By Tammy Trail
My Dad thought it important for kids to grow up with a dog. After we left city life and lived in a rural community, we got a dog. We named him Duke. He was a little terrier, and he followed us kids wherever we went.
One memory that is special to me is that of myself, my youngest brother, Tom, and a brave little dog. The town post office was just a few blocks from our home. We used to walk there almost everyday.
While inside the post office, “Dukie”, would patiently wait outside on the stone porch. The Post Mistress liked to strike up a conversation, and my little brother was always good for a laugh. If someone approached the post office while we visited and retrieved our mail, our little dog went into protective mode. No one wanted to test his little stand-off at the entrance. After we left, Duke would back down and follow us home.
I don’t remember how long we had Duke. He got sick one day and my Dad took him to the vet. He finally came home, and his little tail never quit wagging. My brother Derrick made a fuss over Duke providing him with a comfortable bed on the back porch, a whole can of dog food, and fresh water. A few minutes later my brother began to wail as Duke died in his arms. I don’t remember what illness or accident may have taken our Duke from us, but to console us our Dad told us that Duke had held on until he got home. He wanted to see his kids one last time before he died. Who knows if it was true. Forty years later, I’d like to think so.
Later as teens, Sandy would be the dog who followed us around. She was a German Shepard/Golden Labrador mix, and human smart. She learned new tricks faster than any dog we ever had. Her job was to retrieve the newspaper from the drive way in the mornings. She would get a pillow off the bed and bring it to you, which made lying on the floor to watch T.V. much more comfortable.
Years later as we all grew up and moved away from home, Sandy stayed with Mom and Dad. While making wedding plans, my Mom asked me what I wanted as a gift. I told her I wanted Sandy. They brought her to me and she lived with me, my husband and my daughter until she was thirteen years old. She could hardly hear, her eyes were misted over with blindness, and her hips made her move slow. She died in her sleep in a quiet house. Tim found her when he came home from work for lunch. I cried buckets. We buried her in our back yard under a huge tree.
Sandy had the habit of laying her head on the bed to stare at me until I woke up. Then she would get excited and dance in circles. It was time to go outside.
After she passed one morning I woke up to feel the edge of the bed to see if it was warm I was certain she had been there.
Our pets can be annoying with the constant need for us to take care of them. The shedding hair and occasional accidents will drive one crazy. But there has never been a substitute for a more loving, constant companion than a dog.\\
Writing prompt: A busy day at the shelter……..