PRESSED

PRHPRESSED

by DORETTE ROTA JACKSON

e knew we were in for

Wit when our mother started googling Pet Rescues. After the recent loss of Thunder, her beloved Pomeranian, we were sure we convinced her that her memories would be more than enough to keep her company.

‘She’s on Google, Dear God,’ Dawn texted me. ‘She told me she found a puppy who needed a good home. She’s mad at me because I told her the Rescue she was looking at was in Minnesota. We have to step in. If she’s getting another dog, at least I can steer this along.’

A few phone calls later, Carol called a local Rescue about a shih tzu named Cannoli. ‘He’s a year old. He loves people and pets,’ she repeats what the foster mom is telling her about the puppy. A week later, Cannoli strutted through the front door and into Carol’s heart. After a few puppy kisses, we knew that destiny found its way home.

It started out slowly enough. A few text requests for soft treats and special dog food “if you happen to be in the Acme this week. And he loves squeaky toys! I bought him a few but he will love new ones,” she tells Dawn over the speaker phone while we’re driving to another meeting.

I knew from the look on Dawn’s face the next morning that something was up. ‘She wants us to buy him a bed. And some spring clothes. She told me he’s the only naked dog on the block.’

I shrug my shoulders as I start my car. “She’s excited,” I say. “She wants the best for him.”

‘She wasn’t this interested in buying me a spring wardrobe,’ Dawn huffs. ‘I got your fluffy floral hand-medowns when we were kids. ‘What was it with you and the bonnets? And gloves! I hated those stupid gloves. They made me sweat. I always felt like I had to throw up in Church. The hat, the gloves. The matching

Cannoli Carol loves coat and dress set. It was so hot with all those clothes piled on.’ “I loved those gloves,” I tell her. “Some had little pearls around the edges. I put them in my little white purse with my little white Bible every Easter Sunday,” I smile at the memory. ‘All I wanted to do was sit on the couch and eat my coconut cream eggs from my Easter Basket,’ she snarls. ‘Noooo. We had to get dressed. In gloves and bonnets. Flowers & straw. Everything was patent leather. White. Ridiculous,’ she goes on and on. “How did you get there from here,” I interrupt her tirade. “We were talking about Cannoli, not my Easter bonnets.” ‘It’s Easter and she wants an outfit for the dog. You don’t think she’s losing her mind a little?’ I laugh as we pull into the Pet Smart parking lot. “Don’t forget. He only eats soft treats,” I remind her. ‘He’ll eat what we give him,’ she answers in her stern voice. ‘He’s a dog. She’s coming undone.’ She finally realizes where we are. ‘Why are we here? I can’t take the smell of frogs right now. I’m serious. Reminds me of the circus.’ “Yeah. We had to leave there early, too,” I remember. “You fainted as soon as you smelled the horse stalls. I don’t think we got to sit through one single circus start to finish when we were kids.” We head to the fluffy bed section. We start comparing texture and fluff. Too small. Too itchy. ‘I found it!’ Dawn hollers from the aisle behind me. ‘Feel this fluff! It’s heavenly!’ “And it’s chocolate brown” I add. “Matches Mommy’s furniture.” ‘Where’s the clothes aisle?’ she asks the kid in the fish tank department. He points. I’m confused. “After all your nagging, you’re actually going to buy him something to wear?” I laugh. ‘It’s Easter. We all need something in yellow.’ Welcome to the family, Cannoli. You’re in good hands. PRH