Dog Days

My grandpa told me about his grandpa’s dog and his own dog, and it became clear that the love of dogs must pass down through generations. When it comes to dogs, there are always a few good “tails”:

My first little dog, a rat terrier, his name was Scraps—all we gave him to eat was scraps off the table. Scraps and I played. I also had a rooster who was a playmate. The rooster wound up growing spurs, and if he didn’t like something I did, he would attack me and try to whip me with his spurs. It was Scraps, the old red rooster, and me, until Ms. Max Bielss, my baptismal sponsor, gave me a beautiful Persian cat, Mitsy, as a gift. This Persian cat was always around my feet at home. We all played together under the house. The cat and dog got along fine; the master was perfect.

Shep was my Grandpa Max Mickan’s dog; he was a retriever but didn’t look like one. From the front door of the house across the yard, the next thing was an oat field. At Easter time, we would always gather a bunch of rocks the size of tennis balls or baseballs and throw one out into that oat field to see if Shep could find it and bring it back. Some could throw far, others not very far. Shep would always bring it back. Although we had four or five rocks, we never did need but one.

Grandpa’s dog, Shep, was also good in loading animals. Occasionally, I’d go to help Grandpa haul a bull, cow, or a steer to the auction sale, and it was a little difficult getting that animal into the trailer all the way—meaning that the back legs were still on the ground. Grandpa, who had his mouth full of tobacco, he’d put that tobacco to one side of his mouth, spit, and he’d say, “Shep!” and point to that animal’s hind legs. Shep, as fast as greased lightning, would snap at the back heels of that animal. That animal tried to kick back but wasn’t fast enough. Because of that snapping, the animal was up in the trailer and ready to go anywhere. That was grandpa and his dog. We’d come home and I’d try to teach my dog how to do that and he’d look at me with a “Forget it!”

What made us go to the backyard was grandpa said Shep could walk a stepladder. We thought, “Walk a stepladder, come on Grandpa, them stories are getting a little deep here.” He said, “Try it.” My grandpa and grandma’s water system was a very tall water tower; by gravity, the water would flow in the house. At the bottom of the water tower was a cutoff that needed to be shut whenever severe cold weather came. During the afternoon, when it warmed up, you could turn the water back on. We got the big, long stepladder to the water tower. Under the top rung of this stepladder was a yellow jacket nest, but we boys thought, “Let’s see if Shep can really climb that stepladder,” so we put that rock about five steps from the very top. Old Shep just crawled up that stepladder and got that rock in his mouth and he backed down and brought us that rock. We went to the next step up and the next step and finally we stuck that rock just under the yellow jacket nest. When Shep seized that rock, it disturbed the yellow jackets and they came after him. But he was still bringing us the rock, along with the yellow jackets. The first most comical thing I ever saw was grandpa in the backyard behind the big oak tree with his hand over his mouth laughing, and laughing, and laughing at what these boys tried to do to disturb his dog Shep. Meanwhile, Shep thinks it’s fun to chase those boys scattering in all directions with the rock and the yellow jackets still behind him.

Years later, I saw an ad in the paper about an old part of a slide that was for sale. I said, “You know, I think I want to go buy it. I might be able to make something out of it.” Grandma asked, “What in the world do you want with a slide that’s not even all there?” I said, “Well, who knows? I guess we’re just going to find out.” Well, after looking at that slide and doing a little thinking, we built a tree house. From the floor of the tree house, we attached the slide and hooked up a waterline to an area above the slide so when you turned the water on, it would run down the entire slide. It created a lot of fun when you jumped on to the top of the slide when the water was going and you could slide down fast. Wow. At the bottom of the slide, to create even more fun, we got a big swimming pool and filled it at least half full of water so that when you came down that slide, you’d hit the water. It was twice as much fun as landing on dried ground. Tiffany and Lauren’s dog Saint was the smart one; he’d climb up the ladder, get on the slide, and slide on down. That was more fun to watch.

The tree house and slide

Saint, our ladder climbin' dog

A Dog Gone

In my lifetime, eight wonderful dogs have been a part of my family: Rose, Charcoal, Sparkles, Saint, Nikki, Buddy, Samson, and Bella. My sister now has Sadie and Zoey, so her and Brian’s house is once again full of the pitter-patter of little paws and licks to the face when you’re least expecting it.

On Tuesday, our Golden Retriever, Bella, lost her fight to cancer. If you know my family, you know that we have had dogs for as long as my sister and I have been alive (and my parents even before then). Bella lived with my parents, making this the first time in over 25 years that my parents are without a dog at the house.

When it comes time, we bury each of our dogs at the pasture at my grandparent’s house. Two trees grow out in the middle of the pasture, surrounded by open land. We are able to laugh because, during the times of drought, patches of green still surround those trees. Right now, we have at least fifteen dogs there. My grandpa remembers where he has placed each of them. They come from our extended families: my grandpa’s dogs, my aunt and uncle and cousin’s dogs, and our dogs. 

Grandpa on the John Deere burying Bella

Grandpa under the tree

In early January, we also lost our other golden, Samson, to cancer. My grandpa and grandma, as always, were there to help us put him to rest. My grandma prepared a lunch for us and grandpa dug the hole for us. Both were a huge comfort. Grandpa told me about his feelings when Samson passed. He compares it to a different kind of anticipation than that of Die Vorfreude (the joy of anticipation) which I have mentioned previously:

Last Sunday [on January 8^th], word came to us that Samson died. That meant that Sam is going to be buried in Walburg, which also meant that, most likely, the two girls that were involved with Sam’s life and he with theirs were going to be at the funeral. Was that a joy of anticipation to wait for Sam’s body to get here? No, that was a different kind of anticipation. Yet, still, Tiffany, you were looking forward to seeing your mom and dad, and me to seeing my daughter, son-in-law, and granddaughters because it was going to be a private family affair.  

The first thing that needed to be done was to dig the grave in case of ill weather or forecast of rain. It was a case of a strong north wind, as one would say, “The North wind doth blow.” However, it was a favorable time to put a much-loved dog in his final resting place. This place is well known because other dogs of the family are buried close by. That was a certain amount of joy in knowing that everything went well. Then there was the joy of the reception afterwards with the usual chatter of good times. The toughest of all—there was no joy of anticipating the good-bye. It was truly a sad time, but it was a time that was anticipated.

As Grandpa Kieschnick talked about Die Vorfreude—that is a recollection of what it’s all about—family.

His words rang true to me when we buried Bella on Tuesday—it was about a family gathering and mourning for a loss, and providing comfort during a time of sadness. I had wondered how my grandpa felt always having to bury the dogs, but he enjoys being with family even if it is a sad occasion. Once again, he put Bella to rest and we gathered around the trees in the pasture. We found comfort in each other. Though it was sad, we reflected on a dog gone, but not forgotten.