September/October 2006

Ruthie Spokes was a lover of golden retrievers. She was captivated by their silky, golden coats, and their sweet, lovable nature. She often begged her parents to get her a golden retriever, and by the time Ruthie was eleven, her parents knew Ruthie would settle for no other dog. She would have never guessed that one dark, rainy night, before her birthday, her dream was almost about to come true… Ruthie threw the covers away from her. What was that noise? It sounded like it was coming from… the garage. Trying not to awaken her sleeping seven-year-old sister, Julie, she crept down the bunkbed ladder and opened the door. Peering around quickly, she tiptoed down the stairs and to the door that led to the garage. Voices drifted to her ears. “Perhaps we shouldn’t have bought the Irish setter,” she heard her father say “You know Ruthie will be upset he’s not a golden.” “But all the golden retrievers we looked at were filthy and sick,” her mother reasoned. Ruthie gasped. “What was that?” Mom said. Before Ruthie could run away, the door swung open. “Ruthie!” her father said in a surprised voice. Ruthie looked at her feet. “Well, come in,” he sighed. “Happy birthday.” Ruthie walked in to see the puppy her parents were talking about. He ran to Ruthie, barking ecstatically. “He’s not a golden,” Ruthie said to herself. To her parents she said, “Th-thanks, Mom, thanks, Dad.” He may be lucky, Ruthie thought, but I’m not “You’re welcome,” they replied. Ruthie’s fifteen-year-old brother, Sam, opened the door, holding Julie on his hip. “What’s all the commotion?” he yawned. “Julie was scared out of her wits.” “A puppy!” Julie cried, forgetting all sleepiness. “What are you gonna call him, Ruthie?” “Shamrock,” Ruthie said sadly, though no one noticed. “Ireland’s Lucky Shamrock.” “Nice name,” Sam approved. He may be lucky, Ruthie thought, but I’m not. *          *          * As Ruthie climbed the stairs to her room Shamrock followed behind her, pouncing and growling at her heels. When they reached the bedroom Ruthie shared with her sister, Shamrock crawled into his blue-polka-dot doggy bed, and promptly began chewing on a stuffed toy. Her parents had helped her set up Shamrock’s things in Ruthie’s room. Ruthie climbed up the bunkbed ladder and lay down. Ruthie glanced over at Shamrock. The doggy bed was three sizes too big for him, and the carrier that contained newspaper for bathroom breaks was gargantuan to the little puppy But Shamrock didn’t seem to mind. He contentedly chewed the stuffed animal’s leg slowly. Ruthie reached under the covers of her bed and pulled out a book hidden there. It was entitled, Owner’s Guide to Golden Retrievers. The spine was broken and a few pages torn from constant use. Each picture of a dog was marked with a different name. Ruthie smiled as she remembered how she used to play “dogs.” She would carefully set out food and water, patiently groom the “dogs,” and take each individual for a long walk down the sidewalk. Now Ruthie turned to the page that had a picture showing a smiling girl and a happy golden retriever puppy. Under the picture it said: Best Friends. “What are you reading?” a voice asked. Ruthie jumped, and seeing that it was her mother, hastily shut the book and sat on it. “Oh, n-nothing, Mom,” Ruthie stammered. “I was just reading about what to do when you first get a puppy.” Mom stared at Ruthie’s pale face for a moment. Then she said, “I know you’re disappointed. You were hoping for a golden retriever, weren’t you?” Ruthie nodded. “I know you always wanted a golden, but all the golden retriever puppies we looked at were overpriced and unhealthy. We didn’t want to spend money on veterinary bills, so we picked a healthy, active Irish setter puppy. He’s not a golden retriever, but who knows?” She smiled. “This setter pup may turn out to be a golden dog, too.” She bent over and kissed Ruthie. “Now you get some sleep. Don’t keep Julie awake.” Ruthie smiled a crooked smile. “Thanks, Mom,” Ruthie grinned. *          *          * Ruthie awoke with a start for the second time that night. She heard a weird whining sound. Then she remembered: Shamrock. She peered over the edge of her bed. She saw Shamrock pacing the ground, crying. Ruthie dropped lightly from the ladder. “What is it, boy?” Ruthie whispered. Shamrock stared at her with a sad, hollow stare. Ruthie thought for a moment, and then walked to the bathroom, Shamrock right behind her. Ruthie found a hot water bottle and filled it with hot water. She then wrapped it in a towel, and placed it in Shamrock’s bed. She carefully placed Shamrock in the bed. Shamrock snuggled close to the water bottle. He stopped crying. Ruthie turned to leave, but as she stepped away Shamrock cried out and leaped toward her. Sighing, Ruthie dragged her pillow and blanket by Shamrock’s bed, and lay down. Shamrock jumped into his bed, satisfied. Shamrock licked Ruthie’s face, then fell asleep. *          *          * The next morning Ruthie was licked awake enthusiastically by Shamrock. “OK, OK, I’m awake,” groaned Ruthie, sitting up. “I’m going to get your breakfast.” Ruthie poured the dog kibble into Shamrock’s blue bowl. She then filled the other bowl with fresh water from the bathroom. She placed both bowls far away from the carrier, which was going to be used as Shamrock’s bathroom. As soon as Ruthie set the bowls down, Shamrock shot forward and started devouring the kibble. Ruthie grabbed his collar and pulled him back. “No,” she said firmly. She knew if she let Shamrock eat quickly, he could get a tummyache. After Shamrock finished chewing the first mouthful, Ruthie let go of his collar and Shamrock darted forward again. Ruthie pulled him back and said very firmly, “Shamrock, that’s no.” Shamrock ate slowly after that. As Ruthie joined the table with her mom and siblings, Shamrock