Dogs

In this world there are cat people and there are dog people. We are dog people.

The love of dogs goes way back in my family tree. My Grandpa LeCrone was an animal lover who fed the stray cats that lived in the garage, but he was a dog man. My Dad was pretty sure that "scat!" was the first thing to say to any cat. He was a dog man. Both my grandfathers had cats out on the farm. Cats helped control the rodent population. But it was the dogs that were man's best friend, defending the home turf from invading skunks and sometimes paying the ultimate price from that selfless act of protection.

My Dad often regaled us with his tales of the pets from his childhood. The perennial favorite was the story of Murt, the dog who ran sideways when chasing cats, who smiled when you touched the old scar on his side, who was kicked when Dad got in trouble, and who spent many an unwilling hour in the cow tank.

Pa LeCrone had Boots out on the farm, and then Skeeter when they moved to town. Boots bit me when I was about three. I pulled his ear or something while he was eating. He drew blood from my hand. Skeeter was a good dog who liked to chase cats and bark at strangers. Grandma LeCrone often used him to expedite the departure of Jehovah's Witnesses from her porch (What Would Jesus Do? He would sick his dog on those JWs, obviously).

The first dog I can remember was Rags. I was about 4. Rags was a big dog who dug holes in our back yard. He loved to wrestle with me. When my friends would come over to play, however, Rags would knock them down into one of his holes in the back yard and attempt to bury them alive. They would usually run home screaming about the monster in Mike's back yard.

Later we had Georgie Girl, a big, gentle golden shepherd. My Dad always loved big dogs. The dog we had the longest, though, was Chrissy, a Chihuahua.

Let me back up just a bit.

Chrissy's mother was Inky. We had Inky for several years. Inky gave birth to a litter of puppies one night in my sister Cindy's bed. One died, but two survived. We named them Crystal and Speckle. Later, Inky died of a sun stroke. We buried her behind the garage at 333 E. Hickory in Enid, Oklahoma. In order to scare Cindy (she was only 5, I think), I would tell her that Inky was coming back from the dead. One day I even dug up Inky's collar and chain and showed them to Cindy. The fan in our parent's room made a clicking sound which I told Cindy was really the sound of Inky's toenails on the wood floor of the hallway as her corpse walked through the house. I know, I was mean. I hear it all the time.

Anyway, the two puppies grew up together. Speckle was the outgoing dog. He was friends with everyone he met. He was also ornery. He got into trouble quite often. I remember the time he wallowed in the chewing gum and then got to wear the gum on his side for about six months. He followed me to school one day and the teacher let him stay. I was the most popular kid in the fourth grade for a day.

Crystal was shy. She would run and hide rather than let anybody hold her or play with her. One day Cindy was able to catch Crystal (she usually hid under the couch). But while she was holding Crystal, the chihuahua jumped out of her arms and fell to the floor, hurting her back leg. Then my mother and sister gently nursed her back to health and she became the lap dog of the ladies of our family. Speckle's life ended when he foolishly decided to play with a poisonous snake. Crystal, or "Chrissy" as she was known, stayed with us longer than any other dog. She disappeared one day in her old age on a trip my parents took to Clayton, New Mexico. It is my mother's theory that Chrissy knew she was about to die of old age and just went off somewhere and died, not wishing to burden the family with the long goodbye, doggy funeral arrangements, and so forth. Whatever happened, it broke Mom's heart (and Cindy's too).

All of us kids have dogs. Davy has Snapple. Cindy has Stinky and Brylee. I have Nucha and Bandit. Nucha is a Pomeranian (the little brother to Cindy's Stinky). Bandit is a nearly 16 year old Jack Russell mix. He's deaf and clumsy and nearly toothless now, but in his prime he could chase rabbits and cats with the best of them. He would grab a sock in his mouth and you could twirl him around in a circle and he would not let go. He has always been extremely jealous. TJ's theory is that he would have died a long time ago, but he feels like he needs to stay around and make sure that Nucha doesn't get too much attention from me.

My Mom has Little Boy, a Pomeranian who loves her a lot. Well, he loves everyone a lot, and will prove it by kissing you in the ear or mouth or nose.

When you get all those dogs together it is amazing how much they can pee.