But she wasn't perfect, as my grandmother will constantly state. The story starts one cold spring morning. It was a Tuesday or a Wednesday ... one of the days my older sister Vicky was in school. Since I was only four years old at the time, I was too young for school. But my father had to work and my mother had volunteered to supervise a field trip at my sister's school. That left my grandmother to watch me and my baby sister Erika. My grandmother arrived at promptly 8am and ushered my sister and mother out the door.
The day went along well enough. Just after our 9am snack, my grandmother packed up my sister and I and we went for a walk. I had Splashy on a leash and the little dog romped beside us, legs flying and fur bouncing. It was cool on this particular morning so we were all wearing gloves and scarves. My grandmother, refined old lady that she was, was wearing stylish brown leather gloves. Not exactly warm, but very pretty.
Splashy obviously agreed because she jumped and nipped, trying with all her might to get a mouthful of glove. You have to understand that Splashy was normally a very well behaved little dog. She never jumped up and she never nipped. But she did both on this blustery morning, and all over a pair of leather gloves. They must have smelled great to her little doggy nose. We never had any leather in our home, so leather gloves were a new experience for Splashy.
But my grandmother was not amused. As she pushed Erika's stroller, she tried everything she could to get Splashy to behave.
"Stop that!" she snapped, giving Splashy a push.
Splashy barked and ran around to my grandmother's other side, possibly hoping that plaguing my grandmother from the right instead of the left would be met with more success.
My grandmother flapped her hands at the little dog. "Get away!"
Well, the flapping only served to drive Splashy into a frenzy as she became determined to have those gloves. She darted in and among the stroller's wheels and started to bark. No, she yipped. Tiny little high pitched yips that made me laugh and my grandmother grumble. The baby remained peacefully sleeping in her stroller.
Eventually, my grandmother had had enough and we headed back to the house, little dog yipping all the way. We got inside and my grandmother told me to take the leash off and put the dog in the sun room. I did as she instructed as she removed the baby from the stroller and set her free in the living room. Then she stripped off her own outerwear. She hung her hat and scarf on a peg, her coat in the closet, and placed her gloves on the side table.
But Splashy was safely in the sun room so we continued on about our day. Erika played and shrieked on the living room floor. I brushed the hair on each and every My Little Pony I had. My grandmother read a novel out loud. I think it might have been The King of Elfland's Daughter, but it was more than twenty years ago now. It might have been something else.
Lunch came and we knew my mother would soon return home. The field trip was only for a couple of hours, after all. So we adjourned to the kitchen and my grandmother made us pasta. Just as we started to eat, the front door opened. We expected my mother to come bustling into the kitchen. Instead, we faintly heard her sigh.
"Oh no," came the voice from the front foyer.
"What?" my grandmother asked, heading toward the foyer.
I put down my fork, interest peaked, as Erika shoved her pasta off her highchair and let it clatter to the floor.
An instant later, my grandmother shrieked. There's no other way to describe it. The sound reverberated through the house and I jumped off my chair and hurried to the foyer. And stopped dead.
There was Splashy, the tiny little dog who was supposed to be in the sun room, with a tiny bit of leather sticking out of her mouth. Other bits of leather were strewn across the floor. My mother and grandmother were standing there staring. And Splashy was doing her best to look innocent. She might have pulled it off if it hadn't been for the bit of leather sticking to her lips.
My grandmother was ranting, wanting to know how the dog had gotten out of the sun room and why on earth Splashy would eat her gloves. During this rant, I began to get a little worried. I had put the dog in the sun room. Would I be in trouble for her escape?
But before my grandmother could direct some blame toward me, my mother went back to the sun room. Her eyes nearly popped out of her head when she saw what Splashy had done. The french doors, which had been in pristine condition, were now ... decidedly not. Splashy, in her desperation to reach the leather gloves, had pulled and chewed until part of the french doors had come away. This was a tiny dog, so she managed to slip through a fairly small hole. Still, eating through wooden doors and still managing not to alert any of us to the damage was quite impressive.
But dear old Grandma was not amused. She lectured the poor little dog, who only looked at her with wide brown eyes. I swear the dog smiled as my grandmother threw up her hands and stormed from the house.
But the lesson was learned. Never leave leather gloves on the side table. Put them away in a pocket or up on a shelf. Even if you think the dog is in the sun room.
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