I suspect drinking may have been involved when my sister and cousin gave our elderly aunt a seven week old Shih Tzu puppy, but don't quote me.

Teddy was a petite black and white active ball of cuteness given to my aging aunt as a "SURPRISE, WE LOVE YOU!" birthday gift.

Auntie was nearing her 80's at the time of the surprise, and living alone in a three story Victorian in a Boston suburb called Watertown. Our aunt never married or had children; sacrificing both for a successful career.

I never had the sense my aunt was an animal lover. On her varied visits to Arizona, this affliction was also obvious to our cat, Kitty-- we weren't very creative with pet names in the early years. Frankly, aunt Mimi was at the very least, terrified of cats. She wasn't all that warm and fuzzy over our raggedy dog, Taffy, either.

Cats, as you may know from experience or observation, are gifted with an inane ability of sensing feline phobia in humans, making it their mission to either convert or provoke the 'freaked out'. Kitty was no exception to this phenomenon, employing rounds of SURPRISE lap dances and GOTCHA ankle grabs under claw foot tables--talons in full extension, suggesting high level intelligence. Kitty walked a fine line between endearment and terroristic behavior.

All things considered, a Shih Tzu puppy seemed like an odd birthday gift to me as I pondered middle of the night potty breaks during Nor'easters, further complicated by seasonal snow and an unfenced yard, but perhaps our arthritic aunt had dropped hints I wasn't privy to.

A few days after the "SURPRISE WE BOUGHT YOU A PUPPY" gifting took place, the reality of my elderly aunt caring for a fluffy, cantankerous little shit nipping at her varicose veined ankles seemed as much fun as a colorblind person playing Twister. She was not having it. "SURPRISE, MAKE IT GO AWAY!"

Enter my animal loving dad, who was visiting the east coast with my "not-so-much-animal loving" mom. These two sisters sprouted from the same tree trunk. Dad would not have Teddy going to the Humane Society or even a good home considering there was no home better than his own, damn it...so what if it was three weeks and nearly three thousand miles away in Arizona.

Knowing only of the havoc and distress the little runt was causing my aunt, and the efforts underway to re-home him, I was completely unaware of my dad's plan to snatch him up.

Three weeks later, I set out to retrieve my traveling parents at the airport. Their flight ETA worked out perfectly with my little ones' schedules at four o'clock in the afternoon.

Then came the update. Dad called to advise their flight had been cancelled and they wouldn't arrive until 10:30 that night. He even acted miffed with the airline for his inconvenience as I pondered the impact of a late night pickup on my school aged boys.

The year was circa 1989 and pre-911 security; a time when curbside parking at the airport wasn't considered a felony. My three young children were crazy with excitement as we waited for their traveling grands to appear.

Ten minutes later, we had a sighting. We were easy to spot in the bouncing pink conversion van parked curbside at Sky Harbor Airport. Once luggage was loaded and kisses and bear hugs subsided, Dad remarked he had one more suitcase inside and asked for my help.

I was led to a small plastic crate with a sign reading LIVE ANIMAL. I shuddered as my first thought took me back to an age ten pet horror that haunts me still. "Dear God, NOOOOOO!!!"

Dad grew up on Maine lobster and my flashback conjured up images of history repeating itself upon my own children. Following a trip to visit his mother in the 1960's, he returned home with two cardboard boxes bearing the same bold lettering: LIVE ANIMAL.

My eight year old brother and I initially thought we had the coolest dad on the planet bringing us these rocking new pets as trip souvenirs as we played with them on the floor in our family room for hours. We were decades ahead of The Little Mermaid.

They crawled on weird looking appendages and we giggled with fascination. The wide rubber band's kept their claws in check, further adding to their 'boss' status. Their long whiskers tickled our fancies, and our faces. Kitty the cat was equally fascinated, but observed them safely from a shelf on the bookcase. Taffy the dog seemed to be communicating with them through high pitch barks. Life was good. Then it wasn't.

When the big metal pot surfaced on the kitchen stove we realized dad went from being cool to being cruel and we cried hysterically as our new best friends were dropped head first into boiling water. I swear I could hear their screams over mine.

Mom tried to lessen the atrocity by telling us she added wine to the boiling water so they wouldn't feel the pain. There is something wrong with a mother who plants the seed of alcoholism in her ten and eight year old offspring subliminally suggesting liquor extinguishes heartache, but then again she was Irish.

Five decades later, I remain a lobster virgin. I would even go so far as to say I fantasize about saving them in restaurants and high end grocery stores in honor of my four hour pets from the 1960's. I envision myself clad in a red cape (the color of my friends after the boil) with bold lettering across my chest "LOBSTER ROBSTER" as I make our getaway in a VW bug decorated like a giant clam and outfitted with a salt water tank. I wish someone would bring me a pet cow and a pet pig so I could fulfill my heart's desire to go meatless.

Back to Ted, and the airport crate.

I perused the crate looking for signs of banded claws as I approached, only to find a black and white fur ball smelling of urine and yipping quietly. I turned to dad in astonishment that he got this by Mom to find him grinning ear to ear.

Full disclosure then ensued; the earlier flight wasn't canceled, but dad didn't want Teddy on the tarmac in the Dallas heat during the layover from Logan airport, so he changed their flights to the tune of several hundred bucks.

With that tidbit of information, I realized Teddy had achieved little brother status. Dad had birthed a third son and without an assist from Mom this time around.

Once Teddy was secured in the pink van, we bounced all the way home with three exuberant grandchildren delighting in the added bonus of a new uncle. I envisioned Aunt Mimi bouncing the Irish Jig twenty-seven hundred miles away in Watertown, Massachusetts.

Teddy was the apple of Dad's eye. Christmas cards were sent out in his name, followed by Valentine's day and Easter cards with a dollar inside for each grandchild.

They were Abbot and Costello, Starsky and Hutch, Frick and Frack, Grampie and Teddy, and shared nearly a decade together.

Teddy fell prey to an eye injury when someone with criminal intent jumped a backyard fence and caught the wrath of Federal Ted.

For his efforts in crime prevention, Teddy took a hard kick to the head, completing obliterating his eye. This may have been the second time I witnessed dad cry. Surgery ensued to remove the damaged eye and sutures closed the socket permanently.

It wasn't long before I was sewing an eye patch for my little bro at Dad's request. From that point on, Christmas and seasonal cards sent to the grandchildren and signed "Love, Teddy", with Hallmark dogs sporting black eye patches drawn in with a black marker became the norm.

Fast forward to 1996. We lost Dad to esophageal cancer just three months after diagnosis. When Teddy was placed on the bed with his still body, the dog laid in reverence as if understanding the permanence of death. I believe it was also the moment my mom may have fallen in love with the little shit for the first time. Teddy became the Spencer Tracy to her Katherine Hepburn as she grieved the loss of her husband of fifty-one years.

Two years would pass. One day while Mom was getting the garbage to the curb, Teddy took advantage of the open gate and took off for greener grass and yellower fire hydrants.

Mom was beside herself. Frantic efforts to locate him via the various websites available at the time; newspaper ads, neighborhood signage, local veterinarian notifications; walking and driving the neighborhead calling his name, and repeated visits to the local dog pound in search of our one-eyed little man turned up empty. It seemed hopeless. Many tears were shed over our wayward boy, with the sense we lost a piece of Dad all over again.

Enter the Teddy the Imposter three weeks later...

Following many trips and false leads regarding one-eyed Ted's MIA status, and not resigned to give up hope, my younger brother and fellow boiled lobster victim, Bob, visited the pound once again in search of our one-eyed pirate dog. Aaarghhh.

As he approached one of the cages, lo and behold, there sat the imposter, looking all Shih Tzu and innocent.

Bob called him by name and the dog responded by running to him, tail wagging wildly and winking with his only eye. Bob would soon learn dogs on death row are desperate and will answer to shit-head when necessary.

Bob's heart beat a little hopeful. A quick inspection led him to believe this was in fact, our AWOL one-eyed stud muffin. After calling Mom with the amazing news, Bob proceeded in arranging bail for the jailbird. During the $75.00 Teddy 'buy-back' plan and subsequent half hour drive to Mom's home, Teddy the Imposter remained coy and diligent in keeping his left eye clamped shut.

Mom called me with the unbelievable good news and I happened to be on the other end of the phone when Bob and "Imp Ted" arrived. As I listened to the excitement of the reunion, I immediately sensed a problem in the tone of my mom's voice as she greeted my long lost little brother...

"Teddy, oh Teddy, oh my God I am so happy to have you back." This was followed by silence from you-know-who. Not so much as a whimper. Then in a quizzical tone I heard, "Teddy is it really you, Teddy", and then, "Bob, he looks bigger than I remember Teddy being."

About this time, imagine me dying on the other end of the phone wondering 'WTF???" just as Mom picked up the receiver and asked "Mary, what color was Teddy, he seems different."

I know my own eyesight has digressed over the years and Mom was seventy-four at the time, but I was taken back by her questioning his coloring. It wasn't like he'd been missing for years for Heaven sakes!

While trying to suppress my inner HE BROUGHT HOME A FAKE FOOOOKING TEDDY rage building within me, likely brought on by lack of sleep, dog poster posting, and relentless searching, I responded in the most controlled response I could muster being ten miles away and helpless from stopping the impending disaster as it unfolded.

I calmly suggested an identity buster I had learned while watching Ironside reruns with Dad..."Mom, dogs on the run don't usually gain weight, but if the dog has two eyes, it's not Teddy!!!"

I couldn't imagine there were many one-eyed, full breed Shih Tzu's at the pound.

As the story goes, Teddy the Imposter, now secure in the good fortune of escaping Alcatraz, its sharks and finding himself safe in the midst of kindness and air conditioning, decided his game was up and coughed up the evidence so to speak. With the sudden hack, his left eye popped wide open.

Enter the What's My Line show in Alan Ludden's voice. "Will the real Teddy Lewis please stand up." Ted the imposter didn't budge from his seat on the floor. My brother pleaded the Fifth for his involvement in the fiasco, and in all fairness, the imposter did have a nasty eye infection.

A crisis then ensued as to what to do with con-dog. We couldn't in fair conscience return him to the pound following his genius break out effort. Mom only wanted the real Teddy, no imposters need apply. Considering that nearly a decade ago, she didn't even want the real Ted, we knew there was no convincing her otherwise.

My sister and I were at our respective husband-enforced three dog maximum, and neither brothers were in a position to take him in as their large breed aggressive dogs would have likely snapped him in half like a Pringles potato chip.

Following a few days of raging hormones and an upset grammie, a home was eventually secured for the cutie where he lived out his last few weeks surrounded by love. Yes, you read that correctly...Con-dog croaked within a month of attaining freedom. My brother said it was the best $75 bucks he ever spent.

Our Teddy never was found, but all these years later, there were sightings of him being reunited with Dad and then Mom on Rainbow Bridge.