I remember Ceil, my wife, had mentioned an observation. Nan, our youngest granddaughter, needed a pet to take care of. This thought came to me as I looked outside, through the sliding glass door, into our backyard. Nan sat on a picnic bench holding the neighborhood kitten who slept, her tail still, on Nan’s lap. I had heard our other granddaughter, Risa, complain to Nan to put the kitten down so they could play a game. Nan shook her head and continued to stroke the sleeping kitten and stare at her, as if in reverie. For Nan the world didn’t exist. Only her orange kitten commanded her attention. Her skinny little kitten needs her.
I listened to Risa complain that Nan wouldn’t play any games. “She just sits there and holds that kitten.”
Ceil told me Nan had been doing this periodically for several days. “She sits out there in the backyard and holds that kitten. The kitten usually sleeps, and both of them are out there all day, or until the kitten gets tired of being held; then Nan sets the kitten down and follows her into the front yard and watches as she disappears.”
I went out into the backyard. Risa followed me. Nan was sitting alone. I asked her if she wanted a kitten of her own, and she surprised me by saying she wanted a puppy. Risa just looked at me, her eyes wide. “Can’t have a pup at our house,” she said, “because of the swimming pool in the backyard.” She folded her arms ending the conversation.
I told Ceil that we could keep Nan's pup in our backyard, and when our grandchildren came over, they could play with it. Ceil agreed, and we decided we would find a new puppy.
“Where should we go to get a pup?“ I asked. “Is anyone listening?” Risa and Nan replied, “The pet shop over in the mall.”
“Really?” I asked.
“Yes,” they said in at the same time jumping up and down.
We couldn't make up our minds which puppy was cuter, so not only did we buy a female pup, we bought the pup’s sister too; both puppies were part German shepherd and part Labrador retriever. There was no trouble bringing them home. I carried both quiet females to the car, and the girls held them in their laps.
Of course, we stopped at the supermarket to buy a bag of their food, then drove directly home where we watched Risa and Nan carry their puppies into the backyard.
“We’ve got to pick out names for them soon, so they will know when we are talking to them,” I told my granddaughters.
“My puppy’s sort of a peach color,” Nan said, stroking her head and ears. “I’m going to call her Peaches.”
“Good idea,” I said. “It fits. Her fur is brown and tan and appears to have a lot of orangy peach color in it.”
Risa said, “Well, mine’s fur is mostly white in front, black all over, and her paws look like she's stepped in a pan of milk or cream, so why not call her, I know, Creame?”
We were all pleased with their names and happy to have them as part of our family. The pup sisters were named, we fed them daily, they grew large, rapidly, were strong and healthy and they knew their names.
I talked to them when I worked in the backyard, when I took their food to them or gave them doggie bones. They preferred that I refer to the bones as ‘sticks’. Peaches and Creame were always very, very grateful.

End of the Excerpt from
  Conversations With Peaches and Creame

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