Puppies and Dogs of my Life

It seems my family always had a dog. You never knew when my father would bring one home.

My very first memories are of a boxer that liked to play with balloons. I was only two years old, so I'm sure he was as tall as I was. I could climb all over him, and he didn't mind. I remember him taking my balloon and bumping it up into the air over and over until it finally hit the ground. He'd then pounce on it and pop it, then come back looking for another one.




The next one I remember was in the Bahamas. Chichi was a mutt, and so loving and motherly. I couldn't whistle to her, so I called her by sucking air between my teeth and lips to make a squeaking sound. She had a litter of pups during a hurricane Butch when we were living in Nassau. We kept one pup and named him Butch. He went with us back to Cat Island. He was more active and more an explorer than his mother, but he was a good companion and playmate.

Not long after that, we moved to New York where we got Sandy, another mutt. She had a rounder body, short legs, floppy soft ears, and a curly tail. Again, she was a good playmate and companion. I remember we were taking care of a friend's cat once. Our cat didn't like the intruder, and they fought all the time. One night, Sandy kept going up and down the stairs breaking up the cat fights, so she could get some sleep.




Then a big German shepherd adopted my dad. He just showed up one day and decided he liked him. He followed my father everywhere--inside, outside, upstairs, downstairs, in the bedroom, even laid outside the bathroom door. The owner eventually got in contact with us, but said Fang never stayed home, so we could keep him. He was a gentle dog, but I'll never forget the looks on people's faces when they learned that their new pastor had a German shepherd named Fang.

The summer between my junior and senior years of high school, we moved. We lived in a camp on a lake while looking for a house. My father brought home a young German shepherd puppy, which we named Buddy. That dog loved the water. If we were swimming, he'd be with us--usually trying to get on the float or our inner tube. Everyday, rain or shine, he'd get in the rowboat and wait for someone to give him a ride. He'd perch on the little triangle at the prow of the boat and peer down into the water. My brother would row very fast and then give a quick stop to make Buddy fall in.

Buddy never barked, except once. My mother worked the night shift at the hospital, and my father was taking her there. We kids were there alone, but usually it was very quiet. This night, some boys were having a party at the camp next to us and became drunk. They began knocking at the doors and windows, asking if we wanted to come to their party. We pulled all the curtains and huddled together, waiting for my father to return. Buddy sensed our fear and began barking. He barked and barked and barked and frightened those boys away.


When I got married, my husband and I had our hands full with just raising our children. But...our third son really, really wanted a dog. He talked about it constantly. One winter day, a stray beagle came to us. She was all white, except for a small patch of tan on her shoulder. I thought my husband would say, "no", so I didn't let her inside. Stephen sat outside on the steps with the dog, waiting for his daddy to come home. My husband felt sorry for the dog and said that if no one claimed her, he could keep her. We named her Sugar. Her paws were raw and she seemed very tired and hungry. No one replied to our ads, and our children were delighted. She greeted them each morning and played in the fields with them. One day, she chased after something and just kept on going. We like to think she was going home and just rested at our home for awhile.




After that, Stephen begged more for a dog. So, for his 10th birthday, we let him pick a puppy from a litter of cocker spaniel and English setter mix. Corky joined our family. She camped with the boys and tracked mud through the house. She wallowed in the pond and comforted when we were sick. She greeted us when we arrived home and waited on the steps for those who had left for college.

It seems each of these happy memories has a sad ending, so I chose not to tell those parts. I'd rather remember the happy parts. We don't have a dog right now. We want to be free to travel without having to make arrangements. Maybe someday, I'll have a dog again. I think I'd like a big lovable Newfoundlander. No one would dare pester an old lady with a bear protecting her, right?





Be sure to visit Lynette's blog Wednesday's Walk Down Memory Lane for more cute stories.