All Nonfiction Bullying Books Academic Author Interviews Celebrity interviews College Articles College Essays Educator of the Year Heroes Interviews Memoir Personal Experience Sports Travel & CultureAll Opinions Bullying Current Events / Politics Discrimination Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking Entertainment / Celebrities Environment Love / Relationships Movies / Music / TV Pop Culture / Trends School / College Social Issues / Civics Spirituality / Religion Sports / Hobbies
- Summer Guide
- College Guide
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Personal Experience
- Travel & Culture
- Current Events / Politics
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
- Community Service
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
The Puppy that Lived
I couldn’t believe it; even today I’m not sure it really happened. After always begging my mom and her response always being a firm “No,” it finally happened. It might have all been one extensive dream that my whole family shared, but I don’t think that’s possible.
I was driving home one Sunday morning in the passenger seat of my mom’s car with a dog on my lap. We visited the shelter all the time, and my brother and I would always ask to adopt a dog, but we could never get our mom to say yes. For some reason though, that day she did, ergo the Miniature Pincher-Black Lab mix seated on my lap that one Sunday afternoon.
His name was decidedly “Dobby,” like the house elf from “Harry Potter.” My dad had said that was the perfect name for him because he had the ears to pull it off, I just thought Dobby was an amazing name and that it was better than his old name “Duke”. Duke just didn’t fit a dog Dobby’s size.
When we got home I put Dobby on a leash and took him outside to become acquainted with his surroundings. He sniffed the yard, marked his territory, and enjoyed the long green grass. My brother and I played with him for a while outside, but Dobby tired us out quickly, so we had to stop and went inside to eat dinner.
At night Dobby slept in a crate, because he was only a puppy and my mom didn’t want him peeing on the carpet in the middle of the night. Him peeing on the carpet wasn’t what worried us the next day.
The second day we had Dobby he fell ill. The previous day he was full of energy -even had more than us- but the next day he just laid on the ground and wouldn’t move for anything.
At the vet’s we found out that Dobby had Parvo, a deadly disease to puppies. He had to stay at the vets in order to get better. After a week of IV’s and feeling miserable we finally got to take Dobby home and away from that torture. We later found out that two puppies at the shelter Dobby came from had died from Parvo. Because Dobby was the only puppy that survived it, he received the title “The Puppy that Lived.”
With Dobby better and back home a routine, began to form. Each morning we would have to coax him into his crate, and he would have to stay there while my family was at school or work. Some days though, when my dad went into work later, he would take Dobby out to and let him run around. When we got home Dobby was let out and my brother and I would play with him before doing homework. Dobby was the funniest dog in the world: he hid under my brother’s bed and ran away when we tried to join him, barked in a funny manner when ever tongs were put near him, jumped off your leg to get the bone held up to high for him to reach, the list goes on. The Puppy that Lived was often the highlight of my day.
After about two months of having Dobby though we found out we were moving to Texas. This wouldn’t have been a problem except that my dad had to move there a few months before the rest of the family. So, Dobby no longer got to run free in the mornings and started to misbehave. My mom not being as tolerant a person as my dad, my brother, or I decided that he was going to a shelter. I begged her not too, but nothing would change her mind. I didn’t think Dobby belonged anywhere but with us, we were his home. Nothing could change my mom’s mind though.
Giving Dobby to the shelter was one of the saddest moments of my life. The part of that memory that stands out the most was looking back seeing Dobby struggling to come back to us as someone used his leash to pull him away. I don’t think looking back was a good idea, it just made tears stream down my cheeks even harder.
Today though I know it was for the better. When we had Dobby he was mostly cooped up all day because of school and work, and with sports that time was extended even longer. My mom found out that someone who was training to be a vet adopted him and that she had two kids to play with Dobby. I still wish that Dobby was with us today, but I know that he has a good life and that’s all that really matters. I still have all the happy memories to carry with me, so it’s okay to move on and let go.