Chapter 3

Chapter Three : The Day Topsy Came Home

The day Topsy came home, nobody knew that a tiny puppy was about to become the loudest personality in the house.

He was small enough to look harmless.

That was our first mistake.

We had no idea that behind those innocent eyes was a creature capable of turning an ordinary morning into a family comedy.

When we brought him home in April 2016, he seemed almost shy at first.

He stepped inside carefully, one paw at a time.

He looked around.

Then he sniffed the floor.

Then a wall.

Then someone's slipper.

Then another slipper.

Then, apparently satisfied that the house contained enough interesting things, he began exploring.

We watched him closely.

He was adorable.

His paws still looked too small for the rest of his body.

His movements had that slightly unsteady quality puppies have when they are still figuring out what their legs are supposed to do.

Sometimes he would walk confidently for a few steps and then suddenly lose balance.

We would laugh.

He would look at us.

And I swear his expression seemed to say,

"What's so funny?"

That became a familiar expression.

Topsy always seemed to think that we were the strange ones.

He had arrived in our home, but within a surprisingly short time, it became clear that he had no intention of behaving like a guest.

He was going to behave like the owner.

During those first days, everyone wanted to spend time with him.

We watched him sleep.

We watched him eat.

We watched him play.

We watched him discover things.

Sometimes we watched him doing absolutely nothing.

That was enough.

A puppy could sleep in the middle of the room and somehow become the most interesting thing happening there.

But Topsy didn't stay sleepy for long.

His curiosity was stronger than his laziness.

Every sound attracted him.

Every movement caught his attention.

If someone entered another room, his head turned.

If someone opened a cupboard, he came running.

If we started eating, he suddenly appeared as though he had been summoned by an invisible alarm.

He had only been with us for a short time, but we were already learning his personality.

He liked being around people.

He liked attention.

He liked exploring.

And he definitely liked food.

One morning, my siblings and I were sitting together having breakfast.

It was an ordinary family morning.

We were talking, eating and doing the usual things.

Topsy had just woken up.

He slowly came toward us.

His little paws moved across the floor.

He looked sleepy.

For a moment, we thought he might simply sit beside us.

Instead, he walked toward my older sister.

Then he gently pushed her tea cup.

Just a little.

Everyone stopped.

My sister looked at the cup.

Then at Topsy.

Topsy looked back.

Nobody understood what had just happened.

Then he moved toward my younger brother.

And he did it again.

A tiny push.

The cup moved slightly.

That was it.

We burst out laughing.

Topsy stood there looking completely serious.

He didn't appear to understand why everyone was laughing.

Perhaps he was offended.

Perhaps he thought we were appreciating his work.

Or perhaps he simply wanted breakfast.

Knowing Topsy now, I suspect the last possibility was the most likely.

My siblings and I continued laughing.

Topsy stared at us for a moment and then wandered away.

It was as if he had completed his morning assignment.

He had entered the breakfast area.

Disturbed two tea cups.

Made the entire family laugh.

And left.

A productive morning.

That was our first real introduction to the kind of trouble Topsy would create.

He didn't need to break anything.

He didn't need to make a huge mess.

Sometimes a tiny action was enough.

A gentle push.

A stolen object.

A suspicious noise.

A sudden run through the house.

And somehow, everyone would end up laughing.

Over the following days, we began discovering more about him.

He loved attention.

If someone called him, he came running.

If nobody called him, he often found a way to make someone notice him anyway.

He would walk into a room where everyone was sitting and simply stand there.

Waiting.

Watching.

Almost demanding recognition.

If nobody reacted, he would make a noise.

If that didn't work, another noise.

Eventually, someone would look at him.

Only then would he be satisfied.

He had an interesting relationship with silence.

He didn't trust it.

If the house became too quiet, Topsy seemed to assume something important was happening without him.

And that was unacceptable.

He wanted to be included.

Always.

That was one of the things I loved about him even when he was being annoying.

He didn't simply live in the house.

He participated in it.

He wanted to know where everyone was.

He wanted to know what everyone was doing.

And most importantly, he wanted to be included in whatever fun was happening.

There were times when I would sit on the floor and play with him.

He would grab whatever I offered him and run away with it.

Then I would chase him.

He would stop.

Look back.

Wait until I got closer.

And then run again.

It became a game.

I began to suspect that he wasn't running because he wanted to escape.

He was running because he wanted me to chase him.

He had already discovered something important:

Humans were extremely easy to entertain.

Give them a puppy.

Run away.

They follow.

Perfect.

Topsy seemed delighted with his discovery.

And the more comfortable he became, the more his personality emerged.

He became bolder.

He explored more.

He started finding places where he wasn't supposed to go.

He began testing boundaries.

A little here.

A little there.

Nothing too serious.

At least, not yet.

We still thought he was simply a mischievous puppy.

We didn't know that his imagination was going to become our daily problem.

But there was something else happening too.

Topsy was slowly becoming attached to us.

He learned our voices.

Our footsteps.

Our routines.

He began recognizing who fed him.

Who played with him.

Who took him outside.

Who scolded him.

And who would forgive him five minutes later.

He was building his own map of the family.

And each person had a place on it.

I think I had a place too.

I would walk him sometimes.

Feed him sometimes.

Play with him.

Bathe him.

And whenever I was around, he often stayed close.

I didn't realize then how meaningful those ordinary moments would become.

At the time, they were simply things I did with my dog.

That is the strange thing about childhood.

You don't know which ordinary Tuesday will become a memory you would give anything to experience again.

You don't know which silly game will become precious.

You don't know which annoying habit will someday make you smile through tears.

You simply live.

And Topsy was teaching us how to live with him.

He had been in our house for only a short time.

Yet already, the house seemed a little louder.

A little more chaotic.

And somehow, a lot happier.

We had brought home a puppy.

But what we didn't realize was that we had also brought home a new source of stories.

And Topsy was just getting started.