 My father died in 1977, leaving my mom with five kids, ages 2-17. I don't know how she did it, cause it takes a strong person to get through something like that. I guess she got tired of me and my brother asking where Daddy went, and she decided to try to distract us---with a dog. Looking back it's kind of funny, "Daddy's dead, let's get a dog." So Mom loaded up the station wagon with not only my family, but the neighbor and her kids as well. Two adults, two toddlers and three teens loaded in the car and headed to the pound to get our new dog. While we were there, the neighbor's daughter decided on a doberman pincher puppy, Dobbie---how original. My brother immediately found an adorable white fluffy puppy who licked his fingers through the cage. It was a bichon frise/poodle mix they named Sinbad. My mother started the paperwork, but there was another little girl there who was crying that she wanted our dog. Being the typical four year old, I wanted the dog, and I remember giving this poor crying girl the evil eye. I had my back up of siblings, so a rumble would ensue if that chick thought she was getting our dog. With two dogs barking and yapping, snapping and pawing at each other, a bunch of kids screaming, and adult women yelling for us to shut up, we headed to our home thirty minutes away. This was one car ride I will never forget, and still don't know how Mommy didn't crash the car. Thank God her driving skills are better than her navigational skills. Our new dog ran like a bullet all through the house as we argued over a name. I wanted Goofy, my brother wanted Pluto, and my older sisters threw out their own ideas. After a few years, the dog responded to the following names: Dog, Mutt, Mutki, Hey You, and my brother-in-law's favorite, Sh!the@d. The funny thing about dog was that he didn't mind the screaming and yelling, he didn't care about the stereo blasting, and he thought he owned the entire house and all in it. It was the perfect dog to compliment our house for the seventeen years he lived there. Dog was always trying to run out the front door when we opened it, which as a kid I found annoying. Now I realize he was trying to escape an insane asylum. Eventually he settled in and become one of the inmates. One time the ten pound dog grabbed a five pound steak off the table and carried it down the street. Another time he ran out the door and chased two dobermans up the street. He had no fear and even attacked my sister's pit bull when it visited. One tragic day, he curled up in a ball on a chair and fell asleep on a round hair brush. When he got down from the chair, the brush was stuck in his tail but he refused to let anyone take it out. As he ran around the house wagging his tail, the brush clanged against the surrounding objects. We all chased him, but he hid. My mom figured she would wait until the next day to try to remove the brush to give him time to calm down. The dog often slept in the front bay window and waited for us to come home or barked at cars going down the street. All night long we heard CLANG CLANG CLANG as he wagged his tail in the window. The family tried to remove the brush again, but Dog did not want to be touched. He snapped and growled, determined to be left alone. My mother was never one to give up, and was afraid the weight of the brush would hurt his tail. She cut a hole in the crotch of a pair of pantyhose and pushed his head through to make a collar. Then she tied each leg of the hosiery to the legs of the coffee table--making the dog's face point under the table. That didn't stop Dog, he continued to snap and bark. He bit my sister who laughed, "My pit bulls bite me harder when they are playing." After trying for some time, Mom decided to give up. It took two months for the hair to grow long enough for Mom it cut the hair out of the brush so the Dog was not injured or whimpering.
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Author Rhoda D'Ettore
Historical Fiction, Suspense/Thrillers, Humor, Erotica Archives
November 2018
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