My dad would talk to my older brother about not getting into fights. After a terrible battle during World War II, my dad and other soldiers marched through France with the worst was over for the present. A small rock fell down a mountain side and hit one of the soldiers on the head. He died. He would remind my brother that people need to be careful striking one another. The human body was much more fragile than my 130 pound, 6 foot two brother could fathom. In a year, my brother would weigh ten pounds more and his lanky frame would be that of another grunt in the American Army fighting in Southeast Asia.
I was spared the talk since I was a girl. My special talk from my dad was on tact. My dad understood adolescent trash talk was another form of sparing. As a middle school teacher, I never really accomplished settling preteen spats.
One of Checker’s pups died the other night. Victim of an inexperienced and overzealous mother. It was a small wound that probably cut a blood vessel in the leg. As I held the pretty body, Checkers lip quivered. What powers our pets must feel we possess. I took the small body out of the nesting box as Checkers ate her meal. Returning from a nice walk, Checkers went to her kennel and checked over her brood. Checkers periodically searched the house for her missing pup.
The 14 day old puppies have begun to tussle. Standing on weak wobbly legs, they make vigorous wrestling moves before they collapse in a bundle to sleep. Life is fragile.