My mother wanted a cinnamon chow chow puppy. This search led us to the mountains of Georgia, a short distance from home. As soon as we arrived it was obvious that most of the puppies were white. My mother was dissapointed, so was I. But we soon noticed in a second fenced-in area there was one cinnamon puppy all alone. He was exactly what we were looking for. My mother inquired about him, wondering if he was already sold. The man informed us that he had a defect, and that the vet said the best thing to do would be to put him down.
So naturally, we asked about the defect. He had a mutated foot, which was an indisposable thumb, that would inable him to walk. It was his front left paw. We wanted him anyway.
The man offered him to us for free, but since we paid he gave us the mother too. Which was perfect, since my grandparents needed a new dog. After delivering the mother dog to my grandparents, we headed home.
My mother named the puppy Rudy. Once arriving home, I carried him inside and layed him on one of the couch pillows. He was clean and smelled like baby powder. The man must have taken good care of the dogs. I remember thinking I was glad this puppy was taken care of since he was supposedly going to be put to sleep. It made me happy to know he was treated well.
I curled up on the sofa dragging him with his pillow onto my lap. He was soft and sweet, and I loved him already. I whispered kind words to him and told him he was home. He seemed to accept it. At night my mother and I laughed when he wondered up to his reflection in the window barking at the intruder trying to invade his territory. We encouraged him nontheless, telling him he was to protect us now. He soon had two new female neutered playmates, a black chow chow and a rat tarrier.
It's been eight years now and he's aging. He still runs and plays though, not letting much phase him. Yes, he does run. I don't think he'd believe it if someone told him he wasn't supposed to be walking. He walks and learned to run in a way that uses all his feet. He may sometimes hobble or do a sort of skip type run, but no one really seems to notice the difference. I once asked my mom if she thinks he knows he's different, and she responded with a quick, "Sure, but it doesn't stop him." I'm thankful we have him. I wouldn't want to think what would have happened if he hadn't come home with us that day.