The occasional stray dog always tripped our Chihuahua Brownie's radar and Brownie
always put Zeke into the attack mode. Zeke would run the stray off quickly and
return to post under our shrubbery. The only time he would not return immediately
signaled that a female dog was in heat or "in season" as we say in the South. Zeke
would return in about two weeks a few pounds lighter, with cuts all over himself, and
a big grin on his face.
It was against Zeke's nature to run with the pack. He just whipped every dog in the
pack and every approaching wanna-be beau as long as the female was "in season" and
ripe for picking if you get my drift. Zeke would net some really nasty cuts fighting the
pack. In fact, as a preventive measure Daddy would fasten a cow chain around Zeke's
neck every time a female "in season" was anywhere nearby and would chain him to
the walnut tree near his house. Zeke despised this freedom restriction. He would
back up to that walnut tree and with a sudden burst of speed try to snap the chain.
Once while using this method trying to escape, Zeke split his chest. Still, Zeke tried
and tried to snap the chain in spite of the wide cut; no pain, no gain! The cut,
undetected by Daddy or family, became infected. It was not until Daddy removed the
chain ten days later did he see how dangerous the infection was.
Immediately, Daddy placed Zeke in the back seat of our green ' 60 Plymouth and
transported him to the veterinarian. Tip Sanford was our veterinarian and a resident
of Roberdel. Tip was licensed by the School Of Hard Knocks Veterinarian College.
He was an animal lover. Tip was extremely good and extremely reasonable, in fact, he
was cheap. Upon arriving at Tip's, Daddy began explaining Zeke's injury and the
cause of it. By the way, Zeke was thirteen years old at the time. As Daddy was
explaining the perils of Zeke's sex drive, a driver of a small car turns into Tip's
driveway almost out of control. He quickly exits his car door with a small, white
poodle clutched in his arms, and sprints into Tip's office. "Doc, please help Pierre,
please," the distraught man begged.
"What's the problem?" Tip asked.
"He just fell on the floor and could not stand up."
"Lay him on my table," Tip instructed. "I am sure Cecil and Zeke don't mind waiting."
Pop nodded in agreement as Zeke slept in the corner of the office, probably still
exhausted from his ten day rendezvous. While Tip searched his bag, the customer
intently recapped his poodle's life story.
"I bought him when he was just a pup. The wife and I had no kids. Pierre is our kid.
We do not go anywhere without him. He is only ten years old but I feel like I have
owned him all of my life. Pierre sleeps on a pillow between my wife and me."
Daddy stood quietly in the background as Tip washed his hands and slipped on his
rubber gloves while the other customer continued to tell the life story of Pierre. "Tip,
I think Pierre has stopped breathing. His sides are not moving," Daddy said. Both
men spun 180 degrees to face the table while Tip hurried to put his stethoscope on.
"Cecil, you are right," Tip replied as he searched for a heartbeat. Suddenly, Tip looked
up with a solemn face. "I am sorry, Sir. Pierre is dead!"
"How can I take that news back home?" the old guy sobbed. "Helen will be
devastated!" The tears rolled off his cheeks and down his face.
"Ten years is a long life for a dog," Tip sympathized. In his best Lorne Green take-off
on the Purina Dog Chow commercial of the ' 60s Tip consolingly said, "One year in a
dog's life is equivalent to seven years in a man's life. Pierre is really seventy years old.
Seventy years is a long time to live. From what you tell me, Pierre had a very happy
life. You and your wife gave him the best of care and love. You and your wife should
find happiness and comfort in your efforts." Such bedside manners was why people
kept bringing their pets back time and time again despite Tip's lack of formal training.
"Thanks, Tip. I am going to tell Helen that when I get home." The old guy blew his
nose and wiped his tears as he tried to regain his composure. To the outside observer
looking in, the scene did seem laughable. A two hundred thirty pound grown man
had cried like a baby over a six pound poodle. To a dog owner, the episode was a true
testimony ever. As the gentleman dealt with the tragic reality, he asked Daddy, "How
old is Zeke and what is his problem?"
"Zeke is thirteen years old and according to Tip, he is really ninety-one. He injured
himself chasing women! " Daddy chuckled.
"I hope if I live to be ninety-one and hurt myself, it's for the same reason," Tip
quipped.
"Don't worry about Zeke. Tip will take care of him; he is a good man," the old man
said to my Pop as he clutched his dead poodle to his chest. "Thanks again, Tip." the
gentleman stopped a final time before leaving Tip's office. He looked back and said,
"By the way guys, I am looking forward to turning ninety-one."
Through the office window, Daddy saw the old man climb into his car and leave with
the same smile on his face that he left Tip's office with. This adventure became
another story always brought up in family gatherings at the mere mention of Zeke.
The older I get, the more I cherish these precious childhood memory of growing up in
Rockingham, North Carolina - a small textile town in the South in the ' 50s & ' 60s.
To be continued ...
always put Zeke into the attack mode. Zeke would run the stray off quickly and
return to post under our shrubbery. The only time he would not return immediately
signaled that a female dog was in heat or "in season" as we say in the South. Zeke
would return in about two weeks a few pounds lighter, with cuts all over himself, and
a big grin on his face.
It was against Zeke's nature to run with the pack. He just whipped every dog in the
pack and every approaching wanna-be beau as long as the female was "in season" and
ripe for picking if you get my drift. Zeke would net some really nasty cuts fighting the
pack. In fact, as a preventive measure Daddy would fasten a cow chain around Zeke's
neck every time a female "in season" was anywhere nearby and would chain him to
the walnut tree near his house. Zeke despised this freedom restriction. He would
back up to that walnut tree and with a sudden burst of speed try to snap the chain.
Once while using this method trying to escape, Zeke split his chest. Still, Zeke tried
and tried to snap the chain in spite of the wide cut; no pain, no gain! The cut,
undetected by Daddy or family, became infected. It was not until Daddy removed the
chain ten days later did he see how dangerous the infection was.
Immediately, Daddy placed Zeke in the back seat of our green ' 60 Plymouth and
transported him to the veterinarian. Tip Sanford was our veterinarian and a resident
of Roberdel. Tip was licensed by the School Of Hard Knocks Veterinarian College.
He was an animal lover. Tip was extremely good and extremely reasonable, in fact, he
was cheap. Upon arriving at Tip's, Daddy began explaining Zeke's injury and the
cause of it. By the way, Zeke was thirteen years old at the time. As Daddy was
explaining the perils of Zeke's sex drive, a driver of a small car turns into Tip's
driveway almost out of control. He quickly exits his car door with a small, white
poodle clutched in his arms, and sprints into Tip's office. "Doc, please help Pierre,
please," the distraught man begged.
"What's the problem?" Tip asked.
"He just fell on the floor and could not stand up."
"Lay him on my table," Tip instructed. "I am sure Cecil and Zeke don't mind waiting."
Pop nodded in agreement as Zeke slept in the corner of the office, probably still
exhausted from his ten day rendezvous. While Tip searched his bag, the customer
intently recapped his poodle's life story.
"I bought him when he was just a pup. The wife and I had no kids. Pierre is our kid.
We do not go anywhere without him. He is only ten years old but I feel like I have
owned him all of my life. Pierre sleeps on a pillow between my wife and me."
Daddy stood quietly in the background as Tip washed his hands and slipped on his
rubber gloves while the other customer continued to tell the life story of Pierre. "Tip,
I think Pierre has stopped breathing. His sides are not moving," Daddy said. Both
men spun 180 degrees to face the table while Tip hurried to put his stethoscope on.
"Cecil, you are right," Tip replied as he searched for a heartbeat. Suddenly, Tip looked
up with a solemn face. "I am sorry, Sir. Pierre is dead!"
"How can I take that news back home?" the old guy sobbed. "Helen will be
devastated!" The tears rolled off his cheeks and down his face.
"Ten years is a long life for a dog," Tip sympathized. In his best Lorne Green take-off
on the Purina Dog Chow commercial of the ' 60s Tip consolingly said, "One year in a
dog's life is equivalent to seven years in a man's life. Pierre is really seventy years old.
Seventy years is a long time to live. From what you tell me, Pierre had a very happy
life. You and your wife gave him the best of care and love. You and your wife should
find happiness and comfort in your efforts." Such bedside manners was why people
kept bringing their pets back time and time again despite Tip's lack of formal training.
"Thanks, Tip. I am going to tell Helen that when I get home." The old guy blew his
nose and wiped his tears as he tried to regain his composure. To the outside observer
looking in, the scene did seem laughable. A two hundred thirty pound grown man
had cried like a baby over a six pound poodle. To a dog owner, the episode was a true
testimony ever. As the gentleman dealt with the tragic reality, he asked Daddy, "How
old is Zeke and what is his problem?"
"Zeke is thirteen years old and according to Tip, he is really ninety-one. He injured
himself chasing women! " Daddy chuckled.
"I hope if I live to be ninety-one and hurt myself, it's for the same reason," Tip
quipped.
"Don't worry about Zeke. Tip will take care of him; he is a good man," the old man
said to my Pop as he clutched his dead poodle to his chest. "Thanks again, Tip." the
gentleman stopped a final time before leaving Tip's office. He looked back and said,
"By the way guys, I am looking forward to turning ninety-one."
Through the office window, Daddy saw the old man climb into his car and leave with
the same smile on his face that he left Tip's office with. This adventure became
another story always brought up in family gatherings at the mere mention of Zeke.
The older I get, the more I cherish these precious childhood memory of growing up in
Rockingham, North Carolina - a small textile town in the South in the ' 50s & ' 60s.
To be continued ...
| Chapter 8 Chasing Women written by Bob McDonald |
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