Tuesday, May 8, 2012
16th February 2012
Among the annuals of I once had and lost to me sit a beagle by the name of lucky. When the last Boxer died my mother took us down to the pound and got us each a dog. I am not sure if all three left our household shortly or if Misty, my last dog before August, was one of the three. Paul said that he cannot recall the name of the third dog either but that we did away with all three to new owners and that Misty came later.
The beagle was a fine dog that my mother wanted to turn into a show dog. He was so well colored and in good health. However, as we drove home with him he started letting the contents of his guts out his mouth and made a mess of the back of my mother’s Oldsmobile. I recall putting trash over the nasty and getting dog juice on my hands.
The dog was squeamish and got car sick. It could never be a show dog for that reason and my mother got him gone within a week. Not that I had time to get attached to the dog. He was there and then he was gone in a short time.
Paul’s dog, Prince, turned out to be violent and we had to ditch him as well. He was a midsized white mutt with the look of a wolf. He bit but never drew blood. Still the dog was one I never got a liking for and he too was gone shortly.
In the space of a week I went from three dogs to none. I think I was still numb over old butch so I couldn’t feel much. Then, the joy I feel in playing with dogs is a thing that has grown with time and I think it would have hit me harder today.
They say better to have loved and lost and I have to ask if that may depend on how we lose. In the nature of our walking in the world we will see so many things. Would we have been glade to see them had then been burnt to ash or tumbled to the ground?
Live today, little sister
Richard Leland Neal