Upon arriving home one evening I noticed a cardboard box on the floor, near the kitchen door.

“What’s this?” I inquired of Mardelle, my second wife. I answered my own question by looking inside the box. It was a very small, black pup, no longer than four or five inches, not counting its tail. Nevertheless, its length seemed excessive compared to its girth. The poor little thing was laid out on a heating pad that was warm, but shivering of the pup was evident with only a casual look.

“I brought it home from the animal shelter,” Mardelle explained. “Someone found four pups in a shoebox in a front yard near the shelter. Three of the pups were dead, having spent a cold night outdoors in the box. This one survived because of their warmth. I promised the Humane Society that I would help by feeding and caring for young animals that hadn’t been weaned. So here it is.”

In the days that followed, Mardelle fed the little critter with a small nippled bottle provided by the shelter. Despite the heating pad the shivering continued. I would pick up the pup and hold it in my hand, against my warm belly while I read the evening paper and Mardelle fixed supper. I continued this practice for several days until the shivering stopped. By then it must have become a habit, for I continued as if I enjoyed it.

After about three weeks Mardelle took the dog to a vet for an examination. Our care had helped restore its health. The vet had clients who had recently lost a dog, and suggested ours for them. Before the transaction was completed, I realized that even though Mardelle had been the one to feed her, the pup thought that I was her mother. How could I desert her now? She had become my dog.

“You know, I kind of like this little dog,” I said.

“Well, I guess I’ll just have to call the vet and tell her that the folks will just have to wait for another one,” Said Mardelle.

“What should we name her?” I asked.

“I kind if like Dinah,” Mardelle said, “But it sounds too much like the name of a Negro kitchen maid.”

“So much the better,” I said. “It’s a good name and fits the dog perfectly, I’m not afraid of the politically correct. Her name is Dinah.” And so it was that I became a dog owner for the first time in many years.

As Dinah grew, she looked long, her legs were short and she had a long narrow muzzle. She had long wavy black hair and finally grew to about a foot high at the shoulder. She may have been partly wienie dog, but her pedigree remained unknown. She became a great pet, a watchdog, and even a hunter.

There lived in the neighborhood a big collie that took a walk every day, passing our house in both directions. If Dinah were in the front yard when the collie passed, she would defend her territory by chasing him to the opposite side of the road. Eventually the collie just walked on that side of the road without being prompted. Dinah didn’t know that she couldn’t back up her bluster with her brawn until she encountered an ill-tempered German shepherd. The shepherd had attacked and killed two cats in the neighborhood. The unfortunate encounter came when I was trimming shrubs near the house and Dinah was sniffing around nearby. Dinah saw the shepherd at some distance and barked her territorial warning. The shepherd ignored the warning and ran toward us and attacked Dinah. I was able to drive him off before he did real damage to her. The shepherd’s owner saw the incident and came to apologize and see if my dog was hurt. Dinah had only a superficial wound. Perhaps more cautious, she still protected her territory. Not long after that, the German shepherd was no more seen in the neighborhood. 

Once a mole invaded our back yard starting at our neighbor’s yard and boring across to the other side. There seemed to be no exit to the other neighbor’s yard. I started to eliminate the mole by crushing the mole hole under foot, walking on it, starting at one end, toward the middle, then repeating the procedure from the other end. The next day I found a new ridge, much shorter near the middle of the yard. I summoned Dinah to help. I showed her the wound in the lawn. She sniffed around for a few minutes and we found the general area of the mole’s location. She started digging and very soon pulled the mole out of his hole. She shook him with vengeance for the next couple minutes before she dropped him. He didn’t move after that. He was a big varmint, with huge claws for digging his way under the sod. He was the first and last of moles to visit my yard.

Dinah’s bravery was not unbounded. When she heard thunder she would hide under a bed or the nearest handy refuge. In her later years, when I would return home after a night or two away, she would follow me around for days as a duckling follows its mother. Maybe she feared being abandoned again as she was at her beginning.

Dinah was my little friend all her life. She always met me at the door when I came home and looked very happy about it. That made me feel really glad that we had helped save her from the jaws of an early death.