Dog days

When I was six, my parents got me a puppy. Our old dog (Baby the English Sheepdog) had passed away. My mom didn’t know what to do with herself without a dog of her own and I think I kept begging for a puppy. You see, I love animals. I always have, always will.

So my father knew a guy that was breeding Shar Pei’s and his dog just had a litter. My dad always knew a guy.

So we drove over and I got to pick out the puppy. Her name was Daisy. She was adorable, and sweet… and my brothers eventually ruined that.

As Daisy got older, she got meaner. She wasn’t very good around other dogs (or people for that matter).

My mom took a little trip to visit with her sister after we moved up to North Carolina. Just a short little weekend trip where she left my dad in charge of my brother and I. Keep in mind that my brother is fifteen years older than me and an adult at the time.

Old Red Socks had a couple of drinks through the day. This was nothing new. He decided that we needed to go on a beer run and we took a drive. This also was nothing new.

We didn’t go to the store, instead a little general store in downtown Black Mountain. We decided to walk around the small down for a little bit. My dad lead us to the animal shelter. It was an outside kennel loaded with a ton of adorable dogs. I distinctly remember this one brutish, tri-colored dog. He was probably a rot-hound mix. He was trying desperately to lick me through the kennel.

I loved him.

Of course my father, without thinking, starts talking about how all of these dogs were on death row, and their time was limited. Being the big hearted animal lover that I was, I started bawling. I cried the blues to my father all afternoon. “We have to save the puppies daddy! They can’t kill the puppies!”.

After a few more drinks, he was ready to rush in for the rescue. He grabbed his old hack saw from the garage and away we drove back to the kennel.

I think my brother must have been with his friend Hutto. I don’t remember him being around during all of this, but I know he was living with us at the time.

It was just getting dark out. I don’t remember if there was a lock to get into the kennel. If there was then he cut it open. He then proceded to saw open a few of the cages on the dogs that were close to their euthanasia date. Once sprung the dogs took off and fled for their lives, except for the rot-hound mix. He was happy and friendly and followed us back to the car, jumped in and came home with us.

This brings us back around to the fact that I had a very territorial Shar-Pei at home by the name of Daisy. Daisy… didn’t like this dog. I know I named him, but I don’t recall what it was. Daisy attacked him and we had to keep them separated. My dad got a long length of rope and tied him up outside.

Imagine my mother’s surprise when she got home to find this very large dog chilling in the back yard. I of course immediately tell her the whole story about our rescue operation. I remember my father had to take the dog back. I believe he also had to replace the locks that he cut. Beyond that, it was just the normal every day fight that they’d have.


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