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| The price of love英汉翻译对照阅读 The price of love “ No family needs two dogs,” I began dogmatically1. And so I invoked2 the Bauer Anonymity3 Rule (BAR), which prohibits the naming of any animal not on the endangered species list, because at our place a pet named is a pet claimed.“ But we gotta call him something” ,our four children protested. “ All right, then, call him Dog X.” I suggested. They frowned, but I thought it the perfect handle for something I hoped would float away like a generic4 soap powder. My no-named strategy proved a dismal5 failure, however. Long before the pup was weaned6, the kids secretly began calling him Scampy, and before I knew it he had become as much a fixture as the fireplace. And just as immovable. All of this could have been avoided, I fumed7, if Andy, a neighborhood mutt, had only stayed on his side of the street. But at age fourteen, this scruffy, arthritic8 mongrel hobbled9 into our yard for a tê te-a- tê te10 with our blue blooded schnauzer11, Heidi, who was a ten year Old Maid. We were unaware that Andy had left his calling card until the middle of one night during our spring vacation in Florida. I thought the moaning noise was the ocean. But investigation revealed it was coming from Heidi, whom Shirley, my wife, pronounced in labor12.When morning brought no relief or delivery, we found a vet who informed us that a big pup was blocking the birth canal, which could be fatal to Heidi. We wrung our hands13 for the rest of the day, phoning every couple of hours for an update. Not until evening was our dog pronounced out of danger. “ Have you ever seen anything so homely15?” I asked Shirley.“ He’ s adorable,” she answered admiringly. “ I only hope someone else thinks so. His days with us are numbered.” But I might as well have saved my breath. By the time Dog X reached ten weeks, our kids were more attached to him than barnacles16 to a boat’ s bottom. I tried to ignore him.One thing I could not deny: he had the ears of a watchdog, detecting every sound that came from the driveway or yard. When the kids went off on their bikes or I put on my jogging shoes, he wanted to go along. If left behind, he chased squirrels. Occasionally, by now, I slipped and called him Scampy. Then in the fall, after six months of family nurture and adoration, Scampy suffered a setback. Squealing brakes announced he had chased one too many squirrels into the street. The accident fractured his left hind leg, which the vet put in a splint. We were all relieved to hear his prognosis: complete recovery. But then a week later the second shoe dropped. “ Gangrene17,” Shirley told me one evening. “ The vet says amputate18 or he’ ll have to be put to sleep.” I slumped down in a chair. “ There’ s little choice,” I said. “ It’ s not fair to make an active dog like Scampy struggle around on three legs the rest of his life.” Suddenly the kids, who had been eavesdropping19, flew into the room.“ They don’ t kill a person who has a bad leg.” Steve and Laraine argued.Buying time, I told them, “ We’ ll decide tomorrow.” After the kids were in bed, Shirley and I talked. “ It will be hard for them to give up Scampy,” She sympathized. “ Especially Christopher,” I replied. “ I was about his age when I lost Queenie.” Then I told her about my favorite dog, a statuesque20 white spitz21 whose fluffy coat rolled like ocean waves when she ran. But Queenie developed a crippling22 problem with her back legs, and finally my dad said she would have to be put down23.“ But she can get well,” I pleaded. I prayed with all my might that God would help her walk again. But she got worse. One night after dinner I went to the basement, where she slept beside the furnace. At the bottom of the stairs, I met Dad. His face was drained of color, and he carried a strange, strong smelling rag in his hand. “ I’ m sorry, but Queenie’ s dead,” he told me gently. I broke into tears and threw myself into his arms. I don’ t know how long I sobbed, but after a while I became aware that he was crying too. I remember how pleased I was to learn he felt the same way. Between eye- wiping and nose- blowing, I told him， “ I don’ t ever want another dog. It hurts too much when they die.” For better than five years, Scampy gave us an object lesson in courage, demonstrating what it means to do your best with what you’ ve got. On our daily runs, I often carried on conversations with him as if he understood every word. “ I almost shipped you out27 as a pup.” I’ d recount to him, “ but the kids wouldn’ t let me. They knew how wonderful you were.” It was obvious from the way he studied my face and wagged his tail that he liked to hear how special he was. He probably would have continued to strut28 his stuff29 for a lot longer had he been less combative30.One warm August night he didn’ t return at his normal time, and the next morning he showed up, gasping for air and bloody around the neck. He obviously had been in a fight, and I suspected a badly damaged windpipe or lung.“ Scampy, when will you learn?” I asked as I petted his head. He looked up at me with those trusting eyes and licked my hand, but he was too weak to wag his tail. Christopher and Daniel helped me sponge him down and get him to the vet, but my diagnosis proved too accurate. By midday Scampy was gone. That evening Christopher and I drove to the vet’ s office, gathered up Scampy and headed home. Scampy’ s mother, Heidi, had died at fifteen, just a few months before; now we would bury him next to her in the woods by the garden. As we drove, I tried to engage Christopher in conversation, but he was silent, apparently sorting through his feelings. “ I’ ve seen lots of dogs, Christopher,” I said, “ but Scampy was something special.” “ Yep,” he answered, staring into the darkness. “ He was certainly one of the smartest.” Christopher didn’ t answer. From flashes of light that passed through the car I could see him dabbing his eyes. Finally he looked at me and spoke. “ There’ s only one thing I’ m sure of, Dad,” he choked out through tears. “ I don’ t want another dog. It feels so bad to lose them.” “ Yes, I know,” I said. Then drawing on a voice and words that were not my own, I added, “ But that’ s the price of love.” Now his sobs were audible, and I was having trouble seeing the road myself. I pulled off at a service station and stopped the car. There, I put my arms around him and with my tears let him know-- just as my father had shown me--that his loss was my loss too. 、香港地区设立3家分公司的国际化连锁翻译公司，是中华人民共和国司法部指定的 专业翻译认证机构 ，翻译文件加盖经北京市公安局中英文特批中英文翻译专用章（特 No.0018457）所盖公章通行全球 190 多个国家、地区。国家外汇管理局、各驻华使领馆、公安局出入境管理处、司法机关、公证处及其他政 府机构均承认我公司的译文效力。公司网址：https://www.soven.com |