Janet Elder - Huck: The Remarkable True Story of How One Lost Puppy Taught a Family --And a Whole Town --About Hope and Happy Endings

Praise for

HUCK

Janet Elder and her family fell in love with their dog, Huck youll fall in love with them. A wonderful, inspiring book.

Deirdre Imus

Huck is the Dewey of the canine world. The dog is a delighteven my cat, Norton, would have been charmed (after a hiss or two)and the book itself is lovely and inspiring. I rate it 5 barks.

Peter Gethers, author of The Cat Who Went to Paris and The Cat Wholl Live Forever

Puppies have always been better than people. Now comes a book where a puppy makes people better people. Pet it, feed it, even read it. Youll love itand become a better person.

Dan Jenkins, sportswriter/novelist

Copyright 2010 by Janet Elder

All rights reserved.

Published in the United States by Broadway Books, an imprint of the Crown Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

www.crownpublishing.com

B ROADWAY BOOKS and the Broadway Books colophon are trademarks of Random House, Inc.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Elder, Janet.
The remarkable true story of how one lost puppy taught a familyand a whole townabout hope and happy endings /
by Janet Elder.
1. Miniature poodleNew JerseyRamseyAnecdotes.
2. PuppiesNew JerseyRamseyAnecdotes. 3. Human-animal relationshipsAnecdotes. I. Title.
SF429.M57E43 2010
636.7280922dc22 2010002021

eISBN: 978-0-307-71616-3

v3.1

For Michael and Rich

Contents

C HAPTER 1

I DEVELOPED A LOT OF TALISMANS when I had cancera pair of pink-and-white antique-looking earrings a close friend brought from Paris; a delicate gold bracelet with a single charm inscribed LIFE from a woman I hardly knew who said she admired my bravery; a purple bear holding the word MOM my son, Michael, gave me when he visited me in the hospital; a note from my brother-in-law, scribbled on yellow lined paper, quoting one of the many doctors I had seen, who asserted, You will be cured. I kept my lucky charms near me, brought them along to doctors visits, stared at them in the middle of the night, and held tight to them when I felt vulnerable.

But no talisman was as powerful as a dog named Huck.

Michael said it took him only seven years of begging to get a dog. For as long as my husband, Rich, and I could remember, every year, Michaels letter to Santa began with a young boys heartfelt yearnings for a dog. I just want a puppy to love, he would write in block letters. After years of finding everything under the Christmas tree except a dog, the letter to Santa still asked for a dog but an increasingly disappointed Michael would add parenthetically even though I know I wont get one.

Michael was relentless in his lobbying effort. When he was ten years old, he had learned how to give a PowerPoint presentation in school and showed off his skills at home with a special creation for Rich and me entitled My Dog.

With Michael seated at the desk in his bedroom and Rich and me standing behind him, one photograph after another of smiling children and playful-looking dogs passed across the computer screen interspersed with outlines of his case. One page entitled An Amazing Animal had bullet points, like You can always get a hug from a dog when you are feeling sad and The most loving animal ever. Another page said simply, A Childhood Without a Dog Is a Sad Thing. The presentation had the desired effect of breaking our hearts. Michael sat there smiling, proud of his accomplishment and certain he had made a convincing argument, asking: Did you like it?

I was ready to cry, but I was not ready to get him a dog.

Michaels obsession with animals in general and dogs in particular was my own fault. Somehow, from infancy, I had filled his childhood with endless images of pets, real and imagined, and he fell in love with each and every one. His earliest friends were the cuddly stuffed animals who shared his nursery, Geoffrey Giraffe, Sammy Squirrel, Mamma Duck and Baby Duck, and Snuggles, an enormous golden retriever large enough to take a nap on.

Before Michael was born, while Rich and I were waiting for nine months to tick by, we went out to buy a teddy bear. After rummaging through every neighborhood shop without finding the perfect playmate, we headed downtown to New York Citys cathedral of toysFAO Schwarz.

On our way into the store, we shook hands with a tall man dressed like a toy soldier in a red jacket, blue pants, and a high black hat, standing sentry and greeting customers before they passed through the glass doors. Once inside, we nuzzled bears of all shapes and sizes: black bears, polar bears, panda bears, bears that looked a little too real, and others that were dressed like farmers or clowns. We laughed a lot and finally took home the irresistible, soft, sweet-faced, brown Fuzzy, to be renamed Shoshy by Michael some years later.

We had hoped Shoshy would be Michaels closest compadre, the kind of stuffed animal that moves from bed to closet to attic but never to the trash. But Shoshy, the bear, did not turn out to be Michaels favorite. Shoshy took a backseat to Corky, the dog.

Corky, sandy colored with brown eyes, was small enough to fit in the crook of Michaels neck yet big enough to hug. He had come along in the avalanche of presents from friends and colleagues that accompanied Michaels birth.

As soon as Michaels hands were large enough to grab hold of Corkys paw, Michael and Corky became constant companions. Corky slept alongside Michael, first in his crib, then in his toddler bed, and then in his big boy bed.

Corky was the perfect pet. He didnt bark, didnt shed, never had to be walked, and was endlessly tolerant of a little boy throwing him in the air and grabbing him by the tail. Whenever Michaels play got a little too rough and Corky broke a limb, it was easily repaired by Grammy, who just happened to be a retired nurse and quite handy with a needle and thread. Corky was indestructible.

When Michael was a toddler, he had a tendency to run high fevers. Corky was content to lie very still and close. Corky had his temperature taken whenever Michael did. He had his own dish for ice cream. When Michael needed a Band-Aid, Corky got one, too. Michaels imagination had transformed Corky into an integral member of the family. Mommy, dont forget to kiss Corky good night or Daddy, Corky needs milk, too were the admonitions that served as reminders that Corky was only inanimate to us; he was real to Michael.

The potential for heartbreak was great. Rich and I were so afraid of losing Corky that we bought an identical stuffed dog for Michael to take beyond the confines of hometo the park and on sleepovers, long car rides, and visits to relatives. We told him the new dog was Corkys cousin. It worked pretty well when Michael was a two-year-old toddler but was seen as the bald-faced lie it was by the time he was old enough for nursery school.

Corky and the menagerie in Michaels room were just the beginning.

With writers for parents, Michaels young life was filled with books. They were everywhere: plastic books in the bathtub, cloth books in the crib, cardboard books hanging off the stroller, and shelves filled with books lining the walls. We listened to books on tape in the car.