SHISHAD'S FOOTPAWS OF FRIENDS

When I was quite young and spending my summers at my grandma’s there were always a lot of animals around. There were the new chicks each spring, lots of cats and a dog or two.

Whitey was a tom cat. Now why God found it necessary to create a white tom cat I don’t know. He would leave for days on end. When he came back he usually had another nick out of an ear; cuts and was never white but a dusty, dirty grey color. Whitey was never friendly. He came home long enough to heal a little bit and eat. This poor cat had very little personality.

There was also ‘10 Dogs’. He was a cute black and white cat. He was given this name because one morning I could hear what sounded like 10 dogs scratching on something in the direction of the kitchen. Dashing out there I see one small kitten scratching on the box under the kitchen table. He was spunky and a lot of fun.

I don’t even recall where our dog Brownie came from but he has to be the most interesting of any of the animals. He was a mixture of Australian sheep dog and Labrador. He was a good watch dog and he was very protective of the entire family.

When ever Grandma and I went to leave he was right there behind us and this became quite a problem. Grandma tied him to the big tree in the back yard one time when we were going to the neighborhood grocery store a few blocks away. We were about half way there when who should arrive at grandma’s side but Brownie. If dogs could smile, he did. Of course Grandma wasn’t happy but being resourceful she tied him to a post outside the store.

It came to pass that a grey tabby in the neighborhood had been hurt and as usual my Grandma took it in. The right back leg had been mangled in a fight and he needed a little down time. She fixed him up and left him to have full rein of the house.

After a few days the grey tabby was spotted on the rug in front of the wood burning stove in the kitchen. Now this was Brownie’s usual sleeping spot and grandma and I waited to see what would happen. It didn’t take long. The next time we came out into the kitchen we saw the two of them sleeping there together.

From that day forward Brownie and the grey tabby were constant companions. Brownie continued to be the king of the roost and the grey tabby was a bit cantankerous and caused all kinds of trouble. Climbing up high on things and knocking them down was one of his favorite things to do. Grandma shooed him out the door at least once a day.

Summer went on. I helped Grandma in the garden, played with the animals as well as the other kids in the neighborhood. I had my choice of plump prunes, juicy peaches, red pie cherries, green sour gooseberries, scrumptious blackberries, red raspberries, tasty blackcaps and concord grapes. There was also a rock quarry my friends and I spent a lot of climbing around in. If my grandmother had known, it would have scared her into an early grave.

One afternoon I was helping grandma in the garden when we both heard a loud scuffling in the irrigation ditch a few feet away. Soon a hissing and strange spitting noise commenced. Grandma made me stay back as she picked up a hoe and went toward the noise. Brownie had become alert as well and ran ahead.

As I climbed up the bit of a rise to the irrigation ditch I continued to hear
the hissing and spitting. I saw was the grey tabby cat clawing and chewing at what I came to identify as a rat the size of the cat. The two of them continued until we saw Brownie climb down into the mix. He showed his white teeth, growled and took the rat in his mouth. Flinging the rat back and forth he ignored Grandma’s orders as usual.

Between Grandma’s hoe action and Brownie’s teeth they made the rat wish he had taken a different path. The grey tabby had sprinted away from
the situation. Grandma stood trying to help Brownie out of the ditch. The rat had put up a good fight and Brownie’s body was covered with bites and scratches.

We had a vet near by and we waited in the outside room while he examined the dog. We could tell by the glum look on his face when he came out that the prognosis wasn’t going to be good. It seemed that the rat had been rabid and there was no hope for Brownie.

Putting an animal down was never something our family wanted to do. In the remaining summer days we all felt the loss. But, Brownie had chosen to give his life for his friend. They were an odd pair but a testament to endearing bravery and friendship.



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