Livia Met Her Match: Last of the M8
We pulled the Magic 8, eight 3 week-old puppies, from a bramble patch in a Tennessee ghetto on June 25th. On Monday, almost two months later, the last adoptable puppy left the Farnival.
I had prepared Livia – the most intelligent, courageous, and energetic one of the litter – earlier that afternoon, whispering in her ear that Monday might be her last day with us, wanting her to understand but pretty sure she didn’t, at least I was sure until we got ready to leave.
On any other afternoon, whenever I would grab my car keys, Livia, hearing the jingle, would trot after me, puppy chunk swaying, anxious to ride wherever I was going, even if it was to the Dollar General for a gallon of milk.
Not on Monday.
When she walked out the front door for the last time, she stopped and wouldn’t budge, so I picked her up, carrying her from the deck to the car, perhaps ten yards, as she whined and squirmed like a fish on land. At one point, she leaped out of my arms and scrambled towards the front door, almost scaling a step or two before I caught her. It’s like she knew she’d never be coming back. Like she really had understood me.
Adriana, her littermate and partner-in-crime, watched us pull away through the slats on the deck, head cocked in an inquisitive manner, sitting solemnly besides Meadow and the rest of our pack.
Livia whined for the entire hour-long ride to her new home in Mt. Juliet, and only stopped crying when I reached through the crate and stroked her silky triangular ears. Her freckled square snout wore a definitive frown as she pawed at my hands, wanting to be anywhere besides where she was.
From the moment Livia had opened her eyes, exactly two-weeks after her birthday, her energetic and courageous behavior marked her as the smart one, the ferocious one, the one we nicknamed Trouble with a capital T.
She was the first to crawl out of the bramble patch, the one that hung onto her mother’s nipple the longest, the only pup that was never deterred by a fence, always bored with her surroundings, a born explorer.
But thirty minutes after arriving in Mt. Juliet and watching Livia, rump in the air, tail wagging, play with her new buddy, Layla, an energetic, bordering on untamable four-year-old little girl, wearing cock-eyed pigtails and bare feet, I knew Livia had finally met her match, her human doppelgänger.
Leaving the Farnival already a distant memory, Miss Liv bounced around her new home like she’d been born there, trotting in and out of random rooms, trying but failing to keep a safe distance from Layla’s rowdy giggles and excited hands, then giving up and playing tug-of-war with whatever object either of them could find.
Layla had to sit in time-out three times while we were at her house, but her mother, Nettie, a naturally attractive thirty something triathlete – who runs nine miles a day!! – was quick to discipline her professed “trouble” child. Nettie’s rebukes were fair, firm, and gentle, plus she seemed to possess a remarkable ability to multi-task, keeping one eye on her adorable little hellion at all times, immediately correcting Layla’s over-rambunctious behavior.
It didn’t take long for me to realize that Livia had landed right were she needed to be; with Layla, she had a new cohort, a bff, a human partner-in-crime, but with Nettie she had a pack leader.
P.S. I got two emails from Nettie this week:
“[Liv] got a new tag today and did really well through [her first] night. She missed her new buddies after I dropped them off at school. Walk wore her out.”
“We kept her name! She has a new tag, color, and leash. She is too funny. I took her with me to drop kids off and run errands and she wanted to be carried almost the entire time. Guessing it was too many new things, and I think she must be used to a morning nap. She really loves to eat. I had to put the new bag of puppy food away so she would not tear a hole in it. You did a great job potty training her, so far only one puddle inside.…snoozing right now, they are very tired.”