A DOG FOR THE WHITE HOUSE
I have been reading for days now on opinions of what kind of dog President-Elect Obama should get for the “White House dog”. His VP elect has chosen a stately German shepherd for himself, which looked pretty impressive. Still…not quite right for Obama.
So, I set myself to thinking about dogs, which is not a common subject to run through my mind. When I was a small child we had a dog named, “Lassie.” I think most dogs were named that back then. After all, kids were being named after movie stars, so why not dogs? Well, in the ’40’s they apparently weren’t doing vaccinations on dogs. Or…if they were my dad sure wouldn’t have sprung for one, having a houseful of kids. Dogs weren’t given the status that dogs are today. They were rarely housed inside. But, I suspect for kids, then, as now, dogs had a special place in their hearts.
My daughter’s kids have a female Boxer who has seen better days. It is of no use to try to prepare them for the inevitable. “Buddy” is getting old, and the life span for a Boxer is nearing the end of the scale. My daughter, Betsy, has also tried to bring up the inevitable, but the word “death” cannot be brought up in relation to Buddy. They think (or hope) that she will live forever, just as I felt about Lassie. Betsy finally had to refer to the impending death as “going to Mexico.” It’s kind of like the “elephant in the room.” Everyone knows it’s there but no one acknowledges it. So it is with Buddy and her trip to Mexico probably in the next year.
I remember the ruthless killing of Lassie. She had distemper. She was being kept in the garage for safety until some neighbor with a gun was summoned over to the house to do the deed. It was a dark day. The sounds and sights will be forever with me. Her body being tied with a rope to the bumper of a pickup truck, after she was dead, and her blood oozing out of the gunny sack. I made a resolution that no matter how old I got I would never forget her, and that when I died, the first thing I would do, would be to ask God to see her. I can imagine her running into my arms. I have never forgotten that promise I made to the “little girl me” and I will keep it if I live to be 100.
But, back to the presidential dog. Obama was on TV the other day and said if he had his choice he would have a mutt. Wow. That was impressive. A President of the United Stages wishing for a mutt. It made me feel all warm and fuzzy. I still think that it probably won’t happen. How dignified would that be? Too many snobs would oppose it. My opinion isn’t being sought, or I would cast my vote for a mutt. At any rate, I ran my mind over what kind of dog would be fitting if a mutt wouldn’t do. The paper pictured a show-dog poodle and made the claim that it would be the perfect presidential dog, because it was so intelligent. Somehow I can’t see Obama with a poodle. So, in searching my mind for other options, I decided that a Bloodhound might be fitting. So while we await some decision on what the White House dog will be, that’s my vote.
Before closing off this week, I want to thank Ruth Lauer of Paulding Road in the Fort for being so kind as to send me a recipe for Old Fashioned Apple Pie. I had some doubts about my skills, Ruth, but I tried it, getting Jonathan apples as you directed. It was such a wonderful pie that I’m making two for Christmas. Thank you!
Everybody have a wonderful New Year, and remember when you go downtown to see the Santa and his reindeer all lit up that my “child’s eyes” saw it every year, too. I hope they preserve it forever!
Someday I’m coming back to live in Waynedale!
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