Before choosing Henrietta, we watched her play with her sister in a field. The two were almost identical in size and mannerisms, but something about Henri spoke to our family. Individually, we had all set our sights on the same pup—united in our decision without any discussion. How interesting.
I wonder what kind of life Henrietta’s litter mates will have.
Will they have other dogs to play with?
Children who’ll teach them about baseball?
Will they go on adventures?
Will they have the thrills of their life sniffing out pheasants on the prairies of South Dakota?
While the two young fur balls tumbled in the grass, a young man rode up on a bicycle. He had an adult lab tethered with a leash—Momma. She greeted her pups, but her interest was on the commands of her trainer. The lithe girl retrieved a puppy dummy several times. It was obvious she was well trained, but much to my dismay, she had no interest in receiving affection from me. She was a working dog—not a pet.
This morning as Henri and I took our stroll down the drive and up the hill, my thoughts drifted back to her sister—the one we did not choose—and I wished her a joyful life.