Here they are. Lucy’s puppies.
Two boys and one girl.
They’re beautiful and healthy and happy and one of these little guys is now residing in Vancouver, a 10th birthday gift for a little girl from her adoring father.
I won’t dwell on these puppies. I have other issues to discuss, more relevant to my mandate here.
I must, however, stress this. When I was 17, I was given my first dog, a two-year-old Yorkshire Terrier named Derriere ~ Derry for short. This was following my eight-month stay in a Toronto mental hospital called The Clarke Institute of Psychiatry.
Unspeakably fragile, I needed a focus…
I had been psychotic and for four months during that hospitalization, catatonic. I came out of it, but my doctors had little hope for me and told my mother on my discharge that I’d be a problem for her all my life, a “revolving door case.” My mother soldiered on, one day-at-a-time, choosing not to believe them. She had little support or guidance, but instinctively she felt I needed a focus. I was unspeakably fragile. A little dog to care for, she hoped, might ease my recovery. She believed in me.