My husband, daughter and I had been living in Mistretta, in the province of Messina for about four or five years, when Nino’s friend Achille made him an offer he couldn’t refuse: Achille’s dog, a black Italian griffon, had just given birth to three beautiful pups. The father was an Italian hound, a beautiful breed. They would only be 20,000 Liras for the three of them (roughly $10 US at the time).
He brought the offer up with me. I had
no problem with that, even though I knew perfectly well who would be taking
care of them. He forgot, however, to tell me that they were only two days old.
If we’d had one yet, he would have spent the night in a doghouse.
Fortunately for him, we didn’t have one
yet and fortunately for those three sweet little puppies, I knew a thing or two
about raising new-born puppies and kittens. The first most baby mammals do when
they are around me is to go directly for my left thumb; it’s only slightly
smaller than their mother’s teat and if I dipped it in milk, they got quite
used to my scent and would equivalate it to “MOMMY!”
For several weeks I carried out all the
functions of a real doggy mommy (yes, those too, although I used a wet cloth
rather than my tongue) and a real bond was created between us. However, as the
weather started getting warmer, their eyes opened, they graduated to a baby
bottle and their big sister Sonia started taking on the chore of taking them
out for walks after they finished drinking their meals and my nose took a sigh
of relief.
By the time they turned six weeks old,
Nino decided that they had become a handful (where he got that idea from I don’t
know, since he never got his hands around them) and decided it was time for
them to go into the campagna (our little vineyard). I didn’t disagree – basically
because it wouldn’t have done me any good anyway – and it gave me an excuse to
go to the vineyard and see to a few other interests there when I went to feed
them.
They were all so beautiful. Blackie was
pure black, with short, smooth hair. He was a typical, grouchy hound and I
loved him dearly. Sofia was mostly black, with a few tan highlights on her ears
and feet. She was femininely dainty, although not at all against a nice, rough
tumble (with two brothers, one of them twice her size, how could she be?), but
sweet as sugar. And I loved her dearly, too. And then, there was Bruiser.
Bruiser was the pup that was twice the
size of Sofia. For that matter, he was also twice the size of Blackie… He was
just as black as Blackie, but his hair was much longer and wirier. And he had
Sofia’s sweet disposition. I tried not to show favoritism, but let’s face it, Bruiser
was my favorite.
And then came the day of the distemper
vaccinations; I remember that no two shots had the same exact strength and that
they were required by law. I held them still as Nino gave them the shot,
because I was still their mommy, and they trusted me.
And Bruiser? Was it because the dose
wasn’t as strong? Or was it his greater bulk? I’m not sure which of the two it
was, it might even have been a combination of the two. Whatever the reason,
Bruiser survived and became Nino’s beloved hunting companion. He still
remembered his Mommy, though. Always.
Copyright © Mary Purpari 2 April 2021 All Rights Reserved
