Lady: The Story of a Stray Dog

The day I became a mother I ate breakfast on the porch. It was too hot to be outside,

but I didn't have a choice. In my stomach, I felt something (somethings?) push against me. Between the heat and bad meat, I threw up off the side of the porch that day. I didn’t know I’d thrown up into the woman’s gardenias until the man kicked me into my kennel, screaming things I couldn’t understand. When they turned the lights out, I licked my wounds- and felt that push again. I stopped. It couldn’t be. Not here – not into this home. But there was another push, as if to say, “It is, and it will be.”

After that my stomach got big- even with the lack of food. The woman thought I had an infection and didn’t want me to give it to their child. I fought them into the truck, biting the leash and pulling. They couldn’t know. If they found out, my puppies wouldn’t be mine anymore. But the man picked me up, held my mouth closed and threw me into the back.

We went to the vet. I stopped fighting- I had lost. The doctor told them with a smile,

not knowing how she betrayed me.

Changes happened around the home afterwards.

The family was overjoyed; they fed me food from their table and let me sit on the couch.

They gave me a bath and finally got that tick out of my ear. They expected me to lick their faces and get excited when they came home. This would never have happened two months before. Two months before, I was clawing at the door to be let in from a storm; two months before, I was forcing down grass and worms and anything I could eat. Now I had a mat to sleep on and a roof over me. Even though they didn’t hit me anymore, I flinched when they passed. As the months went by, I got bigger and slower, more tired and pampered.

Though I was the healthiest I’d ever been, I wasn’t happy. I knew what they would do to

my pups. My growing stomach counted the days until my children would be theirs.

As the anticipated birthday passed, their true colors reappeared. I stopped getting table scraps, they stepped on my tail. Each night I went to bed without giving up my pups was a victory. I held out every day for a few more hours with my babies, but they eventually induced me into labor. I don't remember much of it, only the feeling of guts twisting and pulling, of dampness and squealing. My fur was dyed red. The man told the woman if I died, he would just take me down to the river, but I knew I wouldn’t die. What would happen to my pups, the creatures I had so carefully formed in my womb? They stomped around me, shaking and sputtering, and gave me life. For three days all I could do was lick my pups and let them bite and claw and feed on me. Those are my happiest memories- being surrounded by soft ears and wet noses, plump bellies and tiny paws. But it couldn’t last forever.

I remember the day I stopped being a mother. It was early morning, and I was starting to feel better. I watched the sun fall through the window and onto my pups. It's hard to believe I was that small once, I thought. Some of them were starting to stir. They could open their eyes now. I'm not sure how long I laid there, grooming them, playing with each in turn, but our peace was ruined when the man came in. The woman stood behind him. I should have known they wouldn’t let our peace last. I growled and picked myself up. I stood in front of my pups, wavering but strong. I could not let this happen to them. The man lunged and grabbed my collar, but I wrenched around and bit him, drawing blood. He shoved me back, slamming me against the wall. My pups cried. I jumped at him, but this time he was prepared.

He caught me and wouldn’t let go. With both hands around my neck, he dragged me outside. My bones were heavy, my womb sore, but I wasn’t going to stop fighting. The woman opened the door to the truck before retreating. I threw myself to the ground, ready to fight when something hit my head and I fell. The man kicked me one last time before I passed out.

When I woke up, the moon had replaced the sun. I didn’t know how long I’d been there,

but I did know the truck was gone. I forced my legs to action and ran to the house despite my limp. I looked in the window where my pups and I had slept. They were gone. I ran around the house, but no one was home. I fled, howling, to the woods.

The sun crept into the sky and warmed my chilled joints. My paws were serrated from rocks and branches; I ran through the woods all night, barking myself hoarse even though I knew my pups were gone. It was something I felt deep inside, almost like that first push.

Still, I sniffed every stump and hole until I came upon a painted wooden staircase.

The pavement was hot, and under the porch it was cool. In the corner was a pile of hose and I slept, unable to face the pain in my body and heart. When I awoke, the gentle morning had turned into a burning afternoon. My tongue hung out of my mouth, my breath uneven.

I gave myself back to sleep until a bang sounded above me. I ran out from under the porch and faced the sound. A large door had swung shut, and a kid in pajamas and glasses came out.

They noticed me mid-yawn and froze, before slowly walking closer. I growled, my throat aching. They stopped and went back inside. My thoughts were slow, my legs weak.

I’m not sure how long I stood there before the kid returned with a bowl of water and placed it at the end of the stairs. They sat at the top, but when they realized I wasn’t going to move, they went back inside.

That was the beginning of my new life. Day by day, I trusted this new family more.

They laid cold rags on my head, made a pallet under the porch, brought out a fan.

They gave me 3 bowls of food a day- I couldn’t eat it all. They tried cleaning my swollen stomach, but I wouldn’t let them touch it. A tall girl came out with the kid and together they cleaned my broken claw and the other scrapes. I began looking forward to seeing them,

I stopped leaving the porch. Eventually, they let me inside and I forgot why I was hurting,

why my womb ached.

I found a new house with a different truck and a lot of land. Now, I play with chickens and go to stores where people pat my head. I sleep in a bed and have a bin of toys that are all my own. An old man calls me Molly and lets me lick his face, but the kid and that girl had called me Lady. Now I have two names, and two families who bathe me once a week and always check my ears for ticks.