A Touch of Honey

I was just a pea in my mother's belly when this story took place... but its a zinger.

My pregnant mom was at home one day, caring for my soon-to-be older sister, Becky (who was only 2 at the time), when there was a knock at the door. She cautiously peered out the window to find a pugish-looking man leading a pack of 10 little puppies. Apparently, he was going door-to-door to see if anyone was interested in adopting one. Its interesting how things work differently in midwestern towns. Here, if some random guy came to my door with puppies, I would probably assume he is homeless and asking me to convert. (I assume everyone who talks to me is). Its happened before.

Little Wendy looked down at the gaggle of pups and was drawn to the only completely black one. Labeled, as the man mentioned, a husky-beagle-poodle...which, oddly enough, we all completely accepted. Nowadays, this little puppy would, most likely, be called a "Husbeapoo" and range from $1000-1500. But back in the olden days (1980-1985) things were much simpler. Also, what the hell does a Husky-Beagle-Poodle look like? I can only imagine some blue-eyed, spotted, curly-haired, unicorn-type creature...In retrospect, not sure this guy was telling the truth.

Wendy (only roughly 30-ish herself) ran to the nearest phone to call my dad (a strapping young dentist working to build his practice) and discuss the life changing decision they had before them. And when all was said and done... we got a dog.

Although our little addition to the family was a foreign development for 2-year-old Becky (granted, not being able to release yourself into one's plastic underwear would also be labeled as such), this wasn't that new for my parents.

Mom had grown up with a couple of pure-bred mini poodles named Bijou and Jaime (pronounced "Zsa-mee" - the correct inflection was necessary if you wanted the little pischer to listen to you) in her upper class home on the lake. And dad, had raised a "friendly" little beagle named Missy whose whorish ways resulted in thirty bouncing bundles of joy (not at once.. through 4-5 litters). So, dad grew up with a constant stream of new puppies (and neighborhood gigolo-dogs coming to woo Missy while she was in heat).

Which brings me back to our newest member of the family...little soulful, dark eyes seeping out from her mane of black straight fur.. .she was a vision. The cutest puppy anyone had ever seen. I've only had three dogs in my life, and as you will soon find out, my two sisters and I would each get to name one. This one belonged to Becky. Well, didn't really belong to her, but Jenny and I weren't born yet and therefore weren't given the opportunity to strong-hold her. (although, we totally could have done it.)

For a bed-wetting, high-pitched, little, big sister, I gotta hand it to her. Becky earned her keep... naming our little dog "Honey" (after my dad's pet name for my mom). And because of this, I had the pleasure of being born into a family where our dog was a very present and positive force. I grew up feeling like this is what a home should be like. And I never forgot that.