How I found my home: Part 1

object narrative: from the perspective of my dog (story 3)

Datu busy with his chore: picking up sticks

That morning was a little cold for Fall, especially since it was not even November yet. I wanted to sleep in but my siblings were stepping on my face again fighting over the same blue ball that they were playing with since yesterday. I knew I was supposed to join the fun but I was feeling a little bit off so I just observed the silliness of it all, you know, five puppies fighting over one ball when there is a pile of them at the other corner of our playpen.

All of a sudden, we heard unfamiliar footsteps approaching so we all stopped and paused looking towards the direction of the door. We were familiar with the shelter employees because they took care of us since we were born, but these footsteps were different. Then I heard my name. No, not the name I have now. I heard one said, “Greg”. I pretended not to hear.

“There’s little shy-type Greg!”, the voice said. I looked up and saw a face I have seen before in passing. This one had four kids in tow when she visited us during adoption day. One of them pulled my tail and the other pulled my ears. The mother was sweet though and her voice sounded like she was a nice person. It’s the same voice in front of me right now.

The shelter employee handed her a few sheets of paper and the lady started signing. Then I heard the following words uttered, “Greg is yours now! Thank you for giving him a home!” My mouth flew open. I was stunned. No!!! There must be some mistake! No!!! I was screaming but it must have been just inside my head because no one turned around to acknowledge me.

I felt her gently lifting me up and cradled me softly as I squirmed and cried with my funny little voice. I was trying to tell her that there has been a mistake. I liked her but I was not supposed to come home with her. However, I was slowly realizing that my crying and squirming must have been alien to her ears because she kept on walking and walking and walking until we reached her car.

She carefully placed me inside a comfortable kennel with blankets and a toy of my own then she started driving. I was comfortable and she was kind to me but I was not meant to come home with her. I cried as loud as I could and did not stop for what seemed like forever, but really it was about ten minutes in human time.

When I felt the car stop, I lowered my voice a little to observe what was going to happen next. She opened the door and said, “We are home, Greg! This is your new home! The kids are inside!”.

I could hear them from the driveway, “Puppy! Puppy! My puppy! No, my puppy!”. Her steps felt like it was in slow motion as I squirmed, kicked, and cried as loud as I could. She would not stop walking. I decided to squirm and squirm, kick and kick, and cried some more hoping in my heart of hearts she would understand what I was trying to say before she reached the door.

Read more object narratives by Jen.