Blink, Blink. Scratch, Scratch.

Fuzzy wuzzy; that’s what he was. I felt him up as Michael and Sue retreated to the kitchen to exchange paper and settle the deed. Eventually, I joined them and we sat at the table and talked over coffee, as the pup nosed around.

Sue’s life was dachshunds and her pride and joy was Herman her multiple-time, all time California Region champ. But she was a responsible breeder who carefully selected Herman’s dams and who sired him out not more than once a year, if that.

She also vetted the people to whom she parted out the litter. If I recall, Sue had had some reservations about the apartment and had wanted to insure that it was, in fact, sufficiently large. As I would later discover, it was at least as large as her ranchette house, and if we did not have private acreage we had all of Oakland’s Lake Merritt Park at our doorfront. At any rate, Sue’s vetting dovetailed nicely with Michael’s devious plan.

Being a breeder, Sue also had other priorities, the nose and tail of which was that she didn’t think all that much of the pup she had brought. It had something to do with the fact that he had been the runt of the litter, typically not the best breeding material. She also felt that his hind legs were on the weak side, so all things considered she knocked a hundred dollars off the price.

After a last go-over of feeding instructions and shot schedules, Sue left and Michael and I retreated to the living room to get acquainted with .....

“So what shall we call him?” I asked.

“Fips”

“Phipps ? What kind of name is that?

“F-i-p-s”

“What does it mean?”

“Nothing; it’s the name of a German cartoon monkey.”

“You want to name the dog after a monkey?”

“ It’s what we called our dogs at home.”

“So what is he, Fips the Fifth?”

“Third.”

Well, I hardly had much say in the matter, so Fips it was.

-o0o-

Night came and Mike and I retreated to our respective bedrooms. I unrolled my futon and got under the covers. Fips followed and snuggled by my side. I lay there in the dark enjoying how nice it felt to have this furry life-form snuggled between my chest and arm.

Blink, Blink ... Blink, Blink. I also felt that this could not be. With a certain regret, I got up and led Fips down the hallway to Michael’s room before returning to a now very empty bed.

Not for long. Fifteen minutes later, Fips wandered back down the hallway and crawled back to his place. “Oh hello, Fippsie,” I whispered, as I petted his head.

Blink, Blink. ... Blink, Blink. Really, this could not be. Again, I got up and carried Fips down to Michael’s room. “Maybe you should close your door,” I said, before returning to bed and turning off the light once and for all.

Scratch, Scratch...... Scratch, Scratch. I heard Michael’s door open and moments later, Fippsie was back curled up in my covers. Now I felt happy and terrible at the same time. This was so unfair to Mike; but it was just as unfair to Fips.

It had been evident during the day that his sisters’ biting and snapping had imbued Fips with an uncertain distrust of this life into which he had been born. What could be counted on, for sure, when you get kicked away from your mother’s milk?

Once again, Fips was being pushed away, this time by me.

Michael and I never talked about it but the last thing either of us wanted was for Fips to become resigned to life.

07/27/94

In the end Fips worked out his own solution. He would sleep with me until about four in the morning, at which time he crawl out from his jumble of covers and head over to Michael’s door.

Scratch, Scratch. .... Scratch, Scratch.
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