable as possible, but she heard her pups crying and so she cried too. Heidi too heard her former foe's pups crying. She continued her practice of finding Snowball's pups, mingling them with her own and feeding them all together. Snowball relaxed and slept when her pups quit crying.
The next morning, Susie begged me to let her stay home from school, but I thought it would be better to keep her mind off Snowball. She slowly boarded the bus and cried as they pulled away. Snowball let out a weak howl and my heart leaped with hope that perhaps she was getting better. I gave her the shots when they were due and stayed with her until she rested. Through tears of anguish and shame, I told her how grateful and proud I was that she blocked Susie from that snake. "I'm glad you were given to us. I'm sorry I called you gross." The vigil continued through lunch. After the noon shot, I stroked her until she closed her black eyes, and then went to clean house. Moments later, Snowball's scream pierced the air, and then she was dead.
Heidi raised Snowball's pups as her own. Susie kept the largest. His name is Albert. He looks like his daddy but acts like his mother. I'm glad we still have Snowball with us through Albert.
Biology is the least of what makes someone a mother.
~Oprah Winfrey
Our ten-year-old dog, Heidi, shared a special bond with me. And we shared a disdain for Snowball -- the Spitz-mix puppy given to my daughter Susie by her granny.
Snowball was given to Granny by her children after her old dog died, but this white bundle of fur was hyperactive compared to Happy. The kids didn't understand that Granny and Happy had grown old together. Granny didn't have the energy to keep up with, train, and nurture this pup. When we visited Granny, she said, "They love each other. I want to give Snowball to Susie." My husband never told his mother "no" and he wasn't going to start then. He brought Snowball and a happy Susie home.
The first week Snowball lived with us, we kept her penned in the laundry room at night. Snowball chewed a gaping hole in the sheetrock. Her black eyes sparkled and her black lips seemed to beam a proud smile.
Heidi didn't want a new puppy. No matter how many bowls we put out with food, Heidi thought they were all hers. We finally put Heidi's bowl on one porch and Snowball's on a porch on the opposite side of the house. Heidi lost weight running from porch to porch trying to make sure Snowball wasn't eating from either.
Snowball was smart though, and much younger, and she would wait until Heidi collapsed on the porch, exhausted, near her own special bowl. As soon as Snowball was confident Heidi was too tired to care, we would hear her chomping on the food in the bowl we'd designated for her. It took several months, but Heidi finally gave up trying to starve Snowball and even occasionally allowed her the luxury of sleeping on the same porch. They never bonded though, and I didn't think I would ever learn to like Snowball either.
Susie adored her. They were constant companions all summer. When Susie had to go to school in the fall, Snowball howled as the school bus pulled away with her best friend. When the bus disappeared in a cloud of dust, Snowball was on her own with no guide -- or restraint. Boredom made trouble her companion. She gnawed young trees we'd planted and they died. "You gross and disgusting animal!" I spat one of the many times I tripped over the shell of a dead armadillo she'd found and left on the porch. This earned her the nickname "Snowball the Gross." Bob and I both became frustrated to the point of wanting to get rid of this bundle of trouble, but we felt trapped by Susie's affection for her.
The next year, Heidi and Snowball both became pregnant by the Collie next door. I worried about Heidi being able to bear the Collie pups, but let her do so. She and Snowball both swelled so big their bellies almost scraped the ground. Finally, in early August, Heidi had her litter. She'd never been a mother before and she surprised us by nurturing her pups immediately. She was also protectively aggressive toward Snowball when she waddled too close. Finally, a week later, Snowball had her puppies too.
Heidi reacted strangely to Snowball's pups. She kept trying to steal them away and nurse them with her own. At first, I thought she was confused and thought Snowball had stolen her pups, but I have often wondered if it wasn't something more. For a few weeks, this tug of war continued as Heidi sneaked Snowball's pups away and Snowball retrieved them. I found it intriguing that Snowball never got one of Heidi's pups -- she always knew which were hers and only took those.
One evening after dinner when the heat was beginning to subside, Susie went out to play. Snowball ran to greet her and Susie dismissed her as she climbed onto her bike. Heidi growled and barked -- seemingly at Snowball. "Oh shut up, you ole grouch!" Susie commanded. But Heidi's hair raised and she bared her teeth as she growled and stood between her pups and Snowball. As Susie pushed the pedal down on her bike, Snowball leaped in front of her, nearly causing her to fall. Just behind Snowball was a huge rattlesnake. Its body coiled tightly and making a loud hissing sound, it snapped at Snowball. Susie screamed for Bob to get his gun. By the time he shot it, the snake had bitten Snowball many times.
Susie sobbed deeply as she and Bob lifted Snowball into the car and rushed to the animal hospital. The veterinarian gave Snowball shots and told Bob and Susie not to expect much. There was too much poison in Snowball's little body to hope for survival. He gave them some needles and medicine and sent them home.
We made her as comfortable as possible, but she heard her pups crying and so she cried too. Heidi too heard her former foe's pups crying. She continued her practice of finding Snowball's pups, mingling them with her own and feeding them all together. Snowball relaxed and slept when her pups quit crying.
The next morning, Susie begged me to let her stay home from school, but I thought it would be better to keep her mind off Snowball. She slowly boarded the bus and cried as they pulled away. Snowball let out a weak howl and my heart leaped with hope that perhaps she was getting better. I gave her the shots when they were due and stayed with her until she rested. Through tears of anguish and shame, I told her how grateful and proud I was that she blocked Susie from that snake. "I'm glad you were given to us. I'm sorry I called you gross." The vigil continued through lunch. After the noon shot, I stroked her until she closed her black eyes, and then went to clean house. Moments later, Snowball's scream pierced the air, and then she was dead.
Heidi raised Snowball's pups as her own. Susie kept the largest. His name is Albert. He looks like his daddy but acts like his mother. I'm glad we still have Snowball with us through Albert.
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