I know you animal lovers out there think that I am disrespectful of “man’s best friends”. That is not true!
I was probably around 10 years old when my Grandma Myrna came home to the City Club (I think she had just married Chuck Andes) with a cardboard box. Inside were two Boston Bull puppies. I have never understood the distinction between the Boston Bull and Boston Terrier. They look alike to me. One puppy was black with a white feet. The other was a brown with white irregular markings. I got to choose one puppy for our family. I took the striking black with four white feet, hence the name white “Boots”. Mryna and Chuck took the other puppy and named her “Lady”. Lady?. Lady!
Bootsy was spoiled. Four kids and two adults that took turns playing with her and feeding her improperly at the dinner table. She was a good “lap dog”. She would lay in your lap for as long as you didn’t move.
Funny thing about Bootsy. She never commented on my music, she listened to my radio programs and even enjoyed our first TV. She understood every problem I ever had and she would respond with large caring eyes. I never got any “back talk”.
Because we lived downtown, it was difficult to house train her because we had to walk down the stairs at the City Club, out the door and walk to the back of the property to find grass. In the winter we’d just walk down the steps and let her out. Usually we’d wait until she came back and barked, but in the morning, we’d let her out and go back to bed. Then she’d howl outside until someone went to get her. Usually it was my mother. Bootsy slept with “us” boys and when my mother let Bootsy in, her paws were sometimes wet, her nose very cold and she was full of energy. Of course my mom would point her to our bedroom and Bootsy would try to get under our covers. It worked. It was my mother’s way of getting us kids out of bed and started for school.
There were a couple of times that a strangly stray male mutt ambushed poor Bootsy and there were several litters of pups. No, we didn’t drown them, we always found good homes for them.
Bootsy always had her own small closet with a curtain concealing the inside. If she heard the words “bad dog” she headed for the closet.
Bootsy became part of the family. Across the street from the City Club was a grocery store called Bob’s IGA with a Johnsonville meat counter in the back. They did not pre-package meats in those days and you had to order at the counter. We would ask for dog bones every time we ordered and Bootsy had her personal supply.
Bootsy was a catalyst to our chaotic family. She would obey simple commands and got included in many family events.
My theory is that a dog is like a psychologist. If you pay $200 per hour to visit a psychologist, they ask you “how do you feel about that” and you end up talking to yourself and solving your own problems. With Bootsy, you just talked to her and she would look at you with big eyes of approval. You knew she understood and like the psychologist, you solved your own problems. And you saved $200. You haven’t lived until your canine friend licks your face (“ick”) with approval.
Later in life Shelby and I made an attempt to bring a dog into our family. It was a failed experiment but a valiant effort.
So here is a tribute to family pets everywhere. They can be especially important to every child growing up. Adults too!
Love,
Dad