This week, I thought I’d share a few words about a little dog we had for several years. We called her Weasel because she was a little Chihuahua/Doxie that was a light cream color with dark points on her nose, and tail, and she always sat up like a little weasel. My son, J., found her when we were walking home from his school when he was in the 2nd or 3rd grade.
The school was on the outside edge of town and we would walk through the edge of the hills behind the houses for several blocks until we came to our street and then down to our house, about 4 blocks down from the hills.
One day, as we walked, this tiny pup (probably about 5-6 months old and really skinny) crawled out from under a bush on her little belly. She wiggled and wagged her little tail, still crawling, and just begged us with her little eyes to “please love me… I’m hungry and scared and need someone to love me…”
All my sons have been very compassionate about animals, but J. more than any of the others, and he was hooked from the minute he laid eyes on her. No WAY was I leaving that little thing, so I told him that he could have her. He took care of her and fed her up, and she was his, heart and soul for the 5 or 6 years that she was with us.
She ended up contracting Valley Fever (this area is bad for that for all of us who live here in this lower part of the San Joaquin Valley) and her little lungs filled with the fungus. We had to make that most difficult of all decisions for our sweet little Weasel. We still miss her when ever we think of her, but were blessed with the love we shared during her short little life.
