In my growing up family, we had a dog named Spot. Original, yes? Spot was a mutt but she was attractive enough to get a thoroughbred Boston Bull Terrier as her mate and had thirteen little ones that looked just like him. But what I remember most was my mom feeding that dog like you wouldn't believe. I can still see her filling up her dish with everything she could find, piled high and mumbling in Swedish under her breath about the poor thing having to feed all those pups. Didn't buy dog food in those days. At least, we didn't. (Remember this was during or just after the depression.) Just table scraps tho I saw Mom give her lots of her homemade bread to fill her up with leftover gravy over all.
I kept one of the pups and called him Pepper. He died of distemper. You see, we didn't have all the shots and stuff like that in those days either. I wrote what I think was my first poem in my grief over his death.
In almost 60 years of marriage, we've had numerous dogs. I remember Flicka, a sort of black golden retriever looking dog who was a renegade and always running away from home. I would be teaching school at St. Edward's Catholic School about two blocks from our house and I would see Flicka running by. I was in my midlife years then--famous for running to the window and opening them to pant and the kids would all yell," Mrs. S is having a hot flash again." That's where I would yell out the window for Flicka to go home also.
When we lived in Denver we finally bought our"Lassie," only she was a tricolor fullblooded collie. Our children were still young enough to really bond with MaryAnn. Yes, her name was MaryAnn. There had been a collie across the street in Minnesota named MaryAnn and they would settle for nothing else. I can still see her chasing a neighbor's rabbit with the over six footer owner chasing her round and round. It was hilarious. When we moved to Michigan, she survived her first and only airplane ride. She too was a part of our family for about 10 or 11 years. A very beautiful dog.
Shyre was our first Golden. We had her for 12 years and loved her so much. Never saw my youngest son cry like he did after he took her to be put down. He wanted her to be looking at him with her last breath. Tough on him.
Then we got another Golden named Kate, because she was the ruler of the litter and spunky like Shakespeare's Taming of the Shrew. We had her for about 10 years when one day when she was visiting some people in the country, she was hit by a truck and killed. She was such a pretty girl. I used to tell her that all the time. I miss her.
And then there was George. I tried to have another Golden Retriever puppy while I was still taking care of my husband, but I could not handle it. George had to be given to another home. He was a blonde Golden and loved to pee all over the house and I could not devote the time to train him properly. The guy that took him told me he just peed in their house once. I figure either I was on the cusp of getting him trained or this guy had a better method than I.
But I want to get another dog--another Golden, and I may one of these days. My children say not to for they fear I cannot chase it if it should take off, and they are right. This may be reality but sometimes reality is hard to take. Especially if it interferes with one's dreams. A smaller dog or an older dog would not do it for me. There is nothing cuter than a Golden Retriever puppy. And when they grow up, there is no dog so easy to live with.
I just might get it yet!