I had read your story about Keka some time ago and thought I left a comment, but I see that I did not. Your dog sounds pretty great even though she kept you on your toes with her wandering and her mischief.

I remember three dogs during my small youth. All three were named ‘Popeye’. I don’t know why or by whom. I remember seeing pictures of sister Janet and myself canning apples using the dog’s water dish for liquid. I guess my folks thought that was cute enough to document. I know that we gave Popeye #2 my Dad’s deerskin rug to sleep on during one extra cold winter in Pueblo. I remember the flack about that incident…Dad didn’t appreciate that his trophy was so disrespected. (I don’t know why he got so excited. We had the deer’s musty old head hanging in our house for years and years and…)

I know that Popeye #3 broke free of his rope and ran off. We always had to keep the dogs roped and next to the doghouses. My Mother didn’t like dogs. I got into more trouble from undoing the ropes and playing with the animals on our lawn. I was careful to not allow them in the house, but that didn’t seem to make a difference.

However, the last dog I remember in our house, during my freshman year at PJC, was a pretty tan animal we called ‘Tammy’. She was my Mother’s dog – a stray that Mother found in our yard one morning. Mother fed Tammy and afterward my Dad said we had to give her a home – that she would be a good watchdog when he was away from home and on the road for his work.

Tammy turned out to be an excellent watchdog for my Mother. The animal wouldn’t let anyone – and I mean ANYONE in the yard and she lunged at the door at anyone who mounted our front porch. (Yes. She was allowed to come inside.) Only Mother could calm her and pull her away so that we could answer the door reasonably. Tammy finally got so mean that Mother had to get rid of her. The trash man wanted her. He said that he needed a good watchdog at his business, so he came one day and carted muzzled Tammy off. One day I drove out to the fenced lot where the garbage trucks were kept, but I didn’t find Tammy there. Mother and Dad drove out another time and told me that they had seen her and that she looked just fine. I don’t think I believed them at the time.

I want a dog now, but I’ll have to wait until I know where I’m going to hang my hat next. After leaving Washington State in March, I’ll spend a few months with my daughter and son-in-law in Scotland before returning to the US next fall. I know I’ll find the right companion when its time.

Thanks for your story, Jeff.

Mary Jane