Episode 115: Hugo's Big Adventure

Some years ago, Perry and I had a Pekingese named Hugo, who was darling inside and out. At 12 pounds, he was small and had acquired the nickname of ‘Huge.’

Buying the puppy was a strange experience. The breeder lived a distance out of town. We talked on a Thursday, and I suggested I come to her on the following Saturday.

“They’ll all be gone by then. My pups don’t last on the market,” she bragged.

So we agreed to meet at the parking lot of the Springfield Mall on Friday morning. Because there was a Pekingese puppy involved, my mother came with me. We found the seller’s van without much difficulty, though, and when the seller opened the side door of the van there was a basket holding four puppies, three males and a female. Clearly this woman was a master marketer.

Perry holding Hugo when we first got him.

In the end, it was a pretty easy choice. The female was too shy and wouldn’t let us approach her. Two of the three males were barking their brains out from the moment the door opened to when we left. And then there was Hugo. We each picked him up and were rewarded with little kisses on our noses. He was the one.

We handed over the cash and crept away, with Hugo tucked under my coat, as it was chilly. I looked at my mother and said, “Why do I feel like we’ve made an illegal transaction?”

We had an older Peke named Fanny who was in decline. In the end we figured Hugo added a year to her life by pestering her and begging her to play with him. She obliged to the best of her ability.

When Fanny died, we decided to get a Boston Terrier, Elsie. One day when she was grown, the neighbor’s kids came over on some errand and I saw them out the back door. Forty-five minutes later I hear ferocious scratching at the back door and found Elsie having a hissy fit. The kids had left the gate open and there was no sign of Hugo. Elsie was practically pointing, “He went that a way,” but he wasn’t in sight.

I called the neighbor and insisted she get the kids out looking for him. I got in the car and drove around the neighborhood. No one had seen him.  I steeled myself and went out to the bigger road to make sure he hadn’t been hit by a car and was lying in the gutter. I checked with the nearby vet’s office, but nobody had brought him in.

This was in the days before cell phones. I was supposed to meet Perry in an hour or so at Iota, our favorite bar; I would have to call him there to tell him to come straight home.

Hugo, a little bewildered with Elsie tucked into him, wearing my father-in-law's cut up sock.

I sat for a moment in the car partway down the block from our house, putting my hands and head on the steering wheel and trying not to cry. When I lifted my head, who did I spy coming down the street but my darling Hugo, happy and jaunty from his big adventure. He’d been up to the small greenway at the end of our cul de sac and no doubt engaged in satisfying rooting around, digging and snuffling.

“Huge,” I cried and saw him head my way before I remembered we were at a crossroads. I barely looked both ways and ran across the street. I scooped him up, so happy I’d found him in one piece.

I got him into the house and fussed over him. He was oblivious of the terror he had caused me, and looked at me as if to say, “What’s the big deal?”

I was able to meet Perry on time and was happy to have a glass of wine (or two) to settle my ragged nerves.

Hugo lived to the ripe old age of 16. In his last year, he got a little goofy but was still the loving and lovable Peke he’d ever been. As always, it was hard to let him go, but since then we’ve had many wonderful dogs to keep us company.