What Will Save Him?

By Jolene Starr

My sister gave us Skippy when he was about three years old. He was a peanut butter tan cocker spaniel-like mutt with floppy ears and big brown eyes that she had bought from the pound as a therapy dog for her “granny house,” where the elderly folks she took care of lived. He didn’t work out there, because he became too attached to one person. He wasn’t the cuddle-up-with-anyone dog she needed.

Although he was given to my oldest daughter, Krystal, during her I’ve-just-got-to-have-a-dog phase, he quickly became my dog, because I most often took him on walks and fed him. He loved to walk with me down to the Boise River, where we often wound our way through the willows and silver sagebrush along the narrow trails.

One Saturday afternoon, my youngest daughter, Cass yelled, “Mom, come look at this. I think there’s some kind of bug on Skippy.”

I investigated, and sure enough, on Skippy’s belly was the engorged body of a tick. The head was already buried deep into his tender flesh.

Krystal and my third daughter, Danielle, came into the kitchen to see what was happening. Skippy lay on my lap with his belly exposed. I showed them the tick and told them we needed to take it off.