The World Through the Eyes of a Puppy by Nancy L. Eady

Last Saturday, I did something reckless. My family has had five different canine members over the years, but the last time we adopted a canine under the age of 2 was 1995. Saturday, though, with clearance from my family, I stopped by the Lake Martin Humane Shelter. Among the many faces greeting me was this one:

It was National Pet Adoption Weekend or something similar, so I snatched her up. There were several points in her favor. She had a blue and a brown eye and we just lost a dog with those same eye colors, while the black and white markings on her chest reminded me of the second dog we ever owned. And her white-tipped tail, which is just too cute, is completely her own. None of our other dogs had one. 

So, for the first time in over 20 years, we are raising a puppy. We’ve named her Daisy Duke. The shelter called her Evie, which wasn’t a bad name, but Evie Eady just didn’t sound right. She has never been in a house before, so there is a lot to learn.

I had forgotten how much energy a 7-month-old puppy can have. The only time in the past seven days I have seen her absolutely zonked out was Saturday, after we gave her the first bath she’s received at our house and her first encounter with a hose and shampoo. Apparently, it was a traumatic experience, although it can’t possibly be as traumatic as the first bath we gave Tyra, the dog we adopted in 2003. We gave Tyra a bath in the spare bathroom the day we got her. From that day until the day she died twelve years later, she never once volunteered to set foot in either of our tiled bathrooms. Daisy has shown no signs of being ready to eschew the outdoors with the same determination; she’s still trying to go out the door to the garage—which I’m trying to teach her is the “no-go” door—whenever we come near it.

She studies everything around her.  Some things were easy for her to understand, like the water bowl and the food bowl.  We have another dog, Darwin, who is 10.  So she also has quickly learned that she has her own bowl and shouldn’t come near brother’s bowl. Other things are more difficult. She saw our big Dyson vacuum cleaner in action for the first time today. She decided discretion was the better part of valor and felt it wise to keep a safe distance from it. Twice on Saturday she knocked wooden things over that made a big “clunk” sound on the floor, which immediately sent her dive-bombing into my side for safety. The TV is new to her, too. Most of the time she ignores it, but last night we noticed that she jumped on the couch beside my husband and stared fascinated at the YouTube display of a blue grass group performing. When we moved on to something else, she lost interest. We’re the ones still trying to figure that one out.

She escaped three times Monday because we weren’t quick enough to shut the “no-go” door from the house to the garage, and the outside garage door was open. She’s a quick little canine. I managed to grab her three houses down with the help of one of my neighbors, but my daughter ended up chasing her four blocks uphill to the local police station. Daisy didn’t understand why that was wrong, either.

Darwin is not sure what to think of her. She so wants to play with him and he either doesn’t want to or can’t figure out how. She’s a fourth of his size.

You may indeed wonder what any of this has to do with writing, but a relationship exists. Trying to figure out the world as she sees it makes me see the world around me differently.And isn’t that what every writer hopes to do for her readers?

What books have you read that changed the way you see the world, even for a moment?