Dogs in My Life: My Childhood in Dogs

It's time to get to one of the important things in my life- my dogs. Gary Paulsen wrote My Life in Dog Years. I'm more concerned about the dogs in the years of my life. Small distinction, but an introduction, at any rate. These are my pre-poodle dogs, as I remember them, but the memories are fading...


Prince (Valiant), the collie, was the first dog that was actually ours. My father got Prince from one of his customers. I remember feeding Prince Hill's canned horse meat, but don't remember much else, other than long hair, and swinging on our swing set with Prince around. My brother, Richard was young then. They said Prince's tail could knock him over. I remember being told that my parents thought Prince would be better going to a place with lots of land and that he went. I don't remember problems or what my parents were thinking. I have no recall of strong feelings . Big dog, few memories. Was it my age?


Nosey was a daschund pup from my friend Holly's dog, Schatze's litter. He was a sweet, sweet boy that I remember carrying around in a doll blanket. Nosey died young- run over. I do remember tears. I still have a fondness for daschunds, but have not considered another.


Dreidel, a mixed variety dog, from my uncle's dog, Marshmallow, was with us a very short time.
Another sweetie that didn't get a chance to grow up. I remember dropping her?/him? once. Soon after the pup began having tremors, which turned out to be a chorea, caused by distemper. I blamed myself for dropping the dog.



One more sweetheart, a boxer, Little Joe, named after Joe Cartwright from one of our favorite TV shows, Bonanza. A tough little boy, Joe had a talent for getting out of our backyard. He probably caused some other problems, too, because my mother didn't like him. I remember walking home from school when I was in fourth or fifth grade and seeing the dogcatcher about a block from house. I ran home, grabbed Joe, and locked myself in the bathroom. Yes, my mother had called (although she said technically she didn't- she had the maid call). I held my little boy in the bathroom and sang, "You are my Sunshine" to him until we were safe. I bore the scars from his little teeth and claws on my hands for years and years to remind me of that day of worrying about a pup and losing trust in my mother. Joe did eventually disappear. I can't remember if he was run over, too, or if my mother finally got her way.