Waldo By His Side

             I remember the day a yell came out.  My brother David and I were playing in the empty field across from our house.

            “Come home,” yelled Fay.  We came running.

            Upon the front porch we saw our Mother take from Mister Jackson’s mouth his false teeth.  In response, Fay commented,

            “He’s going to be mad when he wakes up and Mother took his teeth.”  But he was not about to wake up.  Mister Jackson had died sitting on our front porch that day.  Why Mother took his false teeth, I never knew.  But she did.  As adults began to come before the ambulance came, Mother had Mister Jackson pulled inside the house.  She said to keep flies from landing on him.  I saw that as my first experience with death.  But the story does not end there.  Mister Jackson went nowhere without his dog, Waldo.  By his side that day was his dog.

            Mister Jackson was a friend of my Daddy’s.  Mother was killing flies on the front porch when he stopped to ask where Ewing (my Daddy) was.  He sat down in a rocking chair while his dog Waldo lay down beside him.  Mother told the story that he began to gag; and then he was gone.  The teeth were taken to give to his wife when she came.  But I still never understood that!

            Until the ambulance came, Mister Jackson sat inside as a loyal dog lay beneath his feet.  When finally the ambulance came and they were taking his body, the dog had to be held back.  Mister Jackson and his dog had spent many years together.  It was a loyalty of more than just master and owner.  They were seen as truly friends.

            Today, I still remember Mister Jackson.  To a child, his death was seen as a bit scary.  I grew up watching the Frankenstein and werewolf movies shown on television back then.  I shared a bedroom with my older sister.  That night, she and I were both scared to get up and go the bathroom.  But now all that just seemed ridiculous.  What really stands out is what happened to Waldo after his owner’s death.  Waldo was taken home.  It was not the same for him.  The dog lay by his owner’s chair in the house.  He never seemed to ever move.  He wouldn’t eat.  He never left the spot until he too passed away.  It seems to be a sad ending to a story that maybe should never have been told.  But it is being told.  Not because of how they died, but how they lived.  I remember a saying someone once said to me, “We all can say we have friends.  But to have one true friend is rare.”  Whether this statement is true or not leaves me to wonder.  Mister Jackson had his one true friend.  That dog loved him.  He remained faithful to the end.  Waldo grieved for his master.  I kind of envy the relationship they had.  When growing up, I never had that.  The pets we had were shared with other siblings.  Right now I don’t have a dog.  But I do have cats.  I feed strays.  I rescued and took in a litter of four.  They all have different personalities.  One has definitely become my friend.  I know My-a-Moo cat would grieve over me.  And, I would her!  I can’t go anywhere in the house that she doesn’t follow.  I can’t sit at the table reading or writing.  She flops down right in front of me.  In a chair, she comes and gets in my arms and goes to sleep.  She truly loves me and I love her.   She can be a pest at times.  But if she ever stopped showing me her attention, I would be lost.

            I can understand the relationship between Mister Jackson and his dog, Waldo.  I think in reading this story you too, as a pet lover, will have no trouble understanding.

Chihuahua

            My parents ran a country grocery store.  It was the only grocery store for miles in this country community.  It was sometimes a happening place as neighbors came to buy food, gasoline, and whatever needed without having to go to a town.  It was like everybody knew everybody.  My Mother and Father seemed to have many friends.  And on one such day, my Mother’s best friend came for a visit.  She had telephoned prior to that visit telling my Mother she had something to show her.  She had excited.  Even Mother acted kind of excited to see what it was.

            Upon my Mother’s friend’s arrival, she came walking in carrying her purse. 

            “I have something to show you,” she said.  And immediately she opened her purse revealing a small head looking out.

            I couldn’t believe my eyes.  Being somewhat curious, I spoke first.

            “What is that?”  I asked.

            “It’s my little Chihuahua dog,” she answered.

            Mother never spoke until finally she asked, “What good is it for?” she continued, “Will it help you on the farm?”

            “I got it for companionship,” she answered.  “Don’t you just love him?”

            “I can’t tell much about him in that bag,” replied Mother.

            “Wait a minute,  I’ll get him out,” replied her friend.

            She reached into her purse and brought him out.  The dog began to wiggle and to the floor he dropped.  Off he ran behind shelves to hide.  Apparently all the excitement scared the little fellow.  And he showed more fear as they came close to catching him, he ran to another place.  It was almost comical as mother and her friend both tried to catch the dog.  Finally; they did!

            That day was my first sighting of the small dog they called a Chihuahua.  It was small and couldn’t have weighed more than five or six pounds.  I had always been use to the big dog like the ones we had owned in the past on our farm.  But since that day, I have seen the Chihuahua in commercials, and yes, the movies.

            As for my parents who ran the grocery store, not long afterwards a sign went up, “No Dogs Allowed!”

            I wonder if the sign would make my Mother’s friend mad as it certainly would be seen directed at her and her dog.  But surprisingly, it did not.  After all, I think they all knew that a grocery store was not a place to bring a dog.  My Mother’s friend continued to shop there.  Nothing seemed to get in the way of their friendship.  The remained, “Best Friends Forever.”

The Preacher's Dog

    

               Atop of the hill right beside the small country church sat a small house. This was the house provided for the Preacher and his family. It was considered part of the Preacher's income. Being a small country church of no more than twenty-five families, the amount paid the Preacher was very small. In fact, to provide for his family, the Preacher held a full time job during the week at a near-by lumber yard about twelve miles away. But the love of preaching kept him preaching during the week at the church. After taking the job, the Preacher had gained a love for the church and its parishioners. He couldn't see himself leaving for more money.

               Every Sunday the Preacher began his sermon. Inside the church sat family and friends of whom all the parishioners had become. In the back of the vestibule of the church sat another friend and family member. It was a dog that was there every Sunday listening to the sermon. He had come down the hill with the family and stayed there until church dismissed. Everyone knew him as the Preacher's dog. His name was Duke. And when asked of how the dog got his name, the Preacher replied,

               "I named him after someone famous." And that was it! Duke was allowed to stay. He sat there listening to what appeared to be every word the Preacher said. The story was that during the week in preparing the Sunday sermon, the Preacher practiced his sermon. Who best to practice on than the dog he loved so. And now as the sermon was being delivered, it was joked by all that Duke came to see if it was done right. Once service was ended, the Preacher walked to the back of the church to greet everyone as they were leaving. Rising from his laying position, Duke stood beside the Preacher. He was not without receiving an occasional pat on the head by those in attendance.

               Once the last member of the church left, the Preacher and his family left the church and walked back to their house atop the hill. Running along beside them was Duke. Upon the porch, Duke found his bed and lay down to nap. But for Duke his work was not done. If any parishioners came, Duke would jump up to greet them with a wag of the tail and a bark to let his master know someone was outside.

               When Duke passed away, a small burial site was provided beside the small church. Duke was laid to rest and is still there today. The Preacher and his family have since moved. It has been some forty to fifty years now. With the upkeep of the landscape, the grave site of Duke is maintained as well.

               And so, the story of Duke still lives on. He's still there listening to that Sunday sermon.

How Much?

           Early days in elementary school, the singing was heard.  Children not yet having learned to carry a tune seemed to have no problem singing these words in tune.

            “How much is that doggie in the window?”

            “The one with the waggly tail.  Arf!  Arf!”

            And so the song goes.  But as far as beyond those two familiar sentences, the song never seemed to go any further.  This song was recorded December 18, 1953.  On April 4, 1953 the song went to number one in U.S. Billboard magazine.  It was sung by Patti Page.

            I don’t believe there was anyone in the early fifties who did not know of this song.  They may never have known all the words, but they knew of it.  If you did not hear it yourself on the radio, you heard someone signing it.  If someone sings a certain song, it almost always has the other person singing that song as well.  It is kind of a catchy tune that you can’t get out of your mind once it is planted there.  I was one of those children back then and I sure sang it enough myself.  And today, I can be standing at a window inside a pet store looking at puppies inside a window and burst into that song.  The arf I make I am hoping will encourage them to arf back.  It is our way of communicating.

            In later years, numerous dogs songs have been written.  Those from “You’re nothing but a Hound Dog” to “Who let the Dogs out?” And the list is a long one.  But still my favorite is that first one I heard back in the fifties.  Arf!  Arf!

            Perhaps as a dog lover, you too have a favorite dog song.  Perhaps you even sing to your dog.  There would be nothing strange about that.  Holding a puppy in your arms and hugging a grown dog can bring about emotional feelings and expressions of love.  It would not be unusual to begin singing.  Dog lovers are not without talking to their pet already anyway.

            I have owned numerous dogs.  I have been around numerous dogs.  I have been known to talk to them.  And yes, even sing to them.  I have yet to write that number one song about a dog.  But it doesn’t keep me from dreaming.

Sergeant Phooey

                The year was 1968.  There was a war going on in Viet Nam.  The war touched many lives.  I was touched by a brother sent to serve.  He constantly wanted to hear from family back in the United States.  From the time I wrote him, he constantly pleaded not to stop writing.  I guess it is that way with any soldier sent off to a far off land.  He wants to hear from someone in his beloved states.  I can imagine the home sickness that comes.  When off to college, I pleaded for mail and I was just 40 miles away.

                I wrote my brother every chance I got.  My letters said little of nothing, but probed to satisfy him.  In appreciation, for which he did not have to do, he went to the PX and sent me home a gift.  It was a Marine bull dog.  It was to symbolize the Marine mascot.  I fell in love with that bull dog from the start.  Although he was not real, he was treated as such.  He was not only a mascot, but he became a symbol of love and appreciation from my brother.

                A stuffed animal given to anyone can have different meaning.  There is a stuffed animal from an amusement park given to a girlfriend, etc. etc.  Here is a list could go on and on.  But in my case, it was a stuffed animal sent to me from someone in a war.  I named the dog.  I gave him a name that I would always remember.  And what ever happened to my dog of which I named Sergeant Phooey?  I carried him in all my moves of apartments, and eventual buying a home.  And to this day, I am puzzled to whatever happened to him.  He suffered wear and tear from so much love given.  I had other stuffed animals that met the same demise.  As I had children, they were given chores.  And I believed that one clean-up day while I was at work, they all got tossed in the garbage.  It was a sad ending to a treasured item that carried so much sentimental value.  But I am reminded of the fact that he was only a material item.  He in all reality can be replaced.  But the memory of the expression of love he brought can’t.  And it is that which remains with me today.  I gave him a name that I will always remember………Sergeant Phooey!