He was the tiniest of all of Sophie’s puppies. In a litter of ten, a runt could be expected, but Joey just didn’t seem to grow much at all, in spite of supplemental feedings from a bottle. I had a bad feeling about the little tri-color boy, although he seemed lively and perfectly able to fight his way through the crowd for a turn at his mom’s table. As I watched his miniscule paws push against the rim of the baby bottle when I fed him, I tried to tell myself that he was just small, but doubt crept in as the other nine seemed to grow overnight.
Then Monroe came to visit. She had been asking for weeks when the puppies would be born and she was eager to see them. Monroe has been a favorite of Sophie since she was a baby and she loves puppies. So, one Saturday morning, I got a call from Annie, Monroe’s mom, that they wanted to come visit the puppies.
The first thing Monroe did was climb into the wading pool that doubles as a whelping box and sit down with Sophie and her family. The next thing she did was hone in on Joey. Before I knew it, she had him in her lap. Shortly after that, she was on the living room sofa with the tiny puppy cradled in her arms, talking to him as if he were her best friend.
From then on, Monroe kept up with Joey and his progress. Every Sunday morning before church, she asked “How is Joey?” And about every couple of weeks, she and her mom showed up to check on her favorite puppy. She spent most of her visit carrying Joey around the house, sitting with him in the swing, or wrapping him in a blanket and pulling him in a little wagon. It was astonishing how he just lay there. In the back of my mind, I still worried about his size – he was only about half the size of his littermates. But at his six-week visit to the vet, he and his siblings got a clean bill of health. “I knew he would be okay,” said Monroe. And I expect she did. Sometimes it just takes a little extra love from a special little person. He didn't let his size bother him, wrestling with his brothers and sisters, pushing his way in to the feeding pans and figuring out that if the steps were a little too high, he could go around to the ramp at the end of the porch!
As the puppies grew, Annie said she tried to warn Monroe that I might find a new home for Joey. “No,” Monroe said, “Mary Beth won’t do that.” What could I do? I think that sometime during those bottle feedings and those trips through the house in that little wagon, the decision was made that Joey would be staying. The last thing I needed was another dog, but what can you do when one steals your heart? Monroe’s grandmother, my cousin Alice, accused me of grooming Monroe to want to take Joey home with her. I would have done that if I thought it would work, but the family already had two dogs and a new baby on the way later in the summer. So, I will just have to share Joey with Monroe at my house.
Suddenly, it seemed, Joey was no longer a tiny puppy. In fact, he eventually caught up with his littermates and became quite the handsome young dog, with one tipped ear and one upright. I expect he will be a handsome and dignified adult.
He has developed his own personality and learned to jump up on the bed, a trick his dad and older sister have never mastered. I think he was astonished the first time he did it – he sat there and looked around like he didn’t understand how he got there. He loves to lick my face and was the first to learn to sit for a treat. He sleeps upside down, still likes to crawl into my lap and has discovered a secret way from the back yard into the front yard. I can close the gate and he beats me back into the house. I need to get Monroe to come out here again. Maybe he will tell her how he does it.
