Puppy the dog

My language skill set consists of English. I hear evocative sounds in other languages but don’t comprehend their meaning. This is why I can’t remember the name of my neighbor’s dog, who is about four years old now.

I have known and liked him for that long, since he arrived next door in his owner’s arms, something akin to a squishy football with appendages. I asked his name not once but three times. It was clear to me it was a name of deep tribal significance in some culture somewhere; but what I heard sounded like “So What” or “Sack Cloth” or “Sea Wart.”

These didn’t suit him at all so I punted and called him ‘Puppy the Dog.”

I still do. He now is almost my height. He is fond of ballasting himself with his paws on my shoulders so we can greet each other eye to eye.

I could be wrong but when I call him “Puppy the Dog,” I detect in his expression that he is still waiting for me to smarten up.

About Mrs. Fitz

Hello! I'm Michele Fitzpatrick, a Chicago writer. Like our town, a work in progress. As a journalist, teacher and writing coach I think all of us live our stories and sharing them creates moments that remind us we're connected. And that is enough.
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