Never forgotten but never seen in decades, the old album now rested across my arms as I carried it down the stairs.

Minor snuggled up at my feet as I opened the book. I slipped to the floor beside him. I doubt if pictures of dogs would register with those dimming eyes but figured he might enjoy listening to my voice.

This story began almost thirty-five years ago. I was much younger then — oh, my, so much younger — and you, dear dog, were a number of generations away from even being a thought. Minor looks up as I mention “dog,” rewarded with a pat and kiss to the top of his head.

Jan. 10, it was 1984, just after midnight. I chuckle as I check the notes I made at the time, knowing my sweet bitch, Honey, was about to have her puppies.

I need to explain that, January being January, the whelping box had to be inside and, as the house was laid out, the only sensible room was the formal dining room. It could be completely shut off which seemed important but I did come to regret the decision when winter turned into late spring and I still had many puppies running around (and doing what puppies do) in the lovely room with the hardwood floors.

The first came at 12:01, not in the whelping box but under the dining room table. We were in awe watching it appear for it was surprisingly huge, lusty, healthy and very loud.

Once begun, the puppies didn’t stop. No. 2 at 12:10 had a bleeding umbilical cord. Honey must have come to a quick rescue for it was up and with the other in no time.

Number three waited half an hour, 12:40, and was noticeably darker and definitely smaller with skinnier sides.

Now we had a longer wait — until 1:30 in fact. Number four was a big one with dark ears. This was another loud one — as loud as the firstborn.

The fifth gave us an hour-plus respite, coming at 2:43, and being big and dark but not, I noted, as dark as the third.

Then quickly, by 2:56, we had TWINS! They came in one sack and were very noisy, possibly to make up for all they couldn’t say before.

By the time the eighth was born at 3:25, I apparently had stopped writing comments. I suppose we were all exhausted. Yet, the puppies kept coming.

Number nine at 3:50. Four of the others curled up on the newcomer. I imagine we were beginning to run out of room. Honey is obviously getting tired. She is licking her pups less. We have to move them to the nipple.

Is there no stopping this dog? Ten at 4:12, 11 at 4:40 and, at 7:30, here was number 12. We were ALL grateful for that break between the 11th and 12th.

Was she finished now?

Not quite. A 13th arrived at 9:45. A 14-ounce little girl, she never started breathing. The second born, also a female, died two days later.

One by one Honey moves each pup away from the nipple to the group in back. By 2 in the afternoon she is eating — in her bed! I feed her bread, milk and eggs.

And probably went to bed myself.

Susan Crossett has lived outside Cassadaga for more than 20 years. A lifetime of writing led to these columns as well as two novels. “Her Reason for Being” was published in 2008 with “Love in Three Acts” following in 2014. Information on all the Musings, her books and the author may be found at Susancrossett.com.