Growing up I had a lot of pets. Mostly dogs as my dad hated cats and immediately killed every one he possibly could. This, of course, only meant the dogs lasted marginally longer. See, my dad's solution to every problem was "shoot it and if that does not work shoot it again". This included my dogs, my mother's dogs and any dogs that just might be within shotgun range.
It was a lesson I learned quite early in life, "Don't love anything because it will soon go away". Much easier to just not care. I suppose this lesson in life still impacts me today.
Now, on a (seemingly) completely unrelated subject, I always loved Charlie Brown. The comics, the person he represented and his dog, Snoopy. I always saw a lot of myself in Chuck. Chronic loser but always trying his best and always falling for Lucy's football scam. And, Snoopy, the dog who was always on top of the situation. "A Charlie Brown Christmas" is still one of my very favorite TV shows.
Now, to bring these two, seemingly unrelated tales together. Because of Charlie Brown and Snoopy I always wanted a beagle. So, one day I came home from school and found my parent's had heard a beagle puppy advertised on the "Swap Shop" (local radio buy and sell show) and had gotten my cousin Virgil to drive them to the place to buy it. The puppy was the cream of the litter and had been meant for stud duty but the guy decided not to raise more and sold him instead. In fact there was another man waiting to see if my parents showed up when they said they would so he could buy the dog.
I was kind of surprised (put it mildly) and, in spite of knowing better, instantly in love. Charlie Brown had found Snoopy.
The pup was an AKC registrable eleven-inch beagle. Sad to say this breed no longer exists and the smallest beagle you can get anymore is a thirteen-inch one. We had his papers so I filled them out and when it came to a name I was in a quandary. But, we were studying one of the many British internecine wars and one of the people involved was Prince William of Orange. So, that is what I put down as his name. When the registration came back I found I was not the first one with that name so he ended up as Prince William of Orange II. Mother just called him "Bill Bill" and that is the name that stuck. In fact, even now, I still just think of him as Bill Bill.
Bill Bill was a very unusual dog for many reasons. Not least of which is that he survived my father. That in itself made him a miracle to induce awe. But, he also had the most distinct and unique personality I have ever witnessed in an animal of any kind.
I guess it was on a Friday when we got him so I could spend the weekend with him and I would feed him then take him outside to do his business. I honestly cannot remember one single 'accident' in the house ever. He pretty much had free run inside the house at all times and when he needed out he'd go to the kitchen door (never either of the front doors (yes, we had two)) and make it plainly known.
I don't remember just how old he was the first time we all went to 'town' (Paintsville, Ky) together and left him there alone but we left him shut up inside the house. I think this probably irked him somewhat as he drug all of mother's freshly washed clothes off the spare bed into the floor and pulled down several of the curtains from the windows.
I'm really surprised my dad did not go ballistic but he didn't. Next time, though, when we all left we shut Bill Bill outside the house. When we got back he was sitting in front of the kitchen door howling to get inside. So my dad made an impromptu 'doggie door' in our screen door by cutting out one of the lower corners so that when we all left he could go in and out as he pleased.
OK, two things to point out here. First it was summer and we did not have air conditioning so leaving the door open did not waste energy. Second, it was a different time and place. I cannot EVER remember us locking a door until after I was fully grown. We left the door open and never worried about it. And Bill Bill was much more content.
In the winter our house was COLD. We had one very small heater in the living room. I mean SMALL. I'd lie in front of i t with the side towards the heater burning up and the side away from it freezing. We hung quilts over the open doorway to the kitchen and to the downstairs bedroom to try to contain all the heat we could. That still was not much. So, in the winter all our daytime activities took place in the living room. When bed time came one would race upstairs and switch on the electric blanket then race back to the living room.
The reason I mention this was because Bill Bill was cold too. Even though he slept on my bed (or even under the covers) every night he would not just jump up on the bed. He would put both paws up on the side of the bed and whine until I told him it was OK. Most times I had to help him up. Those old beds were quite high and he was quite short.
He also had two great loves in his life. Running rabbits and running deer. He would only run them by smell though. I have many times watched him running rabbits and one would find something to hid in and stop and he would keep his nose to the ground tracking them and barking. When he would get right on it the rabbit would take off running and Bill Billl would stand there with one front leg raised like a pointer watching it until it was out of sight then put his nose back to the ground and go back tracking it.
Unfortunately, he was only good for one rabbit a day as when I'd shot one rabbit he would not leave my side. We went out to get a rabbit. We got a rabbit. He wanted to make sure he did not miss out on his share. He might run one for five minutes but before you knew it he'd be right back by my side ready to head home.
He also loved my sister's boys. Any of us could tell him, "Bill Bill, Mary Jane and the boys are coming" and he'd go sit on the back of the sofa looking our the window if it was cold or go out and sit on the corner of the porch looking up the creek until the got there.
I got married in 1973 and moved to Paintsville and Bill Bill stayed with my parents. It did not take him long to learn who was who either. When we'd come to visit he'd completely ignore me and run to my wife and howl, and roll around on the ground and cavort around like she was the only person in the world. But, that still did not keep him from "putting her in her place". Once night she got up for the bathroom and when she came back Bill Bill was lying under the covers with his head on her pillow.
At this time my mother was bed fast. When Bill Bill would come home from running rabbits or deer he'd come in the front door and head straight to my mother's bed and prop his feet up on the mattress to check on her then he'd go to his food and water bowl. He was out running the night she passed away and when he came in everything was gone. She was gone and even the bed she used had been removed. I guess he was lost after that.
Several days after she died he went out chasing whatever (I could hear him barking on the chase on the hill across the creek) and just never came back. We never did know what had happened to him. Did he get hung up in a hole? Did someone kill him? Did he just go off in search of my mother?
That was in 1974. It's been thirty seven years and I still miss that pup. If someone killed him and was still alive... even now it would not do for me to find out about it.
I love this post.
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