My mom decided to adopt a beagle a few months ago, so I was pleasantly surprised to welcome a new member into the Kalayjian family this Thanksgiving break! Her name is Tracker, and she is an eight-year old beagle who was dropped off at the Metropolitan Humane Society, an animal shelter near Cleveland, Ohio.
If the picture doesn’t speak for itself, Tracker is an absolute angel. She is a bit reserved, and plays hard-to-get, but doesn’t ever object to being cradled, rubbed or carried around like a rag-doll. Her brown ears flop up and down when she prances around outside, and her little body seems to light up when she catches a whiff of fresh air.
Tracker isn’t the most playful little thing, however. When she’s not outside gallivanting, she walks painfully slow and often quivers. She has cataracts and a hernia, and has bad a few seizure attacks since she has been with us—one of which she had while I held her in my arms.
When I look into her big brown eyes, I can’t help but wonder where she came from, and what she has been through. Tracker’s story is undoubtedly filled with sadness. It’s clear she had many litters, and her body has been broken down by the trauma. My mom was told that she never belonged to a loving family, nor was especially valued for anything besides her reproductive capacities. She is tri-colored and has speckles of brown on her face—a perfect dog for breeding.
There is something about the unknown past of this little pooch that made me think about the stories we all hold within us—the tales that aren’t immediately evident, or even at all, which have evolved over the course of our lives. There’s quite a bit about these stories that we have no hand in writing, like the characters that enter in and out, the themes that shape the plot, where the stories take place, and how the story ends.
Living with my family is probably the final chapter in the story of Tracker’s life, but she is one adorable character that I am so glad has entered into ours.