Princess Naughton
 |
By Travis Naughton
My daughter Tiana is not the first princess to be adopted by the Naughton family.
Six years ago, following a visit to Bethany’s family’s farm, we brought home a Saint Bernard named Princess.
My wife, the Voice of Reason, apparently had taken the day off. I know this because Bethany the Enabler acquiesced to my desire to adopt the one year old dog without protest.
Her only question: “She isn’t going to get any bigger is she?”
“Of course not,” I lied. Most dogs are done growing by the time they are a year old, but not giant-breeds.
Tipping the scales at a mere 45 pounds, Princess weighed a fraction of what most Saints do by age one.
Of course she was going to get bigger. Much bigger.
Within three months of bringing her home, Princess’s weight doubled. Our veterinarian, the lovely and talented Dr. Patti Cuddihee, cautioned me that perhaps I didn’t need to give our new pet six cups of food per day.
I’ll admit that I may have been overcompensating a little. You see, Princess had had a rough first year, and I was determined to make up for it.
Her life began in December of 2004 as the runt of a litter of thirteen puppies. Strike one.
Before she had even opened her eyes, she ventured over to her mother’s water bowl, fell in, and drowned. Strike two.
When Bethany’s step-mother found her, the puppy was cold and unresponsive. By all rights she was dead. Without knowing how long the poor creature had been gone, Helen decided to try to revive her.
She administered mouth-to-mouth resuscitation and believe it or not, it actually worked. But the puppy had suffered brain damage, as was evidenced by the fact that she was completely paralyzed. Strike three.
Not willing to give up on the pathetic pup, Helen took her in the house (the other dogs lived in the barn) and began to nurse her back to health. She and her children took turns bottle feeding the dog they had by then named Princess.
The kids also cleaned out her kennel and encouraged her to move her limbs.
The pup was a fighter, and no one was surprised when she started to move her front legs one cold day in December.
Bethany, Alex, and I were introduced to Princess when we came to visit for Christmas a few weeks later. She was adorable, but unable to move her back legs or stand.
I remember wondering what would become of the handicapped puppy in the kennel. Perhaps a Christmas miracle would save her.
One year later, as we returned to the farm again for Christmas, several dogs followed us from one barn to another as the kids showed off their prized sheep, cows, and goats.
Helen leaned down to pet a dog and asked, “Of course you remember Princess, don’t you?” I said that I did not. “She was living in the house last year when you were here,” she continued. “The one that couldn’t stand or walk.”
Princess had made an amazing recovery in the year since we last saw her. She not only stood and walked, but she could run, albeit with a decidedly awkward gait.
With her enormous tongue, jowls, and ears flapping in the wind as she ran, Princess was the goofiest-looking lummox of a dog I had ever seen. She was beautiful.
Then Helen said, “You know we can’t sell her because she’s not up to breed standards, and we don’t want to give her away to just anyone. Would you like to have her?”
“Well, as long as she doesn’t get any bigger.” Wink, wink.
Princess has been a member of our family ever since. Believe you me: Miracles really do happen this time of year.
Six years ago, following a visit to Bethany’s family’s farm, we brought home a Saint Bernard named Princess.
My wife, the Voice of Reason, apparently had taken the day off. I know this because Bethany the Enabler acquiesced to my desire to adopt the one year old dog without protest.
Her only question: “She isn’t going to get any bigger is she?”
Tipping the scales at a mere 45 pounds, Princess weighed a fraction of what most Saints do by age one.
Of course she was going to get bigger. Much bigger.
Within three months of bringing her home, Princess’s weight doubled. Our veterinarian, the lovely and talented Dr. Patti Cuddihee, cautioned me that perhaps I didn’t need to give our new pet six cups of food per day.
I’ll admit that I may have been overcompensating a little. You see, Princess had had a rough first year, and I was determined to make up for it.
Her life began in December of 2004 as the runt of a litter of thirteen puppies. Strike one.
Before she had even opened her eyes, she ventured over to her mother’s water bowl, fell in, and drowned. Strike two.
When Bethany’s step-mother found her, the puppy was cold and unresponsive. By all rights she was dead. Without knowing how long the poor creature had been gone, Helen decided to try to revive her.
She administered mouth-to-mouth resuscitation and believe it or not, it actually worked. But the puppy had suffered brain damage, as was evidenced by the fact that she was completely paralyzed. Strike three.
Not willing to give up on the pathetic pup, Helen took her in the house (the other dogs lived in the barn) and began to nurse her back to health. She and her children took turns bottle feeding the dog they had by then named Princess.
The kids also cleaned out her kennel and encouraged her to move her limbs.
The pup was a fighter, and no one was surprised when she started to move her front legs one cold day in December.
Bethany, Alex, and I were introduced to Princess when we came to visit for Christmas a few weeks later. She was adorable, but unable to move her back legs or stand.
I remember wondering what would become of the handicapped puppy in the kennel. Perhaps a Christmas miracle would save her.
One year later, as we returned to the farm again for Christmas, several dogs followed us from one barn to another as the kids showed off their prized sheep, cows, and goats.
Helen leaned down to pet a dog and asked, “Of course you remember Princess, don’t you?” I said that I did not. “She was living in the house last year when you were here,” she continued. “The one that couldn’t stand or walk.”
Princess had made an amazing recovery in the year since we last saw her. She not only stood and walked, but she could run, albeit with a decidedly awkward gait.
With her enormous tongue, jowls, and ears flapping in the wind as she ran, Princess was the goofiest-looking lummox of a dog I had ever seen. She was beautiful.
Then Helen said, “You know we can’t sell her because she’s not up to breed standards, and we don’t want to give her away to just anyone. Would you like to have her?”
“Well, as long as she doesn’t get any bigger.” Wink, wink.
Princess has been a member of our family ever since. Believe you me: Miracles really do happen this time of year.
No comments:
Post a Comment