Topic is dog ownership, specifically losing a dog. This is a story I would routinely tell just about everyone I meet once we get to know each other; voice is first person, me, how I normally relate this real story.
“We went through a lot of dogs while I was growing up. Well, we were in the country, so our dogs mostly lived outside; most of the winter they’d spend in our garage or pump house which were both detached from our house but nope, they never came in the house, it was the rule. ‘Animals don’t belong in the house’ was what my mom always used to say to us and that’s just how it was. I could never understand how people could bring a dog into a house, let alone an apartment here in the city….to me it’s just bad for the dog.
So anyway, we went through a lot of dogs because there were dangers to living outside, rabid animal attacks, getting run over, and well, since our dogs pretty well roamed free during the day, sometimes they’d end up getting shot at by someone for having gone on another property or something. Sounds really strange to city people, but it was pretty well normal where we grew up.
Anyway, we got this little puppy once, it was a tiny little cute black lab and it was just so adorable, none of our other dogs had come to us as puppies. I think my brother gave it to us, or my dad had it given to him, but regardless it was the cutest thing in the whole world. Well, anyway, this puppy was so small, that my mom let it stay in the porch in a box so that the older dog wouldn’t fight it or heaven forbid, kill it out of jealousy. The usual morning routine was that just before taking us to school, my dad would go out, warm up the cruiser (he was a cop), and then bring it out of the garage to the driveway to pick us up so he could drive us to school. Well, see, you have to understand my Dad, each morning he’d stop and ‘talk’ to our dogs as he walked to the garage. So, this one particular morning, like maybe only a day or two after we got the puppy, (snicker, snicker, shy smile), we heard him ‘talking’ to the ‘baby’ and then heard him go out the door, well, my Dad must have left the door open too long behind him, and well, my Mom was just getting up to make her breakfast, so anyway, the little puppy must have followed him out the door. My Dad goes out, a few minutes passes, not long, then the door opens and my Dad is standing there with this grin on his face. You know the look, like he’s kinda embarrassed about something, and he’s got this grin on his face and he’s trying not to laugh, then he says to my mom, “I just ran over that little dog.” “Aye Yo!!!” my mom exclaims, my sister and I say, “Awwwww!!!!” and stare at him as he starts to giggle. You have to picture this, ’cause my Dad did NOT giggle, he was a stoic, tall, dark handsome type and you could rarely ever read any expression on his face. So there he is, in his uniform, giving us this bad news and then he starts to giggle!! Then he says, “It must have followed me out to the garage……(pause, snicker, snicker)….and I backed over it with the cruiser!” and he lost it, laughing so hard his eyes welled up. Well, the next thing you know, my Mom’s laughing too and I’m torn between laughing and feeling bad about the puppy……eventually we couldn’t help it, we started laughing too. I know it was a really bad situation, and it was supposed to be sad, but I just kept picturing this little puppy following my Dad, little tail wagging, not having a clue, then Yellllp and no more puppy. Awwwww. Awwww. But the most priceless thing in the world, the one thing I will never forget in my life, is that look my dad had on his face as he was standing there in that doorway! Here we all were, laughing about the death of our new puppy, it was priceless. I’d say that was the best way to lose a dog. Ahhh, I still can’t help but laugh. (laughing).”
I’m sorry but everyone both loves and hates this story, the first time I told it to my now husband, he couldn’t help but laugh and although he never knew my Dad, he says he would have loved to have known him because of this story. Hope you enjoyed.