Saving the Souls of Puppies

The imagination of a child is an amazing thing, sometimes baffling parents with their ingenuity and terrifying them with their daring. My family was no different, I would guess, that others growing up on a rural farm in the South. Every one of us pulled our share of stunts over the years and suffered the consequences for our actions. Maybe the problem of misbehavior was made worse because there were five of us, all with two years or less between us, for somehow our parents managed to begat five little girls in the short span of six years. ( I just can’t make a crack here, yall - It was my PARENTS!! Nasty!)) We were famous in our county and made the front page in the little weekly newspaper that was and is published there. We were also blessed with overactive imaginations and creative genius enough to keep us in a world of trouble. That very same trait led us into unimaginable difficulties with both our parents, truly outrageous acts that required both a stern talking to and discipline of some sort, much to our dismay.

Boredom or confinement can do lead children to think up unbelievable and imaginative things to find enjoyment in the normalness of everyday life. My three youngest sisters, who will remain nameless (both to protect their egos and my hide if they ever were to read this) had this thing about playacting. Winter or Summer, they would dress up and act out some obscure scene they had concocted jointly in their heads. These flights of fancy always varied and were too numerous to count. One of their favorites were weddings, where one wore a veil (usually made of some piece of material they had purloined from Mom), the second sister was the groom and the third was the preacher. I can vividly recall the three of them standing on the front porch on a lazy and hot summer afternoon, the “minister” being the older sister, with the two younger being the “bride and groom”, and the words of the wedding rite ringing out loudly through the still air……”We are gathered here to join the two in Holy Macaroni…..”.

Another program consisted of the ritual of baptism, you know what I mean, the custom of dunking the repentant sinner’s head and body underneath water to cleanse away the sin that was marring their soul. Unfortunately their choice of baptismal was the ditch running full of water from a heavy rain, and the weather was barely freezing when they began the near-drowning. Then too, their choice of reprobate caused them no end of trouble, especially when Mom found them in the midst of their misdeed, ankle deep in water.

One of daddy’s old dogs had puppies, fat, fluffy balls of fur, that roamed the yard at will. They would roll and tumble head over heels chasing us girls when we were allowed to venture out in the winter sunshine. On that afternoon, the sky was overcast and we bundled up against the wind and trooped outside for a few hours of entertainment, free to run and romp to our heart’s content. While Vicki and I found our own outlet, the others proceeded with the baptism, unknown to us. Here we were, doing our own thing, and the next thing we hear is yelling and screaming from the front yard, both human and canine. We went running to find out what had happened.

There they were, three little angels, deeply engrossed in their endeavors, calmly submersing the screaming and squirming puppies beneath the icy water, intent on saving their souls and in the process, nearly drowning them and thoroughly drenching their own arms and feet in the cold water. When Mom yelled, they jumped to their feet, innocent looks on each face and proceeded to give the explanation that Mom demanded. Those puppies, so full of life moments earlier, now bore a striking resemblance to a drowned rat, fluffy fur now slicked down to their skinny little bodies and looking more dead than alive. Mom was livid, the girls were terrified. The puppies, well, the puppies were frozen.

Upon reaching the house and the warm blaze of the big gas heater that filled the corner of the living room, Mom began to pull the wet coats and shoes and socks from my now trembling little sisters, all the while berating them for their transgressions and listing the possible results of their actions. After a quick change of clothes, all the while a scolding being rung over their bowed heads, the punishment was doled out. For every dripping, wet and bedraggled puppy, there was a sister sitting as close to the heater as possible, with a towel to hold the dogs until they were dry and warm. It took hours before the animals were able to stop shivering and be put back outside on the porch to return to the relative safety of their Mother’s side. The sisters hated their punishment, being confined to one spot tends to take a toll on any kid. The added burden of trying to hold a ball of squirming fur and energy, all the while having to massage and keep it warm makes it even worse. I think they learned a lesson that day. I can guarantee you I did.