They were small fuzzy, black and brown, lying quietly next to their mother.
The farmer’s wife stood behind us to the side smiling. She
said the puppies were just now oldenough to be weaned and that two of them had already been taken.As soon as they heard us the puppies jumped up and swirled around our feet. There wereabout eight of them. It was hard for me to be sure because they all yelped and bounced jumping on top of each other.Rich and I played with the puppies picking them up; watching them and smiling.The smallest one had fur the color of coal, except for his legs. His legs were white and lookedlike tiny boots. He had a feisty look in his eye, hopping around even more than the others. Helooked at me with bright wide dark brown eyes, ran right into my leg bouncing up and downbiting the strings hanging from my cutoff jeans. His sharp puppy claws scratching my legs.I picked him up. He wiggled in my hands looking up at me licking my face with his tiny ticklytongue. I giggled and set him down picking up the next puppy at my feet.I sat down on the cold concrete floor letting the puppies run around me. The smallest onekept biting at the strings of my cutoffs and jumping on my lap trying to lick my face.
I could feel him saying, “
Me! Me! Pick me! I’m the funnest!”
I picked him up again; he wiggled and licked even more. I could barely hold him in my hands.He flapped around like a fish on the dock.
“I like this one,”
I said giggling more.
“Oh, he’s the runt, you don’t want him,”
the gray haired farmer’s wife said.
“He likes me,”
I said softly not even knowing what runt meant and not caring.
“Please, this is all I want for my birthday. You don’t have to buy me anything else.”
“I like him too,”
“You guys have to take care of him. I am not going to do it for you.”
“Okay, we will.”
During the ride home we talked about what to name him.