Dog Days

I've mentioned before that Dad always loved dogs, and I promised you a great dog story. Well, I've been thinking about it and that particular story is probably going to be the last posting to this blog. You'll see why when you read it.

But I can't write about Dad without writing about dogs, nor can I write about Mama without writing about cats. So here is a dog story for you:

Dad was stationed in Italy during WWII. Near the end of the war, he went to the PX one day, driving a Jeep, and came out to find a beautiful Irish Setter sitting in the passenger seat. Dad clicked his tongue at the dog and reached out to pet it, and the dog wagged his tail. So Dad started up the Jeep and took off.

That dog stayed with Dad for several months, following him every chance he had. He loved Jeep rides, and the entire company enjoyed Dad's dog - until one day, Dad went back to the PX, and when he came back to the jeep, the dog was gone. Dad never gave the dog a name, and he figured the dog may have found his original owner.

Meanwhile, back home in Atlanta, Dad's mother Ruth wrote him. "I have a dog for you," she wrote. "Took up here one morning and I thought you'd like her." A couple of weeks later, she wrote again. "Dogs," this letter said. The dog had produced a litter of puppies.

Dad's brother-in-law, Sam, arrived home first, but Mama-dog wouldn't let him in the house. Then Dad's brother Jim arrived. Mama-dog agreed that he could come in, but she wouldn't let him near those puppies.

Finally it was Dad's turn. He told me, "I came in, dropped my suitcase in the living room, and went and sat down on the kitchen floor and got me a lap full of puppies. Well, the next thing you know, here comes Mama-dog nosing under my arm wanting to get into my lap too!" He told that story often - it amazed him that Mama-dog just instinctively knew whose dog she was.

Letter to Dad (and Mama)

There've been a lot of things lately that I've wished I could tell Dad about - he'd have enjoyed hearing about them. He always enjoyed listening to me talk about what was going on in my life, and those who know me would probably be surprised at how well Dad knew them - even if he'd never met them!

Well, I can't pick up the phone anymore and tell him. So I am going to write him a letter - no matter that he won't read it. You can read it instead!

Dad - the contractors started working on your house today. "What in the heck are they doing to my house?" I can hear you ask. Well, it's a long story, but I think you've got time to hear.

We've had some problems with that house. I asked Mike to leave after you died, because I knew we would not be able to sell the house with him there. It would have been difficult to do the work we needed to do while he was there, and of course it would have been very much in his best interest that the house did not sell. So I'm sure he'd have left it in a mess so it wouldn't show well, or if an agent called, he would have had some reason they couldn't show it or he wouldn't leave and would have talked the prospect out of buying it, or he'd "forget" and leave the alarm turned on. He's not very happy with me these days, but he had to know moving day would come, and I've been as generous with him as I could. He had a six-week written notice, and I'd already talked to him before then.

A few weeks after he moved out, we had problems with folks breaking into the house. The first time, the electrical meter was removed from the carport wall, and the intruder(s) took a window air-conditioner. Then, as I've written here before, they came back for the other window air-conditioner.

The third time, they very carefully removed the ceiling fans from the living room and the den. They didn't stop there, though - by then there wasn't anything in the house of any value, and very little of anything else. They tried to take the refrigerator but weren't successful. And I still find this hard to believe, but they stole the bathroom sink!!

Well, of course the utilities were still on, and since I am not able to check the house every day, we figure the water ran for probably three days before it was discovered. 550 gallons of water were pumped out of the crawlspace. $20,000 of damage was done. All the hardwood floors were ruined. The water heater was ruined. And the furnace was destroyed.

You know, Dad, it seems to me that it's kind of fitting that the furnace was destroyed. That was the original furnace for that 51-year-old house, and I'm sure the only reason it survived that long was your skill as an HVAC mechanic. Ironic, though - it was warm weather when we found out you were dying, and it's only now getting cool enough to think about heat - so in a way, the furnace died with you.

And I remember you telling me just before we knew you were sick - probably when you filed the claim for that last car accident, right before you got that little dark green Saturn - that your insurance agent had told you that you were probably the holder of the oldest policies the company had in Georgia. Well, we got some of your money back. Your insurance policy is paying for a new furnace, new water heater, new prefinished hardwood flooring, new kitchen vinyl, and interior painting all through the house. When the contractor finishes, I believe we'll have a better house and should be able to get more for it than we would have before the break-ins. Just like always, even though you aren't here anymore, you're taking good care of your family.

But Mama, I'm so sorry, but you're going to have to forgive me about the kitchen. I know, I know - it's been that glossy dark-red since before I was born - nearly 50 years ago! It's just that the kitchen needs lightening up, and we'd never be able to match that paint again anyway, and, well, it's going to be a light golden-yellow with white cabinets and white vinyl floor. I think you'll like it when the contractors are finished - I'll post some photos here later. It just won't look like our house anymore, but that will make it easier for us to let go of it when it's sold.

OH! and Dad! About that Saturn - it seemed such a shame, you were so proud of that little car, and you only got to drive it a couple of times. Tommy said you told him that he needed to come down and see it, and I remember when you were in the hospital, you'd get confused and think it was out in the parking deck. Well, we've still got it. When things are settled, we've earmarked it for Joey. I thought you'd like that. Joey got his learner's permit a couple of weeks ago, and earlier this week he actually drove! for the first time. He's getting to be quite the young man.