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Bud Grossmann’s
Words of the Week
for the Week of
June 18, 2006
Published as Family History
in a Gramma Letter dated October 8, 1996.
© 1996 by Bud Grossmann.
All Rights Reserved.
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Kids, Pets, House, 1990
© 1990 by Bud Grossmann
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CHESTER JOINS THE FAMILY
Tuesday, October 8, 1996
Dear Gramma,
For quite a while after Fran and I bought our current home, I had trouble getting to sleep at night. Every click, flutter, and thump made me think, Burglar!
While our purchase was pending, the vacant house had been broken into on several occasions. Once we moved in, I worried that the intruders would return. My fears were perhaps exaggerated—the trespassers had committed no thefts and done no damage; they had merely littered the carpets with empty beverage bottles and left other indiscreet evidence of relaxation and romance.
There were no signs of forced entry; someone must have had a key. I changed the locks, but I still had a creepy feeling in the quiet of the evening. We needed a dog—our cat and the goldfish were not enough to make me feel secure.
The kids and I began visiting the Humane Society on a regular basis, but we all seemed to have different ideas of the perfect pet. One or another of us would find an animal we liked a lot, but we could never quite reach unanimity.
One Sunday—on a day when Frances and I had each driven a car to church—Dave and I were headed home after services. As we passed the Humane Society, Dave pointed out his mother’s car in the parking lot. We kept on going. We arrived home and prepared lunch. The women of the family still weren’t back, so we started eating. Then the phone rang.
“I think Elizabeth and I found a dog,” said Frances. “Do you want to come see him?”
“Tell me about him,” I said. And when she did, I decided, “I think we’ll pass, on this one.”
“Why, Bud?” she asked.
“Well, he’s just not what I had in mind. I’m looking for one where the whole family feels it’s love at first sight. I’m looking for a well-trained, full-grown, female dog with short hair.”
“Listen,” said Frances, “I’m never going to fall in love with any dog, so at this rate we’ll never get one. You’re the one that wanted a dog from the pound instead of one with papers—why don’t you at least come take a look?”
“Okay, okay. Dave and I will come see him.”
So we did. Dave liked him fine, but I thought the dog was sort of funny-looking and too rambunctious. “I think we’ll pass,” I said again.
“You’re the one who didn’t want a purebred,” Fran pointed out once more.
“Oh, okay, then. Fine. I don’t care. Let’s get him.”
“Oh, no. No, I don’t want you saying I forced you to do this.”
“No, he’s fine,” I said. “Let’s be done with it. Let’s get him.”
Well, to adopt a dog from the Humane Society, you gotta get family counseling. So we were about another hour there with someone named Cindy who made sure we had the right attitude. She also instructed us in the basics of dog care and behavior management. As Cindy was firmly guiding our as-yet unnamed pet through some sits and heels, I leaned close to my wife and whispered, “You know, Fran, I think now maybe I’m starting to love him already.”
“Oh, I knew you would!” scoffed Frances. “It’s just like getting a baby!”
I had to laugh. Like getting a baby—well, maybe so. And a few days later, I found, with our new golden Labrador guarding our home, I was beginning to sleep like a baby once again.
I miss you, dear Grandmother.
Love,
Buddy
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