THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1994, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, July 24, 1994 TAG: 9407210769
SECTION: HAMPTON ROADS WOMAN PAGE: 02 EDITION: FINAL
COLUMN: YOUR TURN
SOURCE: BY SARA GALLOWAY, SPECIAL TO HAMPTON ROADS WOMAN
LENGTH: Medium: 64 lines
I WRESTLED WITH the idea of getting a dog for several years until one day in a weak moment, I brought home a Pekingese puppy.
It was almost nine years ago, but I can still remember the flurry of excitement. ``That's a dog?'' my incredulous 8-year-old son asked as I placed the tiny creature on the floor. We stood in amazement along with my husband, watching the puppy sniff every nook and cranny of his new home. He didn't even whimper that first night. Perhaps he was just as eager as we were to begin our new adventure.
We named him Pugsley, after a Pekingese I had when I was a child. His ``namesake'' was only a year-old when he was hit by a car, and I vowed that someday I'd get another one just like him. So our new puppy was called Pugsley for a while but then he became just ``Pug.''
At first, he was mainly a source of entertainment. Because he looked like a little gremlin, you couldn't help but be amused at almost everything he did. ``Look at that,'' we would say as he jerked a squeeze toy out of his basket and shook it ferociously.
He learned some new words such as ``walk,'' ``go,'' ``Pepsi'' (his favorite drink, which he didn't get too often), and ``Daisy'' (the dog down the street). You could always expect an ardent response when he heard one of those words. There were also a few sounds, like jangling car keys, that would get a rise out of him.
As he grew older, he seemed at times like a younger brother to my son. One minute they would be ``fighting,'' the next minute Pug would be nestled in my son's lap.
He became very possessive of his toy basket, fearlessly guarding his rubber hamburgers, tattered rawhide bones and old socks. If anyone tampered with his ``toys,'' especially my son, you could almost see the hair bristling on his back. Just the kind of reaction you would expect from a ``little brother.''
Throughout the years, Pug continued to give us lots of laughs along with a few other benefits. Like the time when I thought I was losing my son to adolescence. Pug was a common ground, one of the few subjects in which we could still communicate.
We'd be sitting at the table with my silent, withdrawn child in his other world, and I'd tell him something funny that Pug might have done that day. What a relief when I'd hear a soft chuckle. ``He's still in there somewhere,'' I could tell myself.
Thankfully, we made it through that trying time, and now my son is looking forward to college. As for Pug, he's still feisty as ever, although his black ``mask'' is now speckled with gray.
A few weeks ago, we were trying to rent a place for a summer vacation. Of course, none of them took pets, and I was worried about what to do with Pug. And I wondered for a fleeting moment whether he was worth it.
Then I happened to notice a snapshot on our refrigerator door. It was of a smiling boy clutching a small, furry puppy. ``Yes, he's worth it,'' I said with a sigh.
ILLUSTRATION: Photo
CHRISTOPHER REDDICK/Staff
Sara Galloway and 9-year-old Pug live in Virginia Beach.
by CNB