The Day the Bear Arrived

Growing up, we had a dog named Taffy. She was great. When we sang "Mary Had A Little Lamb" Taffy would howl at the top of her lungs. It was just that one song, but apparently she loved it a lot and wanted to sing along. She was a mutt - as in we have no idea what mix of dog she was - but she was such a good dog. 

When I was seven, Taffy had to be put down. I was young, so I didn't really understand, but this is what I remember. Every time I would play the organ or piano there would be an awful stench throughout the house. Weird - I know. It took us a little bit of time to make the connection, but the smell was really coming from the organ and piano. As the strings were played they heated up against the wall, heating the smell of Taffy's urine up as well and permeating the house. We realized she had a bladder problem. 

Shortly before Christmas (I think of 1984), my parents took Taffy to the vet and found that her bladder problem was one among many. There was no sense trying to fix her through surgeries, etc. because she was sick and wouldn't live much longer anyway. They had her put down so she wouldn't suffer. In my seven-year-old mind, however, I had no idea why Taffy never came back, and Mom and Dad just told me she had been sick and died. I remember being sad, but the real depression set in when my brother teasingly told me that Santa had taken Taffy from us (supposedly because we'd been naughty). 

It was sad enough that Taffy was gone, but thinking that Santa had killed her put me over the edge. Every morning before school I would sit in the front room of our house next to the Christmas tree and sob my eyes out. It drove Dad crazy. Finally, he couldn't stand it any longer and asked why I was so upset about Taffy now when I seemed fine at the time they told me she was gone. My response (illogical as it was) was, "Santa took Taffy and that's why she died. I hate Santa!" Dad explained that wasn't true, but that he and Mom had taken Taffy to the vet to have her put down. Somehow, I made a connection in my head and sobbed, "YOU'RE Santa?!" It pretty much ruined that whole Christmas. I think Dad wanted to beat the snot out of my brother for putting such ideas in my head and forcing Dad to deal with a sobbing, hysterical seven-year-old every day before school. 

Perhaps because of this particular incident, Dad was dead-set that we would NEVER get another dog. For years, I begged and begged to get a dog. The answer was always no. One particular time that really stands out was a warm, late summer day. We had stopped at Sportsman's Warehouse for something - probably a birthday present for said brother that made me think Santa killed Taffy. Anyway, Mom and I saw a litter of Springer Spaniels that was so cute! Even Mom kind of fell in love a little bit. She just looked at me with pity, however, and finally said, "Call and ask your dad." That phone call was awful. The answer, of course, was no, and I was beside myself. I stood looking at the pups and bawled my eyes out. Poor Mom couldn't do anything to console me. I didn't like Dad very much at that moment. It took a while to get over the hurt from that incident. 

Another time, I saw a Cocker Spaniel at an adopt-a-pet fair. He was so cute! I had him on a leash ready to walk out of the place. Mom and Dad were serving a mission for the LDS Church at the time. We were already "tending" my sister's dog (which was a wild and crazy black lab), so I figured a Cocker Spaniel would be an immediate yes. Dad's response was, "That breed has been bred to the point of dumb. I'm not saying no, but I am saying be careful." I'm standing in the parking lot with a dog on the end of a leash and realize the dog is a complete idiot. He's chasing imaginary things in the air, freaking out when his tail wags as if it's not an appendage to his body, and generally doing dumb things. We quickly turned back around and I gave the dog back to the shelter. It broke my heart to know he may never have a good home, but it also made me realize I was not ready to care for a dog that didn't know up from down. 

Shortly after that, my sister took me to the county animal shelter where a couple of her kids were working off community service hours. She promised me I'd love the place. She couldn't have been more wrong! We walked in, everything was good, and then they opened the doors where all the dogs were. They were so scared and trapped in their kennels. The place was clean and it was obvious they were well-fed and watered, but it shattered my heart into a million pieces to see that. I started sobbing uncontrollably. One of the prison inmates helping out at the shelter was so shocked by my response that he came and asked my sister if I was all right. No, dude, I'm not all right!!! The waterfalls coming out of my eyes should indicate I'm not all right! That was a horrible day. I'll never forget how sick I felt. It was then I decided having a dog probably wasn't for me since the day it died would send me over the edge and warrant a stay in the insane asylum. It was too hard to love so much and then lose, especially if they were sick or run over by a car. 

Fast forward to early March 2008. On my way home from work I was talking with Mom on my cell phone. She said to be sure and come upstairs as soon as I got home. She wouldn't give a reason when I asked why, but I had to promise to do that for her. The problem was that it had been a rough day at work, and when I pulled up at the house I could see that my sister was there with her kids. I was simply not in the mood to deal with a group of people as soon as I walked in the door. Raise your hand if you just need a moment to breathe when you get home from work ... me, too!

Almost as soon as I walked in the basement door, my niece and nephew were downstairs asking, begging, pleading for me to come upstairs. I kept telling them, "In a minute. Give me a second. Tell Grandma I'm coming." Finally, Mom leaned over the stairwell and yelled for me to come upstairs "right now!" Even when you get older you do what your mom tells you. With a sagging heart, a weary head, and a very tired body I dragged myself up the stairs. 

My nephew was holding a white ball of fur. He immediately said, "Look! It's my new puppy." There was a twinge of jealousy as I said, "Oh. Well, how cute!" Then Mom said, "Look at this one. It's yours." My brain wasn't quite connecting the dots as I watched a brown ball of fur move around on the laminate floor. It was difficult to see the puppy since it was the same color as the floor, but it was obvious that something was moving around. I don't know how long I stood there, but it must have been torture for Mom as she watched my face process what was going on. Finally, I remember saying, "That's ... wait ... what?" 

This is when Dad piped up and said, "We bought you a dog. It's a Shih-Tzu. What do you think?" Mom had picked up the puppy and handed it to me. I stared into those dark brown eyes and fell in immediate and absolute love with that cute ball of fur that was no bigger than my two hands cupped together. I thought he'd break in two if I squeezed him too hard, but at that very moment we became the best of friends. Actually, we fell in love with each other. He liked to suck on the end of my nose and sleep on my chest between my chin and my cleavage. (He still likes warm spaces.) 

As I write this post, Bear is sleeping on the couch next to me. He's actually just come down with a mild version of the hiccups, and I can hear him snoring through it. His back paws are resting against my leg, and his nose, as usual, is buried in a pillow just a tiny bit to keep him warm. Every night when I come home from work he greets me at the door with a wildly wagging tail and (I swear) a smile on his face. He's no longer dark brown and black like he was when he arrived, but he's just as cute as ever. His hair is now a cream color with light brown accents. He looks more like a Polar Bear than the Brown Bear he originally looked like. His tail and ears are a bit long, but we keep his hair short, and Mom likes to joke that Bear's hair maintenance costs more than hers. She's probably right! But he's worth every penny. 

What made Dad change his mind? Mom said when my sister brought over their new puppy she indicated the seller's still had other pups from the same litter. Mom told Dad they ought to go look at the puppies, but he was still hesitant. She let it go (remember our previous experiences ...), but a little while later Dad said, "Let's go see those puppies." The story goes that they went to the seller's home, saw Bear, and fell in love. Dad couldn't leave him there, and Mom was so amazed at his 180 degree turn around that she ran with it. That's how the little ball of dark brown fur named Bear ended up at our house. 

The day The Bear arrived changed our lives, and we wouldn't have it any other way. We love that little guy WAY too much!