I have a friend who has a few good stories to tell, here's one of them.
I was visiting at my daughter's home several days ago and walked out to retrieve her mail. As I walked across the front yard, I noticed a man who lives several houses down the street carrying a dog that he put down on the grass in my daughter's yard, mind you, where my granddaughter runs and plays.
Now, I am not an unkind person and my aches and pains remind me that I am a little old to fistfight. But, at that moment, I was about ready for whatever happened. So, I confronted the gentleman and informed him that he needed to take his dog and his backside down the street to his own home and yard.
He wasn't happy and, in my frame of mind at that moment, I could not have cared less. Some people simply do not use the sense the good Lord blessed them with and much of their ignorance has to do with their pets.
But, the incident served a purpose. I started thinking about dogs I have known or encountered so I thought I would use a couple of columns to tell you about them. Although I am a son of the deep South, I have lived in most areas of the country at times in my life. I have always wanted to live on a farm, just never had an opportunity. But, I have always thought of myself as a country boy. I especially like country people because they normally have no need nor desire to impress anyone and I really like their country-type animals. Horses and cows live in fenced areas away from people. Any contact is always at the discretion of a thinking human. Farm animals eat grass and drink rain water – my kind of pet.
There are no more good dogs. I know because I owned the last two many years ago. The first was named Skippy, like the peanut butter. He died when I was 10. Now, Skippy wasn't country but he was much smarter than the average city dog. We went everywhere together – me on a bike and Skippy trotting along behind. He was my best friend and we had great times. I taught him all sorts of tricks and how to look both ways before he crossed a street – and, he did every time for years. Then, one day in his old age when he was blind in one eye, he looked right with his good eye and assumed the best from the left. A truck ran Skippy over and so ended that first era of the good dog.
When I was a senior in college, I met Happy when he was 5 weeks old. He was a brown and white, half beagle and half basset hound with very long ears. I drove a Corvette convertible and his ears would blow in the wind when we drove much too fast which I'm sure we did too often. Now, let me tell you the combination of a pretty puppy and a Corvette convertible attracts a lot of attention among college girls. The fact that you may be as ugly as a shoe sole and have no money to spend is irrelevant. Happy and I had many good times that year. I even took him with me on several dates with young ladies. I considered it an important part of the young fellow's proper education.
After college, I went off to California and had to leave Happy with my parents unfortunately, his early education did not include looking both ways before crossing streets. He got out one day and another truck ran over him. I never understood why truck drivers seem to pick on my mutts.
In moments of weakness or temporary insanity, I have since owned several other dogs which were okay but always for short periods of time. As soon as I realized my mistake and regained my sanity, I made a present of each to one of my daughters. Could be why their husbands don't seem to appreciate my visits. My ex-wife even got two of them. Need I say more? If I had known that was all it would take, I'd have bought her a kennel years ago. We'll talk more about dogs and cats soon.
Y'all have a good day.
Jerry Sailors is a columnist, public speaker, and realtor