When I was just a tiny little thing, I had been “allowed” to come back home for some routine torture and was out playing in the yard.
Our next door neighbor was the Police Chief and he had a daughter. I saw her outside and risked potential punishment by going over to her house to play.
They had a German Shepherd. She said “if he comes out, whatever you do, don’t run.”
As soon as she said that, the dog came out.
Since my mama never let me forget that I was “so smart” I showed off my highly intelligent self and took off flying. He caught me in front of a huge chain-link fence and almost tore my arm off.
She went in and got her daddy who got him off of me and acted like it was my fault his dog had attacked me. I guess it was…stupid me did exactly what I was told NOT to do.
I went home and cleaned my arm as good as I could and hid it under my shirt. I knew if mama saw it, she would beat me for going next door without permission. My arm swelled up and kept bleeding so mama eventually saw it. Saints be praised….she didn’t say anything and she didn’t whip me!
She told my daddy and all he said was “young’un, did your mother say you could go over there?” I said “no sir.” He said “well, I guess you learned your lesson, didn’t you?”
I was absolutely elated. I had escaped not only my mamas’ wrath but my daddys’ as well.
I’m hoping that dog didn’t have rabies. So far, some sixty years later, I haven’t had any symptoms but I’m keeping my eyeballs peeled, just in case I turn into Cujo.
I wasn’t afraid of dogs after that and I never ran from one again. Granny (mamas’ mama) always had a dog and I remember all of them.
Sheba was a beautiful Collie. We would play together when I went to grannys’ house. She was a good-natured dog but one day….Sheba was gone.
A few months later, Taig appeared. I liked playing with him too. He was a wiry mutt that loved to play fetch. One day, Taig was gone.
Then there was Dotter. Dotter was a sleek, black dog that may have been a pinscher or something similar. I walked over to grannys’ house one day and she was sitting on the front porch with this huge stick in her hand. Dotter was tied to a tree in the front yard.
There must have been fifteen dogs howling and barking around the house. Every time one would try to get close to Dotter, granny would hit it with that stick.
I didn’t understand what was going on then…but I do now.
A few months later, Dotter was gone.
There was Nick, the hound dog. Nick surprised granny when he had a litter of puppies. One of them was born dead and granny said she tried to blow in its mouth but it didn’t make it. She said she threw it in the fireplace.
It wasn’t long before Nick and all of his puppies were gone.
The last one I remember (before I left for good) was a precious little white dog. I think what happened was so traumatic that I can’t (or won’t) remember his name.
I was at grannys’ house and she had called mama to come over. My oldest sister was with mama and when they got to grannys’ house, we got into the car with the dog and started driving. I remember the look on mamas’ face and it was a mixture of anger, resentment and sadness.
We drove way up into the country and stopped. Granny put that little dog out on the side of the road and told mama to “hurry up.”
I was standing up in the back seat of the car, looking at that little dog just standing there. I said “granny, let’s go back and get him.” Granny told me to be quiet.
We drove all the way back home and just about two blocks from the house, I looked out the back of the car and there was that little dog, running just as fast as he could across the bridge.
I started saying “(?) is behind us!” I saw mama look into the rear-view mirror and then look at granny. She kept driving and when we got to grannys’ house, I asked her if I could go look for him. I guess she said yes because I remember running down the street as fast as I could.
I got there just in time to see that little dog get run over and killed.