The Little Beagle That Could

It was not that long ago that I proclaimed: "I will never have a beagle!" They howl, dig and run. Not a great combination for a contemplative evening. Then came Edith. Fat, sick and chronically homeless. No home training, no manners, but sweet and smart. Four months and two thousand dollars later, Edith is healthier, and learning how to potty outside. If Edith were a puppy none of this would be that remarkable, but Edith is about seven or eight according to my vet's estimation. I do love my beagle. She is a survivor and in my strange world a metaphor for the permanent damage poverty causes in sentient beings. A lifetime of no medical care, no consistent food or clean water source or affection makes for a neurotic adult. Dog or human.

The good news is that Edith can relax. She is home at last.