Once upon a time there was a little girl named Ella who was five years old. She lived with her Daddy and Mommy and younger sister Molly and their dog, Sadie, in a city called Columbia which was in a state named South Carolina. Ella and Molly went to school every morning where they and their friends learned something new each day.
Her grandmothers Nana and Naynay sometimes came to pick up Ella and Molly from their school in the afternoon. Nana and Naynay always asked the little girls about their day at school.
Each week Ella told Nana and Naynay the letter of the alphabet she was learning until finally she had finished all the letters and could write the whole alphabet. Nana and Naynay were so excited to hear this news! The teacher had also taught Ella how to sound out the letters she was learning to write.
One of Ella and Molly’s favorite books was the book about Dick and Jane that Naynay read to them in the car on their way home from school.
Now Ella tried to follow along to understand how the alphabet letters made words. She wanted to read the book by herself when the magic came to her one afternoon last week.
The kitten’s picture was a hint, but five-year-old Ella wasn’t focused on it. Instead, she looked intently at the bold letters below: P-u-f-f. She said each letter and sounded it out like she had been taught in her class at school. Puh-uh-ff.
Puff!! she exclaimed with a look on her face that was unforgettable. Wonder. Surprise. Joy. In amazement she looked at her grandmother and asked, Naynay, how did I know that word?
Nana and Naynay were thrilled and told Ella she had begun to solve the mysteries of the universe because she was learning to read. Since everyone was smiling and happy, Molly was happy, too.
Ella closed the book, still smiling, not really concerned what mysteries of the universe meant, but asked if anyone brought cookies.
Here’s a Dylan song dedicated to all members of the four branches of American guv’mint: executive, legislative, judicial and muskratSam.
It ain’t no use to sit and wonder why, guys If’n you don’t know by now And it ain’t no use to sit and wonder why, guys It’ll never do somehow When your rooster crows at the break of dawn Look out your window and we’ll all be gone You’re the reason we’re a-traveling on Please think twice – cause you ain’t right.
And it ain’t no use in turning on your lights, guys Those lights we never knowed And it ain’t no use in turning on your lights, guys We’re on the dark side of the road But we wish there was somethin’ you would do or say To try and make us change our minds and stay But we never did too much talking anyway Please think twice – cause you ain’t right.
So it ain’t no use in calling out our names, guys Like you never done before And it ain’t no use in calling out our names, guys We can’t hear you anymore We’re a-thinking and a-wondering’ walking down the road We once loved a country, its freedoms untold We gave you our hearts but you wanted our souls Please think twice – cause you ain’t right.
We are their angels on earth who love them and help them when it’s time to cross the Rainbow Bridge. We are all on our own little trek passing through and lucky to find helpers as we go.
My cousin Nita in Texas read about Spike’s passing last week and sent me these words of comfort and hope: we are all on our own little trek passing through and lucky to find helpers as we go.
Pretty and I thank everyone for your love and support of our family in our sorrow. Our wish for you tonight is that you have been lucky enough to find helpers for your journey when sadness, disappointments, unspeakable losses make this little trek seem impossible to endure.
We’re in this life together; thank you for reaching out to us.
On Thursday, March 27th., Pretty and I lost our beloved Texas dog Spike – not totally unexpectedly because he was old for a big dog, yet somewhat of a surprise because he had been in a slow decline for a long while before suddenly finding movement almost impossible Thursday morning. He told me and Pretty he was ready to go with his soulful big brown eyes. That afternoon an angel of mercy came to our home to help ease his passing. Our family has lost a cornerstonethat cannot be replaced.
In January, 2022, I published the “Spike Story.”
When my cousin Martin saw Spike for the first time he said, “Sheila, that ain’t nothing but a cur dog. Plain as day.”
That was in the spring of 2012, the year my two mothers died within two weeks of each other. I was a motherless child by any definition at the end of April, the month Spike appeared on Worsham Street in Texas as a motherless cur dog which according to the Merriam-Webster dictionary definition, and my cousin Martin, meant he was a mongrel or inferior dog – surly or cowardly.
When that cur dog showed up on Worsham Street in front of our house, Pretty and I had four other dogs: Annie, Red, Chelsea and Ollie. I tried to convince my neighbors across the street to keep him, but both of them had cats as well as dogs plus jobs that required their daily presence. I was a stay at home writer. My neighbor Lisa and I tried to find his owner for several days but finally realized someone had dumped him in our neighborhood so he belonged to Worsham Street. I called Pretty to talk to her about him – she was working and living most of the time in South Carolina while I had been in Texas to take care of my mother – and since we split the four dogs into two separate households – what was one more?
At first Spike was skittish around Red, Annie and me. He preferred to stay in the yard, but one night the rains came; I saw him sitting on the back porch looking at Red and me on the bed through the sliding glass door which I got up to open for him. He came inside that rainy night – never to be an outside dog again.
Spike sound asleep with his buddy Redon our sofa in Texas
(spring, 2012)
Red was quick to besurly – Spike not somuch
Spike seemed to understand that he was the low dog in the pack. Red was the alpha male because that’s how terriers roll. Smallest in size – but Red was the recognized “star.” Annie was a big dog like Spike but much older. She allowed Red to lead as long as she approved of his leadership, but don’t ever cross her. Spike learned to avoid her, but he loved Red. Red adored Annie. Typical love triangle similar to humans. Am I right?
The math Pretty and I had originally calculated worked well when we were in different homes but changed dramatically when we were together in South Carolina. Then we knew we had five dogs. Looking back to those years I’m not sure how we managed but we loved them all.
Spike, Redand black lab Chelsea in back yard on Canterbury Road
Spike fell in love with Chelsea on his first trip to South Carolina in 2012; it was a feeling that stayed with him as long as she lived – a feeling that remained with him forever after she died in March, 2016. To this day he whined or barked when he saw a big black dog walking by on our street from his perch on the couch in our living room on Cardinal Drive.
Spike at homeon our patioat Casa de Canterburyin July, 2012
Spike and Chelsea on my grandparents’ bedin September, 2014
my grandparents would be horrified if they knew
One by one Spike’s pack succumbed to illness and old age, and he became the sole survivor in the spring of 2016. Pretty and I promised each other we would shower him with affection, treats, walks, to give him the attention he hadn’t experienced as the interloper of the original four. We tried for months to lavish him with our love – perhaps partially to assuage our own grief. What happened surprised both of us. Spike’s grieving was as real as ours, and he didn’t like being an “only” dog. He missed his pack.
Enter Charly in the summer of 2016. Charly was twice rescued: once by Pawmetto Lifeline and then by Pretty, Spike and me.
Spike and Charly in ourliving room – 2019
when you can’t be withthe one you love,honey, love the one you’re with
Now we have another little old man about the same size as Red, but Carl and Spike aren’t buddies, though – neither is Carport Kitty who definitely dislikes our three dogs. That’s okay. Charly runs interference between Spike and Carl who has learned the importance of pretending CK doesn’t exist. Spike has a pack again. Pretty and I love them all.
Spike on his walk –January 11, 2022
By the way, cur dogs are really a wonderful breed of “hard-working treeing hounds” with traits that include being devoted to their people, protective of their environment and fabulous additions to families.
So to my cousin Martin I say thank goodness Spike ain’t nothing but a cur dog. Pretty and I wouldn’t have him be anything else.
I'll Call It Like I See It 
You must be logged in to post a comment.