Zuzu's Petals

Dan and I watch It’s a Wonderful Life every Christmas Season of our eight married years in the little shoebox house. (I gave him a VHS copy so we won’t be dependent on the vagaries of television.) Even if I fall asleep shortly after George plunges into the icy creek after Clarence, I cry when I wake up and the petals are back in his pocket.

I try to keep that appreciative spirit alive and not take any of my blessings for granted the rest of the year. Our new dream-house is under construction and we are frequently frustrated by delays. Life issues, farm issues, and weather issues aside, we hope to move to the other side of the farm soon.

In the meantime, we don’t like to be dog-less. We consider following the example of First Lady Barbara Bush in getting an English Springer Spaniel. A friend who has known one assures me they are wonderful family dogs. Since I’ll soon have a baby of my own, sweet temperament towards children is my preferred criterion. Dan finds a litter available in Frenchtown. We take a scenic drive up the Delaware River, then bring home a sweetheart little brown-and-white freckled puppy we name Zuzu. “I think we should name all our future dogs from the movie.”

Zuzu is much more portable than our previous Newfoundland. I can take her with me to go watch Dan and his family work on our house. The timber frame construction is a magnet for onlookers, so there are plenty of witnesses when Zuzu climbs a ladder to get to her master! I can’t believe it! I think it might be a fluke, but each successive trip she trots right up the ladder to wherever she wants to go!

Next winter shuts down our construction once again. Shortly after Zuzu snuggles with me to watch her namesake movie, a doozie of a snowstorm hits. Our daughter enters a world covered in a deep blanket of snow. We follow all the proper dog/baby introduction protocols when puppy breath sniffs infant breath. Zuzu’s welcome wags for our little one answer all our questions about how she’ll like baby Emelyn.

I’m sure my young dog wonders why she’s not invited on all car rides, walked as often, or given as many tummy rubs as she’s used to, but she adjusts to our new household rhythm. As Emelyn sits up, learns to crawl, explores her world with all her senses, we read Pat the Bunny and practice putting gentle pats on Zuzu’s head. When little fingers find holds on floppy brown ears, Zuzu’s patience with my untwisting them is priceless.

Spring comes and turns to summer; Zuzu spends increasing hours outside. She sticks close to the house; I don’t worry about her wandering off the farm. Whenever she goes to the door, she has freedom to sniff around the hedgerow behind our house. I notice a tiny tinge of pink stain marking her heat. I’ve been so busy with a baby I put off getting her spayed. A week or so later, I look out my kitchen window and see a black and white English Setter hanging around. Where did he come from? I shew him away and hope that’s the last of it.

A couple of months later, Zuzu is looking rather plump. Oh no, this can’t be. A trip to the vet and I learn my cavalier attitude toward her heat cycle is coming back to bite me in a big way! My girl got knocked up by that mysterious English Setter!

We’re given instructions about what to do when her time comes. I set up a little nest for Zuzu in the shoebox house’s crowded living room. We wait anxiously. I worry about the consequences of procrastinating having her spayed as I intended. Dan shakes his head at me. He grew up across the street where his granddad bred beagles and mini-dachshunds. “She’ll be fine.”

One night Zuzu scratches to go out, and we let her as usual, but Dan has to go find her after a few minutes. The nest we made wasn’t what she wanted and she’s dug a hole for her puppies out in the hedgerow. We bring her back and she tries to hide under furniture, but finally we get her settled in the living room on some blankets which she furiously shreds.

The first puppy comes out and Dan rubs it in an old towel to get it breathing. Once we get past that first hurdle, Zuzu seems to know what to do with the rest. At night’s end we have five helpless bird-dog puppies nursing on a tired mamma dog.

My lack of oversight for the weeks of Zuzu’s heat season is multiplied in my repentance. I’m now caring for my baby and six dogs for the next six weeks! Emelyn giggles in the middle of a pile of puppies and lets them explore her with their noses as she pats any puppy part close enough to her little hands.

The puppies are cute as cute can be, with liver or black spots and the sweetest little expressions. The vet declares them all healthy and we ask about finding homes for them. “Don’t give them away. You’re more likely to get good homes for them if you charge.”

A steady stream of families come to the little shoebox house. After any child plays with Zuzu, they want one of her puppies to take home. I’m satisfied the people who responded to Dan’s ad will provide good homes for her offspring.

When the last one is gone, I ask her, “Do you miss your puppies, Zuzu?” She wiggles her nostrils a second, then curls in a snuggly ball at my feet and goes to sleep. “I miss them for you, girl. But let’s not make that mistake again.”

Your Turn: Have you ever made a big mistake that turned out okay in the end? Or maybe even into a blessing for others?