Chris

     I never knew what kind of dog he was.  A friend's dog had puppies.  She was in desperate need of giving all the puppies away.  I agreed to take one.  And so, the little black male puppy with curly hair was coming to live with us.  With approaching Christmas, I saw him as a Christmas present.  My daughter Karen had asked for a puppy.  It would certainly make her happy.  The breed of dog just wasn't important.  All I knew was that he was cute.  The size of his mother told me he would be a small dog when grown.  Although the dog was Karen's, he would be shared by the other two children.  But right away Karen took on complete ownership.  Because it was Christmas, she named him Chris.  The dog was meant for Karen and rightfully so it would remain that way.
     Chris was not to be an inside dog.  With a fenced back yard and a dog house, he was to remain outside.   But Chris apparently had different ideas about the fenced yard.  How he got out was one mystery after another.  It was a four foot fence.  The size fence allowed for our subdivision.  Across the front yard, Chris came running.  He was followed by a Pit Bull dog and neighbors.  As the Pit Bull pinned Chris down and held tight on his neck, I tried pulling them apart.  With the aid of neighbors, Chris's life was saved.
     Back now in the back yard, Chris was put.  He could not at this late date become an inside dog.  He was set in his ways.  And so, around the back yard we went looking for ways he could have gotten out.  If a scratched area of dirt was found or anything which enabled him getting out, it was fixed.  Chris shouldn't get out now. 
     A message was left for me at work.  It was a call from a neighbor.  The message left read, "Your dog has been run over in the street."  I called home and spoke to my son who was home then from school.  I told Kevin, "Go check and see if it's Chris."  He called back saying, "It's Chris and I have buried him."  Chris had been saved from a Pit Bull dog to wind up killed by an unknown driver. 
     I was curious on how Chris kept getting out of the fenced yard.  Around the yard I checked and found no place dug.  Evidently the little small dog had learned to climb the fence.  I guess his life could have been prolonged by chaining him.  But to me that seemed cruel.  Chris died being free.  As people, we choose to be free also. 
     After Chris, I never got another dog.  I am a dog lover.  But memories are still present as to what more could I have done to save him?  Once we have a pet, we always carry lasting memories.  Although he was such a nuisance, I still loved that little fellow.  He remains always in my heart...

Maverick

     Webster's Dictionary describes a maverick as an unbranded cow or calf.  It also may be a dissenter; a nonconformist.  I don't think either fits the dog I am about to write about.  Besides, I didn't know the meaning of such a word back when the dog known as Maverick came into our lives.  It was during the time a western was on television called Maverick.  I am pretty sure this is where the dog got its name. 
     In the country, back in the sixties, it was not uncommon for a stray dog to wander onto someone's property.  As children, we were always taking in strays.  Once we named the dog, he became ours.  No one came looking for the dog. 
     Every morning, Mother cooked our breakfast.  The breakfast was always highlighted by good old country scrambled eggs.  We raised our own chickens and so there were plenty of eggs.  We gathered eggs every day until we noticed them getting scarce.  Had the chickens stopped laying?  No, in fact, I myself caught Maverick in the act of eating one.  I never told!  But soon others in the family caught Maverick eating eggs. 
     "We can't have this," exclaimed Mother.  "Maverick will have to go. Once a dog starts to eat eggs, there is no stopping him."
     None of us wanted Maverick to go.  We had learned to love him.  He played with us.  He followed us.  He was constantly our companion.  We wondered now what was to happen to him.  But Mother loved animals as much as us.  We were confident she would make the right decision and she did.  She talked to a friend in the city who agreed to take the collie dog.  She had a fenced yard.  She even told Mother he would probably become an inside dog.  He would not eat eggs anymore. 
     We found out later that Maverick did become an inside dog.  He even got a changed name.  His new name was Precious.  Duh!  Can you believe that?
     Eggs are considered to be good for dogs.  Maverick sure did like them.  I like my scrambled or fried eggs too.  With Maverick's departure, breakfast came back to normal.  We had our fresh country eggs every morning.