The Mischief of Two Dogs

Earlier I shared a poem about a naughty little dog, who was actually a compilation of three dogs I have run across in my life. I mentioned that my Dino was one of the dogs and what his indiscretion was. And here is the rest of the story.

Back in the early 70’s when I was around ten years old, my sister and I started bugging our parents to get a dog. We had a few cats over the years, all of whom seemed to meet their demise under the tires of a car. But my parents didn’t want to be tied down to a dog. Fate stepped in when one of Mom’s co-workers asked if she knew of anyone who would like a dog as they just couldn’t keep theirs any longer. The woman said he was a miniature collie and that he was about a year old. That spring, my sister and I met him just the one time, tied up in the woman’s small back yard in town. He was perfect. We could hardly contain our excitement.

 

Mac in 1973, shortly after we got him. Sorry that I cut off my sister's head. 

Mac came home within a few days. The woman who gave him to us issued two warnings. He liked to run away. And keep him away from the Christmas tree. The only Christmas that they had him, they had left him alone in the house with the Christmas tree and had come home to find it completely destroyed. My mom was cautious the first Christmas we had Mac, but he never gave the tree a second look.

Mac in 1981. What a beautiful face, huh? 

Just last week I met the third and final dog who inspired my poem about a destructive pound-puppy. My son rents a room in an old farmhouse in the southern part of the state. His landlord has always owned Springer Spaniels. In fact when Nick first moved into the house, the landlord’s dog’s name was Mac. Crazy, huh?

Well, just like my family’s Mac, this man’s Mac was up in years and had to be put to sleep. The man said, I don’t want to be tied down to another dog, yet within a few months, he heard of a young Springer who was looking for a good home. Gage is three years old now and still 100% puppy. When I spent the night in the spare room of this farmhouse last week, Gage was into everything. He didn’t destroy stuff, he just took everything he could get his teeth into, took it in his kennel and not give it up. Nick warned me about him, yet the dumb dog got my socks, my gloves and my bra.

 

Our Mac with Nick in 1987. If this picture doesn't melt your heart, nothing will.
Why do we put up with this stuff from these four-legged demons? Because they look up at us with those deep brown eyes and we melt.