Harley's Choice by Shaelin Ferra Page A

punching bag swayed under my assault,
I thought back to when I got Captain and how tiny he was.
    I had found him and three siblings during my
morning run out in the desert. It was already pushing eighty-five
at six am and when I saw the bag wiggle I knew something was
terribly wrong.
    I heard the whimper as I approached the bag
and when I opened it there were four tiny little puppies inside. I
looked around for any other puppies but didn’t see any; I also saw
nothing but a set of tire tracks. I snapped a quick picture of the
tracks and grabbed the bag and ran back home.
    I wasn’t sure of the breed, but I could
tell they were very young and not in a good condition. I
grabbed my phone book and found a vet near me and asked what to do
with abandoned puppies. She told me that I needed to bring them in
and so without hesitation I took them up to the vet’s and
waited.
    It took them twenty minutes to get me in,
but the bad news was a very slim prognosis for all four. ‘I’m sorry
Ms. Shelton, but I don’t see how any of them will survive.’
    ‘ I don’t care; I’m willing to take the
risk. Tell me what I need to do.’ She gave me a list of products to
buy and a timing chart for feedings and how to keep them
clean.
    Then wished me good luck with a sad
face.
    I went to the pet store and left with four
hundred dollars’ worth of puppy milk and bed pads and then headed
to the home store to get a heating lamp and a box.
    I got home with my haul and the little
puppies and I set out to create a place for them. I opted for my
closet, as it could be closed off if need be and it was close to
me. Then called my father and requested a few weeks off from work
and then had to explain the situation to him. He just chuckled
sadly and wished me well.
    But the wishes fell on fates deaf ears.
    By the end of the first night I had lost
one, the second and third ones didn’t make it to the end of the
first week.
    I had buried them in my back yard.
    The forth one I knew I over babied but I
wasn’t going to lose him, no siree.
    By the third week I knew I had won and he
was going to be fine. The vet on our weekly appointment had even
congratulated me on my success on getting him to survive. She
simply said, ‘He’s stubborn like a captain on a sinking ship.’ And
the name stuck. Captain.
    When I took him in for his shots at six
weeks I met my neighbor, who apparently had had a few mastiffs made
a comment ‘my he’s a handsome mastiff.’
    ‘ That’s what he is?’
    ‘ Didn’t you know?’
    ‘ Know I found him in the desert, he was
abandoned.’ And like most dog lovers her face flushed red in anger
and so I quickly continued, ‘I rescued four, unfortunately three
didn’t make it, this here is Captain.’
    ‘ Well good for you. When you get home
study up on mastiffs, they are a giant creature.’
    ‘ I will thank you.’
    I explained to the vet of the conversation
and she agreed that I needed to make sure I knew what I was getting
into. I followed the advice and when we got home I researched
everything I could.
    Time passed and he grew, before we knew it
he stood to my waist and outweighed me.
    “You know at some point you will punch
through that thing if you keep hitting it there.” My brother’s
voice laughed in my ear, I wasn’t in the mood to laugh and turned
on him.
    He caught on in a split second and he led me
to the floor mat. I notice he had already gloved up – he knew what
was going to happen.
    As always with my brother we never pull
punches and I got in the first one. “What, is that all you got?” he
taunted. I knew he was goading me and I walked right into an
uppercut into the diaphragm, “what have I told you about protecting
your middle! You are too fragile there.” He yelled at me.
    I smacked the floor next to my knees where I
had ended up and stood, “Alright. Let’s go.” I attacked with the
fever and hatred that had been building since he told me about
Captain.
    I got in a good one to his face,