Sinister
They have no names yet. But they were born three weeks ago. These shots were taken on their first trip to the vet. They have fleas. They had to be dewormed.
They litter all over the house. They cry when they’re hungry. They’re beginning to compete with their mother for food. The porch has begun to smell like a dog pound. They need a gate to contain them from crossing over the street.
My neighbors say that they have to be given away because they are first born. If they are not given away, they will all die.
I think I have every reason to give them away. They’re trouble; they’re added responsibility; they’re added costs.
I reckon they should be ready to go after their mother has stopped producing milk. Books say that their mother’s milk stops on the 5th or on the 6th week.
Perhaps, I’m all set to let go.
But at each opportunity I spend time with each puppy, I realize that all three of them are growing on me. Like a song that I don’t appreciate on the first playback, the puppies are beginning to be a familiar tune with each day that passes.
I am not set to let them go.
I plan to name them instead.
These pups are SINISTER. Just like their mother.