Every day Gary, Ken, and I rode Bus 8 home, the Ussery brothers Joe (RHS ' 66), Ed
(RHS ' 69), Mike (RHS ' 69), Jimmy (RSHS ??), and Bo (RSHS ??) told us how tough
Uncle John McDonald and Aunt Cora McDonald's dog was. To the best of my
memory that dog had short wiry hair, one blue eye, one brown eye, a bobbed tail, a
split nose, and a nasty disposition. He was not a big dog but Uncle John had two
other dogs that combined to form a mean pack. As I recall, Spike was the name of
that split-nosed bully.
Uncle John and Aunt Cora was Johnny (RHS ' 65), Judy (RHS ' 66), and Janice
McDonald's (RHS ' 67) Grandpa and Grandma. Between Johnny's house and Uncle
John's house was a large field that served as a baseball diamond in the spring and
summer. The trees were budding, the robins were singing, the Yankees were in
Florida, and the neighborhood gang turned to baseball. In between the stories about
Spike, the Ussery boys, Nicky Thompson (RHS ' ??), Johnny, and we McDonald
brothers planned our opening of our neighborhood Saturday afternoon baseball
season as Bus 8 circulated through the community that Friday afternoon.
"Hope Uncle John's dogs don't bite you when you ride up in the morning," Joe said.
Mike warned, "Uncle John's dogs can outrun any bicycle."
"Spike said to tell mighty Zeke to stay home if he don't want his butt kicked," Ed
quipped.
Johnny said nothing but just grinned and grinned. Gary, Ken, and I did not reply.
We simply looked at each other with confidence; we read each others eyes. Spike and
Associates had never met the King Of the Road.
Saturday morning, Gary, Ken, and I awoke excited about spring and infected with
baseball fever. After lunch, we pulled our ball gloves out of the closet, rolled my
Louisville Slugger out from under the bed, hopped on our bikes, whistled for Zeke,
and headed toward Johnny's house.
As Gary, Ken, and I rolled into Uncle John's yard, we were welcomed by Spike and
company. Before the pack had time to circle, Zeke barreled over Spike and one of the
other dogs, knocking them off their feet. Just as Zeke was about to apply the jaws of
death, the third dog nipped Zeke's back leg. Zeke pivoted to counter attack the strike
from the rear. The move gave Spike enough time to get back on his feet. Surprisingly,
Spike dashed for Uncle John's ' 51 Chevy pick-up with his two partners-in-crime close
behind. Like a defensive tackle chasing a tailback, Zeke just could not catch them as
the pack slid under the truck. Fortunately for Spike, Zeke was too large to low-crawl
under the truck; Spike was safe for the moment. Zeke simply sat on the ground and
waited. Zeke's wait was short-lived as Uncle John, unaware of the situation, came out
of his house and jumped in his truck to leave. When Uncle John hit the starter, all
three dogs made a bee-line dash for Uncle John's house. The house was even lower
than the truck (houses used to be built on pilings with no underpinning; the height
from the ground varied by builder and terrain). The entire pack ran in single file as all
three tried to enter under Aunt Cora's bedroom window. As a result of this troop train
formation, the big slumbering defensive tackle caught the small fleet tailback. Guess
who was the caboose. Yep, Zeke went one-on-one with Spike. Gary, Ken, and I
grinned from ear to ear as the neighborhood gang watched in wide-eyed disbelief
while Spike hollered and howled as Zeke rumbled and growled. In the meantime, the
other two dogs hastily crawled to the center of the house. The only sound heard
above the fight was Aunt Cora's screaming out of her bedroom window, "Get that
bulldog off of Spike before he kills him!" I merely called Zeke by name and he
released Spike long enough for the split-nose to disappear under the house.
The Saturday opening day baseball game went on as planned. As we played ball, Zeke
sat under Aunt Cora's bedroom window while Spike joined his buddies under the
center of the house. Spike's name was never brought up again on Bus 8 as the Ussery
Brothers asked daily about Zeke and his escapades. Another four legged villain
became a humble subject of Zeke, King Of the Road. I will never forget that opening
day of the neighborhood baseball season, one of my precious childhood memories of
growing up in Rockingham, North Carolina - a small textile town in the South in the '
50s & ' 60s.
To be continued ...
(RHS ' 69), Mike (RHS ' 69), Jimmy (RSHS ??), and Bo (RSHS ??) told us how tough
Uncle John McDonald and Aunt Cora McDonald's dog was. To the best of my
memory that dog had short wiry hair, one blue eye, one brown eye, a bobbed tail, a
split nose, and a nasty disposition. He was not a big dog but Uncle John had two
other dogs that combined to form a mean pack. As I recall, Spike was the name of
that split-nosed bully.
Uncle John and Aunt Cora was Johnny (RHS ' 65), Judy (RHS ' 66), and Janice
McDonald's (RHS ' 67) Grandpa and Grandma. Between Johnny's house and Uncle
John's house was a large field that served as a baseball diamond in the spring and
summer. The trees were budding, the robins were singing, the Yankees were in
Florida, and the neighborhood gang turned to baseball. In between the stories about
Spike, the Ussery boys, Nicky Thompson (RHS ' ??), Johnny, and we McDonald
brothers planned our opening of our neighborhood Saturday afternoon baseball
season as Bus 8 circulated through the community that Friday afternoon.
"Hope Uncle John's dogs don't bite you when you ride up in the morning," Joe said.
Mike warned, "Uncle John's dogs can outrun any bicycle."
"Spike said to tell mighty Zeke to stay home if he don't want his butt kicked," Ed
quipped.
Johnny said nothing but just grinned and grinned. Gary, Ken, and I did not reply.
We simply looked at each other with confidence; we read each others eyes. Spike and
Associates had never met the King Of the Road.
Saturday morning, Gary, Ken, and I awoke excited about spring and infected with
baseball fever. After lunch, we pulled our ball gloves out of the closet, rolled my
Louisville Slugger out from under the bed, hopped on our bikes, whistled for Zeke,
and headed toward Johnny's house.
As Gary, Ken, and I rolled into Uncle John's yard, we were welcomed by Spike and
company. Before the pack had time to circle, Zeke barreled over Spike and one of the
other dogs, knocking them off their feet. Just as Zeke was about to apply the jaws of
death, the third dog nipped Zeke's back leg. Zeke pivoted to counter attack the strike
from the rear. The move gave Spike enough time to get back on his feet. Surprisingly,
Spike dashed for Uncle John's ' 51 Chevy pick-up with his two partners-in-crime close
behind. Like a defensive tackle chasing a tailback, Zeke just could not catch them as
the pack slid under the truck. Fortunately for Spike, Zeke was too large to low-crawl
under the truck; Spike was safe for the moment. Zeke simply sat on the ground and
waited. Zeke's wait was short-lived as Uncle John, unaware of the situation, came out
of his house and jumped in his truck to leave. When Uncle John hit the starter, all
three dogs made a bee-line dash for Uncle John's house. The house was even lower
than the truck (houses used to be built on pilings with no underpinning; the height
from the ground varied by builder and terrain). The entire pack ran in single file as all
three tried to enter under Aunt Cora's bedroom window. As a result of this troop train
formation, the big slumbering defensive tackle caught the small fleet tailback. Guess
who was the caboose. Yep, Zeke went one-on-one with Spike. Gary, Ken, and I
grinned from ear to ear as the neighborhood gang watched in wide-eyed disbelief
while Spike hollered and howled as Zeke rumbled and growled. In the meantime, the
other two dogs hastily crawled to the center of the house. The only sound heard
above the fight was Aunt Cora's screaming out of her bedroom window, "Get that
bulldog off of Spike before he kills him!" I merely called Zeke by name and he
released Spike long enough for the split-nose to disappear under the house.
The Saturday opening day baseball game went on as planned. As we played ball, Zeke
sat under Aunt Cora's bedroom window while Spike joined his buddies under the
center of the house. Spike's name was never brought up again on Bus 8 as the Ussery
Brothers asked daily about Zeke and his escapades. Another four legged villain
became a humble subject of Zeke, King Of the Road. I will never forget that opening
day of the neighborhood baseball season, one of my precious childhood memories of
growing up in Rockingham, North Carolina - a small textile town in the South in the '
50s & ' 60s.
To be continued ...
| Chapter 6 Play Ball written by Bob McDonald |
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