"SANDY"
My family got Sandy when I was 3 or 4 years old and he was just a pup so we sort of grew up together. He came from the litter of puppies that Art Hatfield’s dog had. My brother Bob picked him out and carried him home in his arms. We named him "Sandy" because he was yellowish in color. He had big brown eyes that could break your heart if he was sad or had been scolded. When Bob joined the Navy, he became Junior’s and my dog.
I would arrive home from school about 3:30 pm and Sandy would be waiting somewhere in our long, unpaved driveway. He had been trained to go just so far so that he would not go in the road. The only two rooms in our house that Mum allowed him in were the porch and the kitchen. Sandy slept out in the barn with the horse and cow, year round.
Sometimes when I’d come home from school, I’d have saved him a scrap of food in my lunch pail and he came to expect it. It became a daily ritual. The bus would stop; I’d jump off and start to walk down the driveway. Sandy would run and jump up to lick my face, like a welcome home kiss. I often wondered what he did all day long and wished so much that he could talk. Mum said he’d lay in the sun and sleep or follow her to the henhouse or clothesline or chase the cat, etc. He was like a watchdog and everyone loved him.
One day Sandy had been missing for a day or so and I was frantic. After dark I went looking for him in the pasture with Daddy’s lantern. He was there with those big sad eyes, tail between his legs. He had been "playing" or fighting with a porcupine and it was obvious who’d won. Sandy was covered with porcupine quills! Dad had to put him to sleep with some ether and remove the quills one by one with a pair of pliers.
We used to have a tent pitched in our backyard and Sandy and I would lay inside it together to read my comic books, Lulu and Tubby, Archie and Veronica and Casper the Friendly Ghost. Sometimes, when it was raining, we’d lie quietly and listen to the raindrops, my arm wrapped around his warm soft fur. He was comforting to me and I hope I was to him.
When I was 16 and in grade 10, a knock came to our front door, which we seldom used, so we knew it was a stranger. It was an 18 year old boy who attended our High School. I heard him ask my father if he knew who owned a medium sized yellow dog because he’d just hit it with his fathers car. We learned later that Sandy had run out into the road to retrieve a small neighbor boy’s baseball.
Dad rushed up to the highway and we saw him carrying a bleeding, moaning dog in his arms; it was our Sandy. He laid him on the snow out back of our house and asked Mum to call my oldest brother, Rodney, who lived next door. Soon Rodney arrived with his rifle and when it fired, I screamed. Sandy suddenly was silent; we all were. We wrapped him in a blanket and laid him in the barn until the next morning when Dad buried him in our pasture.
It was the first time I saw my Daddy cry. The cross he made for us to place there just said "SANDY". It would be another two years before they got another dog and by then I had moved to Dartmouth, N.S. Sandy was irreplaceable to me and even now, decades later, still is.
My family got Sandy when I was 3 or 4 years old and he was just a pup so we sort of grew up together. He came from the litter of puppies that Art Hatfield’s dog had. My brother Bob picked him out and carried him home in his arms. We named him "Sandy" because he was yellowish in color. He had big brown eyes that could break your heart if he was sad or had been scolded. When Bob joined the Navy, he became Junior’s and my dog.
I would arrive home from school about 3:30 pm and Sandy would be waiting somewhere in our long, unpaved driveway. He had been trained to go just so far so that he would not go in the road. The only two rooms in our house that Mum allowed him in were the porch and the kitchen. Sandy slept out in the barn with the horse and cow, year round.
Sometimes when I’d come home from school, I’d have saved him a scrap of food in my lunch pail and he came to expect it. It became a daily ritual. The bus would stop; I’d jump off and start to walk down the driveway. Sandy would run and jump up to lick my face, like a welcome home kiss. I often wondered what he did all day long and wished so much that he could talk. Mum said he’d lay in the sun and sleep or follow her to the henhouse or clothesline or chase the cat, etc. He was like a watchdog and everyone loved him.
One day Sandy had been missing for a day or so and I was frantic. After dark I went looking for him in the pasture with Daddy’s lantern. He was there with those big sad eyes, tail between his legs. He had been "playing" or fighting with a porcupine and it was obvious who’d won. Sandy was covered with porcupine quills! Dad had to put him to sleep with some ether and remove the quills one by one with a pair of pliers.
We used to have a tent pitched in our backyard and Sandy and I would lay inside it together to read my comic books, Lulu and Tubby, Archie and Veronica and Casper the Friendly Ghost. Sometimes, when it was raining, we’d lie quietly and listen to the raindrops, my arm wrapped around his warm soft fur. He was comforting to me and I hope I was to him.
When I was 16 and in grade 10, a knock came to our front door, which we seldom used, so we knew it was a stranger. It was an 18 year old boy who attended our High School. I heard him ask my father if he knew who owned a medium sized yellow dog because he’d just hit it with his fathers car. We learned later that Sandy had run out into the road to retrieve a small neighbor boy’s baseball.
Dad rushed up to the highway and we saw him carrying a bleeding, moaning dog in his arms; it was our Sandy. He laid him on the snow out back of our house and asked Mum to call my oldest brother, Rodney, who lived next door. Soon Rodney arrived with his rifle and when it fired, I screamed. Sandy suddenly was silent; we all were. We wrapped him in a blanket and laid him in the barn until the next morning when Dad buried him in our pasture.
It was the first time I saw my Daddy cry. The cross he made for us to place there just said "SANDY". It would be another two years before they got another dog and by then I had moved to Dartmouth, N.S. Sandy was irreplaceable to me and even now, decades later, still is.
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