On Dogs

This is a picture of the current dog exploring a crop of mushrooms (that you cannot see) of a variety which she hasn't encountered before.  All rights reserved.


This time of year my thoughts turn naturally to dogs.  I got my first dog for Christmas in fourth grade.  She was a mid-size poodle, white, so of course I named her Fifi.  I had her until sometime in the summer.  My dad used to come and get me on Sundays.  My mother began to insist in her irate way that I take Fifi with me on Sundays.  This wasn't really fair to Fifi or to my dad whose plans did not include looking after a dog.  If we were not visiting various relatives, we were cruising around and going to beaches, woods, museums, and restaurants.  Dogs were not welcome in many of those places.  And I knew it was not safe to leave a dog in a hot car.  I took Fifi with us one Sunday.

My mother wanted me to take Fifi along the following Sunday and I refused.  Saying no to my mother over anything was dangerous.  When I came home that evening, Fifi was gone.  This resulted in  tears (also dangerous when it came to my mother).  I broke down and cried and cried.  She then told me a lie.  She said she had given Fifi to my great grandmother.  Sometimes at night I would go to bed and picture Fifi roaming the streets of Newark cold and lonely and afraid.  At any rate, I never saw Fifi again.  We went to visit my great grandmother the following Christmas.  When I asked repeatedly where Fifi was, my mother told me to shut up.
Since I've been grown and on my own, I've always had at least one dog and at least one cat in the household.

My dad also remembers a childhood dog.  The dog he remembers was a largish sort that was very protective of the kids in his house.  That dog was actually his father's dog but he was much loved.

sapphoq on life