It's funny how often I miss Sparkle. He was my first dog, a dachshund-pekinese mix. You know, the proverbial "so ugly he's cute" type. Sparkle was naughty and he was smart. Once he escaped he was gone for awhile. Once Uncle Reid had to go down and retrieve him from the pound a day after he took off. I don't have any photos of Sparkle but I surely remember exactly what he looked like. It's been over fifty eight years now. When we moved from Alabama I gave Sparkle to Margaret, Aunt Noot's maid in Jemison. He was run over by a bicycle soon after. The story went that Margaret held him in her lap all night until he finally breathed his last breath. I still grieve for him.
Plenty of others have followed, all special and all holy. Wolfgang was probably the most colorful. It's hard to ever get rid of the image of the boy dragging home half of a turkey from down the street on a Thanksgiving day. I'm pretty sure I know what happened to the other half, too.
I kinda' hate to attempt to name all of them because I sure wouldn't want to leave any of them out. Puddles, Goldie, Poochie, Boo, Jamaica, and Kokomo all come to mind immediately. Neighbors' dogs and girlfriends' dogs and strays that I've befriended rise up in my heart, as well.
Now Jamaica's my girl and Jamaica's my life. She sure is a good girl, even if she would leave me in a wink for Ralph, the neighbor behind us. Reminds me of most of my relationships.
Ronny & Jamaica, the pup
I'll get to the cats another time. I've gotta go walk the dog now. As my pal, Steve V., put it, " The dog just thinks she'll have to put up with all the attention until you get well."
I love the dog confessions, Ronnie. I've been a victim as well. It's funny how the memories of those wonderful buddies stay with us for a lifetime. From somewhere in a cigar store in Ybor CityReplyDelete