
I can’t remember how old I was when I told my last lie to my parents, but I was somewhere around Beth’s age… between 7 and 10. I have been a dog lover for my entire life. I had told my parents I wanted to be a veterinarian when I was five years old. So naturally, when my parents bought my grandparents a tiny poodle puppy, I was thrilled. The pup didn’t weigh more than a pound or two.
I wanted to hold it and play with it all the time. I often sat on a couch in the family room that was more like a day bed than a couch. My mom didn’t want me to hold the puppy while I was on the couch, in case the pup fell off... but I begged and pleaded and finally she relented when
I promised to keep it safe.
You guessed it… the pup fell off the couch. Shortly after that, it was obvious the pup was severely injured, as her spinal cord had been damaged and she was paralyzed in her rear legs. Even writing about this now makes me incredibly sad. I was mortified… just horrified at what I had caused. And I lied to my parents for a week about what happened. Deny, deny, deny. Finally I broke down and spilled the story.
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My mom didn’t punish me because she knew I had already punished myself far worse than anything she could say or do.
My grandparents lived several hundred miles away from us. They returned home with a paralyzed pup and we learned they had her put to sleep shortly after that. I was just sick about the whole incident.
After that I found it impossible to lie to my parents. Not that I didn’t try again a time or two, but I couldn’t stand it… I told the truth about everything. I have told this story to Beth but it has little impact when it isn’t about you, personally. But it sure did impact me.
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