By Hannah Ruttan
Eight weeks old and full of life. A small slinky body with soft black fur, huge puppy paws, folded-over ears that flop when you jump, and the bright eyes of a creature learning about the world. Bright brown eyes that pick out dark brown woodchips and you chew on them until we notice. Your black eyelashes are probably five inches long, and your little white teeth are razor-sharp and leave small bloody marks on my fingers. You grab everything in sight, dad’s white New Balance sneakers, mom’s purple fuzzy slippers, and old wilted leaves from the cucumber plants of a warm summer’s past.