My life with dogs #5

Friends: I have decided to share with you My Life With Dogs. The Blogs taken from my book, 14000 Dogs Later, may be one page at a time, or more. I don’t want to dump too much on you at a time. I hope you enjoy. Feel free to make comments here, or on my Face Book or Twitter account. Best, John
Face Book: Twitter: @PrestonBook


“Expect the unexpected has more to do with humans than dogs.” Unknown

Unbeknownst to me at the time, but my future label as a Dog Person was cast at age six under the basement steps of my paternal grandmother. I loved spending time with MaMa, not so much to be free of my brothers and sisters, more so because she had three Dauschunds, four German Shepherds, and my best buddy, “King”, a regal Dalmatian of medium size who could jump rabbits, play hide’n seek, and sleep with me in the afternoon shade of 30-foot pine trees.

It was a Sunday morning and MaMa and I were dressed for Church. MaMa told me to check on KaTrinka, a nine-year-old black Dauschund who was not “due” for two more days. I went to the basement to feed the mom-to-be and her three cohorts, Miggie, Gretchen, and Gus. Three of the four sat atop wooden crates in the enclosed wire pen. Each, I’d swear, smiled. “Where’s Trinka?” I asked.

(What I’ve Learned): I don’t know about you, but I started talking to animals as soon as I could speak. I am not absolutely sure why we do this. We all know, or should know, that they do not talk back to us. But somehow, and those of you who talk to them will understand, they still communicate. It may be a bark, a whine, a grumble, a growl, a yodel, a smile, a raised eyebrow, or even a blank stare…which probably means they wonder why we are talking in a foreign language…still, it’s a message.

Gus barked, jumped off his crate, ran through a newly torn hole in the fence, continued past me, stopped near piled boxes blocking the area beneath the stairs….sat, and barked a second time.

“MaMa!” I yelled.

“What is it, Johnny?” (Note: MaMa and my Dad are the only two people in the universe who called me by that name and lived to tell about it…although Danny calls me Johnny Boy.)
She came to the basement and sent me under the stairs to retrieve seven puppies and Trinka. Now, in and of itself, that doesn’t sound like a great dog story. But, it is indelibly etched in my memory, as were the days following. We watched Mother Nature through the tenderness of Trinka as she nursed, nudged, and cleaned her family. Later I’ll tell you about the bookmarks of life, but…for me, that is one of them.

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